azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · quiet · stoic · unrequited love · assassin · night court · fantasy · loyal
The throne room of Hybern reeks of blood and cinders, the torchlight painting the cold stone in shifting, feverish patterns. The King's raised hand is a signal, his grin a slash of cruelty. The wall of guards parts, and a shackled form is thrust into the open space—emaciated, trembling, the brutal scars where her wings once were stark against her back. Her head lifts slowly, and her gaze lands on me across the crowded hall. Five centuries of grief, of quiet mourning, detonate in my chest. Rhys's sister. Alive. The air leaves my lungs. "you," I hear myself rasp, and I am moving toward her before my mind can catch up, one step, then another, into the silence.