A Court of Death || ACOTAR

92

Astryn was exhausted. She had spent the day winnowing humans to safety, out of Hybern's path. She was resting now, curled up against Azriel's side.

The next battle came more quickly. Azriel still hadn't fully settled into the idea that he would not be on the battlefield with Astryn. He hadn't entirely healed yet, not even close. There was no chance he'd ever fly again if he did today, and he couldn't manage to walk without a limp yet. He grabbed Astryn's hand and pressed the hilt of Truth Teller into her palm.

"Take it," he murmured, "take it and use it to end the King."

"Promise me you won't try to fight," she demanded as her fingers curled around the hilt of that ancient dagger, "promise me you will stand down."

Azriel's jaw clenched but he nodded.

"Use that dagger. If your power...if you drain yourself, use it."

Astryn nodded.

Rhys gave some speech, but Astryn did not listen. She stared at Azriel, and then at Cassian, and then at Rhys. Then at Feyre. At Nesta. At Mor. At Elain. At Amren. And then finally Azriel again, memorizing every detail as if she worried she might never see him again.

The battlefield was a death trap. Hybern had every advantage. There would be death and destruction, more loss than they could take if there was to be another battle after this. And she knew she could prevent all of it.

"I know what you're thinking," Cassian murmured, his hand wrapping around her wrist, "and don't you dare. We will fight and we will win. You will not walk out there and sacrifice yourself."

Astryn knew she would do it if there was no other way to win, but she nodded anyway and said, "I won't. I promise."

The minutes before the battle truly began were long and torturous. Their armies were joined by Bryaxis, the Weaver—Stryga, and the Bone Carver when the charge began. Astryn strode across the battlefield. The Bone Carver sent her a wide grin as she misted Hybern soldiers. She cut through the enemy army until the Cauldron was dragged out. She knew the King wanted her alive still, knew he would not risk her being obliterated by the Cauldron. Knew that blast of raw power would be aimed at the skies—the Illyrians led by Cassian. It was only moments later that Nesta's ragged scream sounded across the battlefield. She was calling out to Cassian—knowing he would come for her, knowing he would go to her and it would spare him from that brutal death.

The next blast was aimed at the Bone Carver, wiping him from existence as if it was nothing at all. Stryga screamed. Astryn swore she could feel that ancient power's misery at the death of the Bone Carver.

Astryn charged across the battlefield as new allies arrived, some human and some Fae.

Amren had worked out some plan for the Cauldron, a plan that required her and all three Archeron sisters. A plan that required the King to be away from the Cauldron, or distracted from it at the very least. And she could make that happen. She cut across the field in explosions of power, wiping out any enemy in her way.

And then she made it, panting and nearly drained. Too drained to mist the King, to simply lash out with that easy magic and kill him.

"Oh, Astryn," the King purred, eyes raking over her, "I knew you'd come back to me. Are you here to beg for my forgiveness?"

"Would it work if I did?" she asked, diving into that well inside of her to try to summon up the remains of her power—to see if there was any left to end him swiftly. "Would you forgive me for denying you?"

His lips curled up into a grin before he responded, "why don't you get down on your knees and beg and then I'll give you an answer?"

She hid her disgust, her revulsion, and she stood tall.