A Court of Death || ACOTAR

36

All but the single shadow that had stayed with Astryn returned to the Night Court, delivering the news to Azriel.

He felt ill as he took it all in.

Without a word, he shoved up out of his chair, ending the tense silence and stillness that had overtaken the room as everyone waited for Rhys. The minute he needed had turned into two days and no one had stopped waiting. Cassian had tried to coax him out once but only managed to get himself punched again. So they waited. Azriel was done waiting.

"What are you doing?" Mor asked, apprehensive as she watched him knowing just by looking at him that he was near snapping.

"I'm going to Hybern," he said stiffly, his gaze cutting to Cassian, "are you coming?"

Cassian didn't need to ask any questions. He knew this could only be about Astryn. If Azriel was going to Hybern, it was because Astryn was there and alive.

"Let's gather our weapons and go," Cassian replied, standing up too now.

"How do you plan to get in and out of Hybern unnoticed?" Mor questioned, earning a breath of bitter amusement from Amren.

"They don't," she supplied the obvious explanation.

"You'll end up dead or captured," Mor snapped, "you need a plan."

"My plan is to kill anyone who gets in my way," Azriel supplied easily, "she's not staying there."

"And what good is it going to do if you get yourself killed and fail at saving her? Make a plan, get more backup. Running in pissed and irrational will only end badly for you and for her," Mor reasoned harshly, "this isn't going to work."

"We should summon Death," Amren suggested, as if that was a totally normal statement.

"Summon—is that even possible? And if he wanted to help and was capable of it, he would have already," Azriel shot back, the most aggressive tone he had ever taken with Amren.

"Is it possible?" she countered dryly. "You had made a good point four centuries ago about how it was dangerous that if anything happened to Astryn in Death's realm, she'd be on her own. You were just using that as an excuse to avoid saying you were being petty and jealous but it really was a good point, so I did some reading. I learned that the King of the Dead can be summoned."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Azriel demanded, glaring at her.

"Because you had no interest in having ways to help her if she needed it. Your interests back then were in controlling her," Amren explained icily, "and I had no interest in helping you do that. She was better off leaving you."

"Amren," Cassian warned lowly, positioning himself half in front of Azriel—between him and Amren.

"He knows it's true," Amren replied with a shrug, "it's why he never tried to find her. He was no good for her back then."

Azriel opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again, thinking over what to say before finally speaking.

"What good do you think summoning him would do? Does he have any power in our realm?" he asked calmly.

"I don't know, but from what I read, it sounds like he has the ability to see the future. If he has seen this future, he would know the best course to take to get Astryn back," she responded, "and if he does have power here...he's probably the closest thing to a god we know of."

"It's a good idea," Cassian murmured, "he wouldn't say no to helping her."

"How certain are we that he doesn't hate Azriel?" Mor chimed in worriedly. "She chose Az over him. And she might've told him about everything that happened between them. If we bring him here, he might just take the opportunity to kill Azriel."

"If he gets Astryn away from Hybern, I'd gladly pay for that with my life," Azriel dismissed the concern like it was truly nothing to him. "We should do it. If he knows the future, he knows how we can get her home."

"We should talk to Rhys," Cassian brought up, "he should know she's alive."

"I'll tell him," Azriel said after a moment, not waiting to let anyone argue the point. He strode off to Rhys's room, walking in without knocking. "Astryn isn't dead," he told him before he had the chance to start telling him to get out, "she's being held prisoner in Hybern."

Rhys was quiet for a few seconds, face gone pale and eyes shining with horror.

"Hybern doesn't take prisoners just to let them rot in a cell," Rhys murmured when he finally found it in himself to speak, "what else do you know?"

"The King is...he has her chained to his bed," Azriel answered carefully, trying to keep his voice steady, "he plans to try to use her to negotiate with you, offer her safe return in exchange for the Night Court."

Rhys opened his mouth and then closed it again. Azriel didn't know why he was waiting to see what Rhys's response to that was before he added in the fact that the King planned to keep Astryn whether Rhys surrendered his Court or not.

"I can't do that," he muttered in defeat, "I can't give him that."

Azriel took in a sharp breath and then pushed aside the bitterness.

"It wouldn't have mattered anyway," the shadowsinger informed him grimly, "he planned to avoid actually following through, he would have made a loophole in the bargain so he could keep Astryn for himself." A look of betrayal flashed through Rhys's eyes, like he resented Azriel for leaving that out and letting him admit out loud that he would sacrifice her life. "From what I could tell, a daemati has some degree of control over her. Not complete control or she wouldn't be in faebane chains but enough control that she doesn't fight him."

"I take it you already have a plan," Rhys guessed, straightening up his posture slightly.

"We're going to summon Death and ask for his help."

Rhys's jaw almost dropped.

"You're going to...summon Death?" he repeated, slow and measured.

"You can join or you can continue wallowing," Azriel snapped before turning and leaving.

Rhys followed him to the dining room where the rest of the group were well into an argument about the idea of gathering an Illyrian unit to take to Hybern on the rescue mission of Death couldn't help.

The argument was cut short when they caught sight of Rhys out of his room and not looking like he was going to punch anyone who stood too close to him. He squared his shoulders and tucked his hands into his pockets and exuded false confidence.

"So," the High Lord drawled out, "we're going to summon Death."