A Court of Serpents and Saints

Prologue

Rhysand dawned the mask he had worn for centuries: the one he had perfectly crafted to hide any trace of genuine emotion. He watched silently, face neutral, as his mate recanted the contents of her vivid dream. But inside he was tormented with a tempest of emotion: rage, fear, guilt, and shame all swept through him.

His cousin, sensing his internal turmoil, pinned him to his seat with her gaze. He refused to look at her, letting his violet eyes instead rest on the sleeve of his black suit, suddenly finding an invisible piece of lint incredibly fascinating.

So much had happened in the last few days, since Feyre had awoken from her dream. She had been hesitant to tell him what had happened, for fear that it might not have been real. But after she had let Rhyand into her mind to witness the dream first hand he knew what they needed to do.

It had been Amren they had told first. Together, the three of them had searched the library... desperate to find any information they had on Dream Walking. Their search had been successful.

Dream Walking was the spell that Amarantha had used to confine Jurian to eye and bone. It was a horrific spell: a spell that prevented your soul from moving on, no matter what happened to your worldly body. Your worldly body could be torn to shreds, stripped away to only bone. Nevertheless your soul would remain... under the total control of the spellcaster.

It was a nightmare scenario.

  Once they knew exactly what spell was being used they had told Mor. Rhysand's cousin was quick to remind everyone that she had seen this spell used once before... Queen Iseult, the Queen of the Black Lands, had used it on Rhysand's sister during the first war with Hybern.

All Rhysand wanted now was answers. He wanted this horrific uncertainty which fought within him to end. Once Feyre was done explaining he expected to get those answers... by any means necessary.

Rhysand turned his attention to the human male who lounged across from him. The room had fallen completely silent as Feyre finished. But Jurian sat as still and silent as a statue. He relished in their desperation, a jester's smile carved into his stony face, an expression that only a person who had experienced true madness could muster.

When Jurian finally spoke he laughed, propping his legs up as if he were in the comfort of his own home, "I was wondering when you all would figure it out."

Mor was the one who found her voice first, her words clipped and tone calculated, "Jurian, we didn't bring you here for your games. We brought you here to confirm that it's possible that-"

The human raised his hand to cut her off, "Your sister is alive, Rhysand. Her soul at least. Is that what you dragged me here to confirm?"

Jurian looked at him and Rhysand could hardly stand it. Rhysand hated those eyes, that one eye, the eye that had watched him endure fifty years of torture and torment. Rhysand fought the urge to turn Jurian into mist. Instead, clenching the arms of his chair. As he did so the wood shattered under his grip.

We have almost everything we need, Rhys. Please. Just a little longer. Feyre's voice swept into his mind, right past his defenses, like a night-kissed wind. Though he wanted to tear the human male to shreds, Rhysand obeyed his mate and retracted his claws, leaning back in his broken chair.

Amren took control, moving on from Rhysand's outburst quickly in a tone that was sharp enough to cut, 'Why didn't you tell us sooner, boy?"

"I didn't even know if she would want to return after what we went through," Jurian's voice was suddenly immensely serious.

"That wasn't your call to make," Feyre argued.

"Cursebreaker, you suffered under Amarantha for a few months... and she wanted you alive," Jurian snarled, "Imagine how much different it would have been, how much more you would have endured, if you were unbreakable... unkillable. Contrary to popular belief, you can still harm a soul. She could do whatever she wanted to us."

It was just as horrific as Rhysand had known it would be. Hearing it from Juiran made it real. The truth crushed his heart. He had hoped for so long that his sister had found peace in her final resting place. He had finally been able to make his own peace with her death. But all of that was for naught.

"We know the High Lord of the Spring Court has her wings locked up in his manor. But we need you to confirm that Amarantha had The Princess' soul in her possession," Amren asked, as she spoke Rhysand could hardly bear the emotionless formality in her tone.

"Didn't you ever wonder how Amaratha knew so much about you?"

Though Rhysand's eyes were closed he knew that Jurian was looking at him. The human's voice held an uncharacteristic softness as he explained "I didn't even know Amarantha had the princess' soul for the first few centuries. My soul was held in Hybern, where I was tortured alone. But in those last fifty years Amarantha brought us both under the mountain. I suppose, the princess finally had her use. Amarantha would use her to try to get information on you, Rhysand."

The room was silent as the weight of his admission settled over them.

"Your sister... She was so strong. She never gave up Velaris. She never gave up your friends. But Starfall being your favorite... That was one of the worst nights of my life. I'll never forget the night she gave that up. Amarantha would always make me watch as she tortured Asryana, but that night-"

"Don't speak her name," Rhys barked, his voice more animal than fae. He could hardly contain his rage, his pain. His inability to ever truly find solace gnawed at him like a hungry wolf on clean bones. How dare Jurian speak her name? Rhys himself could hardly speak her name. So the High Lord of the Night Court roared, "Get out of here."

Threantening all-consuming darkness recoiled around the room, bearing down on them all with the ferocity of night. Jurian instantly obliged, he bolted straight for the door, but right as his fingers rested on the knob he stopped. Without turning back the human male asked, "Didn't any of you ever consider how the King of Hybern managed to get my soul?

"What do you mean?" Feyre asked.

"What I mean is, the cauldron was able to build me a body and reconnect it to my soul, but the King never had my soul," Jurian explained, as if it were a matter of fact, "He needed the original spellcaster to give him my soul."

"But Amarantha is dead," there was fear and fury behind Mor's words.

Amren explained, "Once a spellcaster is killed all of their active spells are bound to their killer and Amarantha's killer was-"

"Tamlin," Feyre exhaled, "Your soul... Your soul belonged to Tamlin."

"The beast offered my soul to Hybern as part of the exchange to get you back," Jurian said, "I don't know where the princess is, but wherever she is... Tamlin has her."

Rhysand couldn't breathe.

The world had totally lost its focus.

Asryana, his only sister, was alive.

And her soul was bound to Tamlin.