A Court of Death || ACOTAR

86

Astryn hated war. Obviously she hated war. But her reaction to it was...somehow less she had expected. She had expected to be terrified of the battles and the deaths and all the horrors, but she found that she was less terrified than she had been when she was trapped in Hybern and powerless, or than she had been when she was powerless growing up in that cave. She knew that it was because she was not powerless now. She was not a tool to be used, not a thing to be bred.

No, she had realized, she was not either of those things when it came to war.

Here, on the battlefields, she was a force. She was a well of power far deeper than any of the High Lords possessed. She was someone the enemy faltered when they looked at.

Even in this battle, when the tides were turning against them, she knew she could make the difference.

She knew, as Hybern soldiers began closing in around Cassian, that she could make the difference. No one could get to him, not with how many soldiers circled him. But she could call on that death-fueled power and make them all drop dead. The ones surrounding him, and the ones nearest to her. And then she just had to hope it was someone on their side and not one of Hybern's soldiers who got to her first when she collapsed from it.

She drove down into the well of her power, past that High Fae magic into something darker and deeper. Her eyes flickered a darker color, and somewhere in the distance—too far in the distance for him to be the one to get to her—she heard Rhys scream at her not to do it. She heard Cassian's roar of protest only moments later as he too realized what she was going to do. Azriel did not make a sound. He only began fighting his opponent more fiercely because he knew Astryn would not heed the warnings, and he needed to get to her as quickly as he could, before she dropped after unleashing all that power.

Astryn did not listen to Rhys or Cassian, just as Azriel knew she wouldn't. The power filled her, begging to be released. This time, it did not require a verbal command. It shot out in all directions, maneuvering around their allies to target the enemy. All at once, hundreds of Hybern soldiers dropped dead.

And Astryn's power and energy was spent. Rhys was racing towards her from one angle, Cassian from another, and Azriel from further away. And Hybern soldiers who hadn't been reached by her burst of death. It was a mad mix of winnowing and sprinting and flying to see who would reach her first as her body sagged and she felt herself begin to drift. There were other Illyrians close enough to reach her first. She could hear Cassian barking orders at them, demanding they grab her and fly her away from their enemies reach. Not a single one of them dared to touch her, not when they still believed she was a witch. When Cassian's orders were ignored, it was Rhys screaming out—demanding they get her to safety. Still, the Illyrians nearby made no move to grab her as her knees gave out and she dropped to the ground.

She was fading from consciousness, only a vague sense of awareness tethering her to the waking world as her eyes fell shut. She was swooped upset into unfamiliar arms. She did not know if it was Hybern or an Illyrian or one of their other allies who had reached her first. The last thing she heard was a scream from Azriel, a sound so agonized and fearful that she could only assume it was the enemy carrying her.

She lost consciousness just as an Illyrian she had not known was racing across the battlefield to her swooped down and drove a spear through the eye and out of the back of the head of the Hybern soldier holding her. Before the dead soldier could drop her, the Illyrian dove down, twisting so his wings barely brushed against the ground, and grabbed her. Arrows went sailing through the air at him as he held her and flew her away from the front lines, far from anywhere Hybern had breached. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel set about killing anyone shooting at the Illyrian carrying Astryn. Rhys was nearly drained himself, but he rallied the last bits of his power to mist an arrow that certainly would have found a home in the Illyrian's neck.

They did not stop until it was over, until they knew she could not be pursued by their enemy. And then they rushed in the direction she had been taken.

"Where is she?" Rhys bellowed as they stormed through the camp when they found her tent empty. "Where is my sister?"

"Here," the Illyrian who had rescued her answered, poking his head out of the healer's tent, "in here." In the relative calm, Rhys finally recognized him as one of the only Illyrians who had allowed Astryn to tend to his wounds, the one who had said they should be calling her a god instead of a witch.

The trio stormed into the tent and the Illyrian gave them a wide berth, watching as they surrounded Astryn and looked for any signs of physical wounds to be treated. There were none.

It was Azriel who went to the male first. His expression was usually intimidating but unreadable in the presence of any Illyrian besides Cassian or Rhys. The male had never seen the shadowsinger so...he couldn't even think of the right word for it. Unguarded, perhaps. Shadows did not obscure his figure, did not cling to him as they usually did. And Azriel tipped his head down into a bow that left the male even more stunned.

"Thank you," the shadowsinger told him, "thank you."

"Whatever your rank is, forget it," Cassian spoke up, "you answer only to me and him." He jerked his head towards Rhys at the last word. "Consider this a promotion."

The male opened his mouth to remind Cassian that bastards couldn't be promoted, and then promptly shut it again when he remembered that Cassian himself was a bastard and had risen to become the commander of the entire Illyrian force.

"Understood," he said instead of dwelling on any of the reasons a promotion wasn't entirely feasible. It could happen in name, but the others would never respect him.

"Where's your tent?" Rhys questioned. "I'm having everything upgraded."

"You don't have to do that," the male replied, "I only did what any of those cowards standing around her should have done."

"They defied a direct order from their General and their High Lord," Rhys seethed, "coward is not enough of an insult. They would have watched that Hybern prick leave with my sister."

"I didn't grab her away from him for a reward," the male told him, "leave my tent as it is." He didn't bother to argue with the reward from Cassian, because he knew it would be pointless anyway. Whether Cassian promoted him or not, nothing would really change. He stared at Rhys for a few seconds before he said, "they might have tried to save her if they truly believed what the King of Hybern did to her is a crime. But they don't. Or, at least, enough of them don't that the ones who do aren't bold enough to say so. It's what happens when powerful males are left unchecked, I suppose. You reap what you sow, High Lord. But it won't ever be you who pays that price. It wouldn't be you suffering if that soldier had gotten away with her."

"I am trying to make things better," Rhys murmured, "it takes time to deconstruct an entire culture. Any progress I had made was lost when I was trapped for forty nine years."

"Try harder," the male snapped, his tone coming as a shock even to himself, "as long as none of them see it for the atrocity it is, they won't ever move to help her."

Rhys nodded, because he couldn't argue.

The male cast one last look towards Astryn, still unconscious, and then stormed away.