I breathed, “That—that’s why the ring and the finger bone vanished after Amarantha died. For this. But who …” My mouth went dry. “They never caught the Attor, did they?”
Rhys said too quietly, “No. No, they didn’t.” The food in my stomach turned leaden. He said to Amren, “How does one take an eye and a finger bone and make it into a man again? And how do we stop it?”
Amren frowned at her untouched wine. “You already know how to find the answer. Go to the Prison. Talk to the Bone Carver.”
“Shit,” Mor and Cassian both said.
Rhys said calmly, “Perhaps you would be more effective, Amren.”
I was grateful for the table separating us as Amren hissed, “I will not set foot in the Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. So go yourself, or send one of these dogs to do it for you.”
Cassian grinned, showing his white, straight teeth—perfect for biting. Amren snapped hers once in return.
Azriel just shook his head. “I’ll go. The Prison sentries know me—what I am.”
I wondered if the shadowsinger was usually the first to throw himself into danger. Mor’s fingers stilled on the stem of her wineglass, her eyes narrowing on Amren. The jewels, the red gown—all perhaps a way to downplay whatever dark power roiled in her veins—
“If anyone’s going to the Prison,” Rhys said before Mor opened her mouth, “it’s me. And Feyre.”
“What?” Mor demanded, palms now flat on the table.
“He won’t talk to Rhys,” Amren said to the others, “or to Azriel. Or to any of us. We’ve got nothing to offer him. But an immortal with a mortal soul …” She stared at my chest as if she could see the heart pounding beneath … And I contemplated yet again what she ate. “The Bone Carver might be willing indeed to talk to her.”
They stared at me. As if waiting for me to beg not to go, to curl up and cower. Their quick, brutal interview to see if they wanted to work with me, I supposed.
But the Bone Carver, the naga, the Attor, the Suriel, the Bogge, the Middengard Wyrm … Maybe they’d broken whatever part of me truly feared. Or maybe fear was only something I now felt in my dreams.
“Your choice, Feyre,” Rhys said casually.
To shirk and mourn or face some unknown horror—the choice was easy. “How bad can it be?” was my response.
“Bad,” Cassian said. None of them bothered to contradict him.
CHAPTER
17
Jurian.
The name clanged through me, even after we finished dinner, even after Mor and Cassian and Azriel and Amren had stopped debating and snarling about who would do what and be where while Rhys and I went to the Prison—whatever that was—tomorrow.
Rhys flew me back over the city, plunging into the lights and darkness. I quickly found I much preferred ascending, and couldn’t bring myself to watch for too long without feeling my dinner rise up. Not fear—just some reaction of my body.
We flew in silence, the whistling winter wind the only sound, despite his cocoon of warmth blocking it from freezing me entirely. Only when the music of the streets welcomed us did I peer into his face, his features unreadable as he focused on flying. “Tonight—I felt you again. Through the bond. Did I get past your shields?”
“No,” he said, scanning the cobblestone streets below. “This bond is … a living thing. An open channel between us, shaped by my powers, shaped … by what you needed when we made the bargain.”
“I needed not to be dead when I agreed.”
“You needed not to be alone.”
Our eyes met. It was too dark to read whatever was in his gaze. I was the one who looked away first.
“I’m still learning how and why we can sometimes feel things the other doesn’t want known,” he admitted. “So I don’t have an explanation for what you felt tonight.”
You needed not to be alone… .
But what about him? Fifty years he’d been separated from his friends, his family …
I said, “You let Amarantha and the entire world think you rule and delight in a Court of Nightmares. It’s all a front—to keep what matters most safe.”
The city lights gilded his face. “I love my people, and my family. Do not think I wouldn’t become a monster to keep them protected.”
“You already did that Under the Mountain.” The words were out before I could stop them.
The wind rustled his hair. “And I suspect I’ll have to do it again soon enough.”
“What was the cost?” I dared ask. “Of keeping this place secret and free?”
He shot straight down, wings beating to keep us smooth as we landed on the roof of the town house. I made to step away, but he gripped my chin. “You know the cost already.”
Amarantha’s whore.