Acotar retelling

Under the Mountain

The Attor kept its icy grip on my upper arm as it half dragged me to the throne room. It didn't bother to strip me of my weapons. We both knew they were of little use.

Rhys. My court. Alis and her boys. My sisters. Lucien. I silently chanted their names again and again as the Attor loomed above me, a demon of malice. Its leathery wings rustled occasionally. The Attor just tugged me onward with that slithering gait, its clawed feet making leisurely scratches on the cave floor.

Leering faces—cruel and harsh—watched me go by, none of them looking remotely concerned or disturbed that I was in the claws of the Attor. Faeries—lots of them—but few High Fae to be seen.

We strode through two ancient, enormous stone doors and into a vast chamber carved from pale rock, upheld by countless carved pillars. That small part of me noted that the carvings weren't just ornate designs, but actually depicted faeries and High Fae and animals in various environments and states of movement. Countless stories of Prythian were etched on them. Chandeliers of jewels hung between the pillars, staining the red marble floor with colour. Here were the High Fae.

An assembled crowd took up most of the space, some of them dancing to strange, off-kilter music, some milling about chatting—a party of sorts. I thought I spied some glittering masks among the attendees, but everything was a blur of sharp teeth and fine clothing. The Attor hurled me forward, and the world spun.

The cold marble floor was unyielding as I slammed into it, my bones groaning and barking. I pushed myself up, sparks dancing in my eyes, but stayed on the ground, kept low, as I beheld the dais before me. A few steps led onto the platform. I lifted my head higher.

There, lounging on a black throne, was Amarantha.

Then I looked to the black rock throne beside her.

He was still wearing that golden mask, his eyes didn't widen; his mouth didn't tighten. No claws, no fangs. He just stared at me, unfeeling—unmoved. Unimpressed.

"What's this?" Amarantha said, her voice lilting despite the adder's smile she gave me. From her neck hung a long, thin chain—and from it dangled a single, age-worn bone the size of a finger.

"Just a human thing I found downstairs," the Attor hissed, and a forked tongue darted out between its razor-sharp teeth. It flapped its wings once, blasting foul-smelling air at me, and then neatly tucked them behind its skeletal body.

"Obviously," Amarantha purred. I avoided meeting her eyes, focusing on Tamlin's brown boots. He was ten feet from me—ten feet, and not saying a word, not even looking horrified or angry. "But why should I bother with her?"

The Attor chuckled, the sound like sizzling water on a griddle, and a taloned foot jabbed my side. "Tell Her Majesty why you were sneaking around the catacombs—why you came out of the old cave that leads to the Spring Court."

The Attor kicked me again, and I winced as its claws bit into my ribs. "Tell Her Majesty, you human filth."

I needed time—I needed to figure out my surroundings, I eased to my feet and stared at Amarantha's glittering golden gown rather than meet her eyes.

"I came to claim the one I love," I said quietly. Perhaps the curse could still be broken. I looked at Tamlin..

"Oh?" Amarantha said, leaning forward.
"I've come to claim my High Lord."
A gasp rippled through the assembled court. But Amarantha tipped back her head and laughed—a raven's caw.
The High Queen turned to Tamlin, and her lips pulled back in a wicked smile. "You certainly were busy all those years. Developed a taste for human beasts, did you?"
He said nothing, his face impassive.
"But," Amarantha said slowly. I could sense the Attor and the entire court looming behind me. "It makes me wonder—if only one human girl could be taken once she killed your sentinel ..." Her eyes sparked. "Oh, you are delicious. You let me torture that innocent girl to keep this one her hands, and Tamlin merely looked away from her, the only reaction I'd seen from him.