He gestured to the sweeping land beyond—to the forested steppes he’d once mentioned. “Away from any potential casualties.” He offered his hand as his wings flared, his body preparing for flight.
But all I heard were those two words he’d said, echoing against the steady beat of traitor, traitor:
She’s mine.
Being in Rhys’s arms again, against his body, was a test of stubbornness. For both of us. To see who’d speak about it first.
We’d been flying over the most beautiful mountains I’d ever seen—snowy and flecked with pines—heading toward rolling steppes beyond them when I said, “You’re training female Illyrian warriors?”
“Trying to.” Rhys gazed across the brutal landscape. “I banned wing-clipping a long, long time ago, but … at the more zealous camps, deep within the mountains, they do it. And when Amarantha took over, even the milder camps started doing it again. To keep their women safe, they claimed. For the past hundred years, Cassian has been trying to build an aerial fighting unit amongst the females, trying to prove that they have a place on the battlefield. So far, he’s managed to train a few dedicated warriors, but the males make life so miserable that many of them left. And for the girls in training … ” A hiss of breath. “It’s a long road. But Devlon is one of the few who even lets the girls train without a tantrum.”
“I’d hardly call disobeying orders ‘without a tantrum.’ ”
“Some camps issued decrees that if a female was caught training, she was to be deemed unmarriageable. I can’t fight against things like that, not without slaughtering the leaders of each camp and personally raising each and every one of their offspring.”
“And yet your mother loved them—and you three wear their tattoos.”
“I got the tattoos in part for my mother, in part to honor my brothers, who fought every day of their lives for the right to wear them.”
“Why do you let Devlon speak to Cassian like that?”
“Because I know when to pick my fights with Devlon, and I know Cassian would be pissed if I stepped in to crush Devlon’s mind like a grape when he could handle it himself.”
A whisper of cold went through me. “Have you thought about doing it?”
“I did just now. But most camp-lords never would have given the three of us a shot at the Blood Rite. Devlon let a half-breed and two bastards take it—and did not deny us our victory.”
Pines dusted with fresh snow blurred beneath us.
“What’s the Blood Rite?”
“So many questions today.” I squeezed his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and he chuckled. “You go unarmed into the mountains, magic banned, no Siphons, wings bound, with no supplies or clothes beyond what you have on you. You, and every other Illyrian male who wants to move from novice to true warrior. A few hundred head into the mountains at the start of the week—not all come out at the end.”
The frost-kissed landscape rolled on forever, unyielding as the warriors who ruled over it. “Do you—kill each other?”
“Most try to. For food and clothes, for vengeance, for glory between feuding clans. Devlon allowed us to take the Rite—but also made sure Cassian, Azriel, and I were dumped in different locations.”
“What happened?”
“We found each other. Killed our way across the mountains to get to each other. Turns out, a good number of Illyrian males wanted to prove they were stronger, smarter than us. Turns out they were wrong.”
I dared a look at his face. For a heartbeat, I could see it: blood-splattered, savage, fighting and slaughtering to get to his friends, to protect and save them.
Rhys set us down in a clearing, the pine trees towering so high they seemed to caress the underside of the heavy, gray clouds passing on the swift wind.
“So, you’re not using magic—but I am?” I said, taking a few steps from him.
“Our enemy is keyed in on my powers. You, however, remain invisible.” He waved his hand. “Let’s see what all your practicing has amounted to.”
I didn’t feel like it. I just said, “When—when did you meet Tamlin?”
I knew what Rhysand’s father had done. I hadn’t let myself think too much about it.
About how he’d killed Tamlin’s father and brothers. And mother.
But now, after last night, after the Court of Nightmares … I had to know.
Rhys’s face was a mask of patience. “Show me something impressive, and I’ll tell you. Magic—for answers.”
“I know what sort of game you’re playing—” I cut myself off at the hint of a smirk. “Very well.”
I held out my hand before me, palm cupped, and willed silence into my veins, my mind.
Silence and calm and weight, like being underwater.