A Court of Mist and Fury

Chapter 33

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“Bullshit,” Cassian spat. “There’s no way to do that.”

Amren had gone still, and it was she whom Azriel was observing, marking.

Amarantha was just the beginning, Rhys had once told me. Had he known this even then? Had those months Under the Mountain merely been a prelude to whatever hell was about to be unleashed? Resurrecting the dead. What sort of unholy power—

Mor groaned, “Why would the king want to resurrect Jurian? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself.”

The age of these people hit me like a brick, despite all they’d told me minutes earlier. The War—they had all … they had all fought in the War five hundred years ago.

“That’s what I want to find out,” Rhysand said. “And how the king plans to do it.”

Amren at last said, “Word will have reached him about Feyre’s Making. He knows it’s possible for the dead to be remade.”

I shifted in my seat. I’d expected brute armies, pure bloodshed. But this—

“All seven High Lords would have to agree to that,” Mor countered. “There’s not a chance it happens. He’ll take another route.” Her eyes narrowed to slits as she faced Rhys. “All the slaughtering—the massacres at temples. You think it’s tied to this?”

“I know it’s tied to this. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain. But Azriel confirmed that they’d raided the memorial in Sangravah three days ago. They’re looking for something—or found it.” Azriel nodded in confirmation, even as Mor cast a surprised look in his direction. Azriel gave her an apologetic shrug back.

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.”

Mor and Cassian

calmly, “Perhaps you would be more effective,

us as Amren hissed, “I will not set foot in the Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. So go

straight teeth—perfect for biting. Amren snapped hers once in

his head. “I’ll go. The Prison

danger. Mor’s fingers stilled on the stem of her wineglass, her eyes narrowing on

said before Mor

Mor demanded, palms now flat on the

to offer him. But an immortal with a mortal soul …” She stared

go, to curl up and cower. Their quick,

Bogge, the Middengard Wyrm … Maybe they’d broken whatever part

Feyre,” Rhys

or face some unknown horror—the choice was easy. “How

said. None of them bothered to

CHAPTER

17

Jurian.

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

darkness. I quickly found I much preferred ascending, and couldn’t bring myself to watch for too long

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

he said, scanning the

An open channel between us, shaped by my powers, shaped … by

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