This was not all they had to offer, and yet we were being pushed back, back, back—
Red flared in the heart of that battle like an exploding ember. A circle of soldiers died.
But more of Hybern’s soldiers pushed in around Cassian. Even Azriel could not get to his side. My stomach turned, over and over.
Hybern had hidden the majority of its force somewhere. Our scouts could not find it. Azriel could not find it. And Elain … She could not see that mighty army, she’d said. In her dreams awake and asleep.
I knew little of war, of battle. But this … it felt like patching up holes in a boat while it sank.
As the rain drenched us, as Mor paced and swore at the slaughter, the bodies starting to pile up on our side, the foundering lines … I realized what I had to do, if I could not be down there, fighting.
Who I had to hunt down—and ask about the location of Hybern’s true army.
The Suriel.
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“Absolutely not,” Mor said when I pulled her a few feet away from Nesta, the din of battle and rain drowning out our voices. “Absolutely not.”
I jerked my head toward the valley below. “Go join them. You’re wasted here. They need you.” It was true. “Cassian and Az need you to push back the front lines.” For Cassian’s Siphons were beginning to sputter.
“Rhys will kill me if I leave you here.”
“Rhys will do no such thing, and you know it. He’s got wards around this camp, and I’m not entirely defenseless, you know.”
I wasn’t lying, exactly, but … The Suriel might very well not appear if Mor was there. And if I told her where I was going … I had no doubt she would insist on coming with me.
We didn’t have the luxury of waiting for Jurian to give us information. About many things. I needed to leave—now.
“Go fight. Make those Hybern pricks scream a bit.”
Nesta drew her attention away from the slaughter enough to add, “Help them.”
For that was Cassian, making another charge toward a Hybern commander. Hoping to spook the soldiers again.
Mor frowned deeply, bounced once on her toes. “Just—be on your guard. Both of you.”
I gave her a wry look—right before she rushed for her tent. I waited until she’d emerged again, buckling on weapons, and saluted me before she winnowed away. To the battlefield.
Right to Azriel’s side—just as a soldier nearly landed a blow to his back.
Mor punched her sword through the soldier’s throat before he could land that strike.
And then Mor began cutting a path toward Cassian, toward the broken front line beyond him, her damp golden hair a ray of sunshine amid the mud and dark armor.
Soldiers began screaming. Screamed some more when Azriel, blue Siphons flaring, fell into place beside her. Together, they plowed a path to Cassian—or tried to.
They made it perhaps ten feet before they were swarmed again. Before the press of bodies made even Mor’s hair vanish in mud and rain.
Nesta laid a hand against her bare, rain-slick throat. Cassian began another assault on a Hybern captain—slower this time than he’d been.
Now. I had to go now—quickly. I took a step away from the outlook.
My sister narrowed her brows at me. “You’re leaving?”
“I’ll be back soon,” was all I said. I didn’t dare wonder how much of our army would be left when I did.
By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.
I had to track the Suriel.
And even though Elain could not see the Hybern host … It was worth a try.
Her tent was dim, and quiet—the sounds of slaughter far away, dreamlike.
She was awake, staring blankly at the canvas ceiling.
“I need you to find something for me,” I said, dripping water everywhere as I laid a map across her thighs. Perhaps not as gentle as I should have been, but she at least sat up at my tone. Blinked at the map of Prythian.
“It’s called the Suriel—it’s one of many who bear that name. But … but it looks like this,” I said, and reached for her hand to show her. I hesitated. “May I show it to you?”
My sister’s brown eyes were glazed.
“Plant the image in your mind,” I clarified. “So you know where to look.”
“I don’t know how to look,” Elain mumbled.
“You can try.” I should have asked Amren to train her, too.
But Elain studied me, the map, then nodded.
She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.
I took a step beyond them, just into the antechamber of her mind, and planted the image of the Suriel there, trying to infuse it with safety—the truth that it looked terrifying, but had not harmed me.
Still, Elain shuddered when I pulled out. “Why?”
“It has answers I need. Immediately.” Or else we might not have much of an army left to fight that entire Hybern host once I located it.
Elain again glanced at the map. At me. Then closed her eyes.
Her eyes shifted beneath her lids, the skin so delicate and colorless that the blue veins beneath were like small streams. “It moves …,” she whispered. “It moves through the world like … like the breath of the western wind.”
“Where is it headed?”
Her finger lifted, hovering over the map, the courts.
Slowly, she set it down.
“There,” she breathed. “It is going there. Now.”
I looked at where she had laid her finger and felt the blood rush from my face.
The Middle.
The Suriel was headed to that ancient forest in the Middle. Just south—miles, perhaps …
From the Weaver of the Wood.
I winnowed in five leaps. I was breathless, my power nearly drained thanks to the glamouring I’d done yesterday, the summoned flame I’d used to dry myself off, and the winnowing that had taken me from the battle and right into the heart of that ancient wood.
The heavy, ripe air was as awful as I remembered, the forest thick with moss that choked the gnarled beeches and the gray stones scattered throughout. Then there was the silence.
I wondered if I should have indeed brought Mor with me as I listened. As I felt with my lingering magic for any sign of it.
The moss cushioned my steps as I eased into a walk. Scanning, listening. How far away, how small, that battle to the south felt.
My swallow was loud in my ears.
Things other than the Weaver prowled these woods. And the Weaver herself … Stryga, the Bone Carver had called her. His sister. Both siblings to an awful, male creature lurking in another part of the world.
I drew my Illyrian blade, the metal singing in the thick air.
But an ancient, rasping voice asked behind me, “Have you come to kill me, or to beg for my help once again, Feyre Archeron?”
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I turned, but did not sheath my blade across my back.
The Suriel was standing a few feet away, clad not in the cloak I had given it months ago, but a different one—heavier and darker, the fabric already torn and shredded. As if the wind it traveled on had ripped through it with invisible talons.
Only a few months since I had last seen it—when it had told me that Rhys was my mate. It might as well have been a lifetime ago.
Its over-large teeth clacked faintly. “Thrice now, we have met. Thrice now, you have hunted for me. This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world.”
“I’m sorry if it was a violation,” I said as steadily as I could. “But it’s an urgent matter.”
“You wish to know where Hyb
ern is hiding its army.”
“Yes. And other things. But let’s start with that.”
A hideous, horrific smile. “Even I cannot see it.”
My stomach tightened. “You can see everything but that?”
The Suriel angled its head in a way that reminded me it was indeed a predator. And there was no snare this time to hold it back.
“He uses magic to cloak it—magic far older than I.”
“The Cauldron.”
Another awful smile. “Yes. That mighty, wicked thing. That bowl of death and life.” It shivered with what I could have sworn was delight. “You have one already who can find Hybern.”
“Elain says she cannot see it—see past his magic.”
“Then use the other to track it.”
“Nesta. Use Nesta to track the Cauldron?”
“Like calls to like. The King of Hybern does not travel without the Cauldron. So where it is, he and his army shall be. Tell the beautiful thief to find it.”
The hair on my arms rose. “How?”
It angled its head, as if listening. “If she is unskilled … bones will do the talking for her.”
“Scrying—you mean scrying with bones?”
“Yes.” Those tattered robes flitted in a phantom wind. “Bones and stones.”
I swallowed again. “Why did the Cauldron not react when I joined the Book and spoke the spell to nullify its power?”
“Because you did not hold on for long enough.”
“It was killing me.”
“Did you think you could leash its power without a cost?”
My heart stuttered. “I need to—to die for it to be stopped?”
“So dramatic, human-heart. But yes—yes, that spell would have drained the life from you.”
“Is there—is there another spell to use instead? To nullify its powers.”
“If there were such a thing, you would still have to get close enough to the Cauldron to do it. Hybern will not make that mistake twice.”
I swallowed. “Even if we nullify the Cauldron … will it be enough to stop Hybern?”
“It depends on your allies. If they survive long enough to battle afterward.”
“Would the Bone Carver make a difference?” And Bryaxis.
The Suriel had no eyelids. But its milky eyes flared with surprise. “I cannot see—not him. He is not … born of this earth. His thread has not been woven in.” Its twisted mouth tightened. “You wish to save Prythian so much that you would risk unleashing him.”
“Yes.” The moment I located that army, I’d unleash Bryaxis upon it. But as for the Carver … “He wanted a—gift. In exchange. The Ouroboros.”
The Suriel let out a sound that might have been a gasp—delight or horror, I did not know. “The Mirror of Beginnings and Endings.”
“Yes—but … I cannot retrieve it.”
“You are afraid to look. To see what is within.”
“Will it drive me—mad? Break me?”
It was an effort not to flinch at that monstrous face, at the milky eyes and lipless mouth. All focused upon me. “Only you can decide what breaks you, Cursebreaker. Only you.” Not an answer—not really. Certainly not enough to risk retrieving the mirror. The Suriel again listened to that phantom wind. “Tell the silver-eyed messenger that the answer lies on the second and penultimate pages of the Book. Together they hold the key.”
“The key to what?”
The Suriel clicked its bony fingers together, like the many-jointed limbs of a crustacean, tip-tapping against each other. “The answer to what you need to stop Hy—”
It took me a heartbeat to register what happened.
To identify the wooden thing that burst through the Suriel’s throat as an ash arrow. To realize that what sprayed in my face, landing on my tongue and tasting like soil, was black blood.
To realize that the thudding before the Suriel could even scream … more arrows.
The Suriel stumbled to its knees, a choking sound coming out of that mouth.
It had been afraid of the naga that day in the woods. Had known it could be killed.
I surged toward it, palming a knife with my left hand, sword angling up.
Another arrow fired, and I ducked behind a gnarled tree.
The Suriel let out a scream at the impact. Birds scattered into flight, and my ears rang—
And then its labored, wet breathing filled the wood. Until a lilting female voice crooned, “Why does it talk to you, Feyre, when it would not even deign to speak with me?”
I knew that voice. That laughter beneath the words.
Ianthe.
Ianthe was here. With two Hybern soldiers behind her.
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Concealed behind the tree, I took in my surroundings. I was exhausted, but … I could winnow. I could winnow and be gone. The ash arrows they’d put into the Suriel, however …
I met its eyes as it lay there, bleeding out on the moss.
The same ash arrows that had brought down Rhys. But my mate’s had been carefully placed to disable him.
These had been aimed to kill.
That mouth of too-big teeth formed a silent word. Run.
“It took the King of Hybern days to unravel what you did to me,” Ianthe purred, her voice drawing closer. “I still can’t use most of my hand.”
I didn’t reply. Winnow—I should winnow.
Black blood dribbled out of the Suriel’s neck, that arrow tip vulgar as it jutted up from its thick skin. I couldn’t heal it—not with those ash arrows still in its flesh. Not until they were out.
“I’d heard from Tamlin how you captured this one,” Ianthe went on, coming closer and closer. “So I adapted your methods. And it would not tell me anything. But since you have made contact so many times, the robe I gave it …” I could hear the smile in her voice. “A simple tracking spell, a gift from the king. To be triggered in your presence. If you should come calling again.”
Run, the Suriel mouthed once more, blood dribbling past its withered lips.
That was pain in its eyes. Real pain, as mortal as any creature. And if Ianthe took it alive to Hybern … The Suriel knew it was a possibility. It had begged me for freedom once … yet it was willing to be taken. For me to run.
Its milky eyes narrowed—in pain and understanding. Yes, it seemed to say. Go.
“The king built shields in my mind,” Ianthe prattled on, “to keep you from harming me again when I found you.”
I peered around the tree to spy her standing at the edge of the clearing, frowning at the Suriel. She wore her pale robes, that blue stone crowning her hood. Only two guards with her. Even after all this time … She still underestimated me.
I ducked back around before she could spot me. Met the Suriel’s stare one more time.
And I let it read every one of the emotions that solidified in me with absolute clarity.
The Suriel began to shake its head. Or tried to.
But I gave it a smile of farewell. And stepped into the clearing.
“I should have slit your throat that night in the tent,” I said to the priestess.
One of the guards shot an arrow at me.
I blocked it with a wall of hard air that instantly buckled. Drained—mostly drained. And if it took another hit from an ash arrow …
Ianthe’s face tightened. “You’ll find you want to reconsider how you speak to me. I’ll be your best advocate in Hybern.”
“I suppose you’ll have to catch me first,” I said coolly—and ran.
I could have sworn that ancient forest moved to make room for me.
Could have sworn it, too, read my final thoughts to the Suriel, and cleared the way.
But not for them.
I hurled every scrap of strength into my legs, into keeping upright, as I sprinted through the trees, leaping over rocks and streams, dodging moss-coated boulders.
Yet those guards, yet Ianthe, managed to keep close behind, even as they swore at the snapping trun
ks that seemed to shift into their way, the rocks that went loose beneath their feet. I only had to outrun them for so long.
Only for a few miles. Draw them away from the Suriel, buy it time to flee.
And make sure they paid for what they had done. All of it.
I opened my senses, letting them lead the way. The forest did the rest.
Perhaps she was waiting for me. Perhaps she had ordered the woods to open a path.
The Hybern guards gained on me. My feet flew beneath me, swift as a deer.
I began to recognize the trees, the rocks. There, I had stood with Rhys—there, I had flirted with him. There, he had lounged atop a branch while waiting for me.
The air behind me parted—an arrow.
I veered left, nearly slamming into a tree. The arrow went wide.
The light shifted ahead—brighter. The clearing.
I let out a whimper of relief that I made sure they heard.
I broke from the tree line in a leap, knees popping as I flew over the stones leading to that hair-thatched cottage.
“Help me,” I breathed, making sure they heard that, too.
The wooden door was already half-open. The world slowed and cleared with each step, each heartbeat, as I hurtled over the threshold.
And into the Weaver’s cottage.
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I gripped the door handle as I passed the threshold, digging in my heels and throwing every scrap of strength into my arms to keep that door from shutting. From locking me in.
Invisible hands shoved against it, but I gritted my teeth and braced a foot against the wall, iron biting into my hands.
The room behind me was dark. “Thief,” intoned a lovely voice in the blackness.
“You do know,” Ianthe tittered from outside the cottage, her steps slowing into a walk, “that we’ll have to kill whoever is inside there with you. Selfish of you, Feyre.”
I panted, holding the door open, making sure they couldn’t see me on the other side.
“You have seen my twin,” the Weaver hissed softly—with a hint of wonder. “I smell him on you.”
Outside, Ianthe and the guard grew closer. Closer and closer.
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