Hello! I am very very very very very sorry about the delay in this story. In all honesty, I just lost inspiration. Then I read Empire of Storms and started to get it back, and it all came to a head this morning when I had plot bunnies jumping around my head and character development/motivation blah blah blah. Anyway, I'm very sorry, but I've got the rough plot sorted out, and here's the next chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, save the plot. The characters, and the world, all belong to Sarah J. Maas.
The image of that dead man seemed to be permanently scarred on the back of Dorian's eyelids as he walked away. Even so, as morbid as it sounded, he wished that was all he was thinking about. He wished that the only thing on his mind was what a difficult job Chaol would be having trying to track down the killer - or whatever you called a person who tore apart their victim before killing them. Dorian assumed it would be someone like that murderer one of the lords had dredged up for the competition: Bill Chastain, the Eye Eater, or something like that.
But no. Sadly, it was not the only thing on his mind, which was a whirlwind of confusion, suspicion, and recollection.
Celaena Sardothien had looked vaguely familiar, he couldn't help but muse. And not just from that alleged meeting all those months ago, at the festival with the party from Melisande. The fall of her straight bright hair, like sunbeams, the gold core to those fiery eyes that seemed to threaten to turn to flame at the slightest provocation, her haughty mannerisms. . . It was all very strange, just how much they reminded him of something he couldn't pinpoint.
He thought with a short laugh that she and Aedion Ashryver looked surprisingly similar, with their hair, and their eyes, and their. . . By the Wyrd, in hindsight they were identical. Right down to the arrogance lined in their faces, and the confidence with which they strutted.
It was almost funny, a criminal and a general looking like twins. Two sides of the same metallic coin. Perhaps they were related. Did Celaena Sardothien come from Wendlyn? That was where the Ashryver's originated from, wasn't it?
Shaking his head to clear a little space, Dorian let another thought shove that one aside. Namely, the implied death threat.
In all honesty, if it wasn't for the fact that both Aedion and Chaol had warned him of his father's potential intentions, he wouldn't have taken it seriously. If it had just been the Wolf of the North jeering at him, Dorian would have merely dismissed it as bitter scaremongering tactics. In fact, he probably would have assumed that the King of Adarlan himself had instructed the general to plant that rumour, if only to terrorise his disrespectful son into watching his back whilst he showed his characteristic open disdain for his father's decisions. And if it was Chaol on his own, Dorian would have just waved it off as the hysterical ramblings of a concerned best friend turned paranoid Captain of the Guard.
But both of them telling him he needed to watch his back?
Maybe he really needed to watch it.
Especially with an assassin currently being kept in the castle dungeons, prime for his father's employment and usage.
He swallowed surreptitiously, casting a swift, slightly shady glance over his shoulder at the thought, and shuddered with relief, feeling something in him unclench as he realised he'd passed out of the glass castle.
However, whatever cord that had loosened at the revelation was drawn taut enough to snap when he heard the familiar - not to mention dreaded - voice call "Your Highness!" with an eagerness that caused nausea to roll over in his gut with a sensation peculiarly similar to constipation.
He plastered a stiff, polite smile on his face as he turned to face the owner of said voice, resignation settling in a coil in his stomach. "Lady Kaltain," he greeted with faux cheer, gritting his teeth against the irritation as he gave a short but sufficient bow. When he straightened up, he did his best to look anywhere but her face, and his gaze landed on her companion.
The girl - or woman - looked about Dorian's own age, but that was where the similarities stopped. She held herself with a grace and purpose that his lazy posture could never imitate, and her features were fine and set - regal. Her skin was the colour of chocolate, which insinuated she was from somewhere near Fenharrow or Eyllwe, and bands of beaten gold encircled her wrists, her sandal-clad feet and ankles, and her brow, marking her as a relative of royalty at the very least. Her ivory dress was simple, and well fitting - a far cry from some of the more pompous and elaborate dress styles one saw in the heart of Rifthold. Two heavily muscled armed guards flanked her, laden with weapons, and scrutinised Dorian with an intensity that scared him.
For once, it only took Dorian a few moments to recall what his father had informed him: that Princess Nehemia of Eyllwe was coming to stay with them for a indefinite period of time to learn their culture and language better. "So she might better know how to serve her people," he remembered the King sneering.
Dorian hastily bowed again, this one much deeper and more respectful. He'd heard stories of Nehemia's bravery from some of the sporadic slaves from Eyllwe that came to work in the castle, tales of how she sacrificed everything for her people. Even if they were technically enemies, he had to admire her.
He could feel appraising eyes scorching the back of his head whilst he bowed, and he had the sinking feeling they weren't the guards'.
"Your Highness," he intoned, nodding politely at the Princess. She offered him a quick smile, a flash of startling white, and said something to him in return in Eyllwe.
He fumbled through his brain in an attempt to find his tenuous grasp of the language, smiling and nodding all the while even though, if he was honest with himself, he had no idea what she was saying. Finally his gaze slid to Kaltain with a desperacy that probably didn't befit a prince, but she didn't seem to mind, and brightened noticeably at the attention.
"Your Highness," she simpered. "As I'm sure you've heard, Princess Nehemia here is staying with us for a little while to understand our court." She said the word Princess with a slight sneer, a faint stress of sarcasm lacing her voice. "Princess, this is His Royal Highness The Crown Prince Dorian."
Nehemia dropped into a curtsy, the folds of her dress brushing the polished stone floor like moonlight on water, just low enough to be acceptable, just shallow enough to be slightly mocking. Again, he had to admire her spirit.
He offered her his hand, and she shook it. When she released it she reached her fingers to his brow and brushed her fore finger over it in a strange pattern for a moment. He saw something reflected in her eyes before she pulled away, but he nevertheless dismissed it as a strange Eyllwe custom.
It couldn't be magic, after all.
Kaltain continued speaking, flicking a lock of raven hair over her shoulder in a manner that was so flirtatious Dorian was slightly sickened. "His Majesty requested I show our visitor around the castle, at the recommendation of Duke Perrington. Only, I'm afraid I don't speak Eyllwe particularly well. I always struggled with languages as a girl." She batted her long eyelashes and Dorian's stomach gave a lurch. "Would you mind accompanying us as translator? I would be so grateful."
"I'd love to escort you two lovely ladies around the wonders of Rifthold," came a voice. It was accompanied by the rise and fall of echoing, heavy footsteps down the corridor. Dorian never thought he'd be grateful to hear Aedion Ashryver speak, but here he was, fighting the urge to kiss the ground the man walked on. "That is, provided it isn't too much of a bother?"
Kaltain's pretty face was the picture of disappointment for an instant, before it melted into that charming façade she always wore, the one that explicitly marked her as a gold digger. "Oh no, not at all, General," she replied sweetly, accepting Aedion's offered arm with only the faintest tinge of disgust marring her smooth features. "I'd love that." She looked back over at him, and caught Dorian like a bug in honey with her big eyes, stiff as a rod. "Won't you come with us, Dorian?"
He shook his head, slowly at first, then with more vigour, hastily stepping back towards the stairwell, for an instant not caring how rude he must seem. "No, honestly, I need to go. I'll see you at dinner, Your Highness," he addressed Nehemia. She gave him an imperial nod in return, a small smile playing about her lips, and Dorian had a sudden panicked moment where he thought she probably didn't know what he was saying.
But he was away before he could dredge up his language teachings, and reiterate his statement in her own language. She'd just have to make do.
Aedion scrutinised the Crown Prince's back as he strode down the corridor, and allowed himself a moment to chuckle internally over how little propriety Dorian had used when addressing the princess. Perhaps he thought he was being subtle about his ignorance of her language, perhaps not. Either way he'd made a fool out of himself.
He turned to their visitor. "My name is Aedion Ashryver, Your Highness," he introduced in the common tongue, bowing, and she nodded her understanding. She offered him her hand, and he shook it. The skin was calloused in all the places they would be from holding a sword. Aedion's eyebrows rose. Perhaps the rumours about her involvement with the Eyllwe rebels were true.
If she could help him get Aelin out, and they could join forces to battle the King. . .
Nehemia said something then in Eyllwe, as they continued walking, and Aedion's head shot up to cast her an apologetic look, indicating he hadn't been listening. Nehemia laughed softly, though seemingly without mockery, and Kaltain cast them both an irritated glance, like she couldn't be asked to escort them when she had no idea what they were saying. It softened into polite meekness once Nehemia and her guards were looking at her, but Aedion caught it and shot her the roguish grin that had contributed to his reputation as Adarlan's Whore.
Kaltain scowled briefly.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Aedion said to the princess in halting but adequate Eyllwe. He wasn't sure whether her gaze was disdainful or forgiving. "Could you repeat what you said?"
Aedion's knowledge was by no means insufficient when it came to linguistics. Rhoe Galathynius had hired only the best tutors to teach him and Aelin, and that included in languages. Though most travellers now spoke the common tongue, the cousins had worked hard at every language, fearful of ruining Terrasen's flawless reputation with the other nations. It had been a while since he learnt it, but he'd once been fluent, and even if he struggled to form sentences, he could understand them easily enough.
Which was why he met the princess's boldness with no small amount of surprise when she commented offhandedly in her home tongue, "I heard Celaena Sardothien was being held in the castle dungeons until she gets shipped off to Endovier." A slight spark of anger skipped in Nehemia's eyes, and Aedion understood why; the mention of one death camp surely ignited unwanted thoughts of the other one, where Eyllwe slaves were usually sent: Calaculla. "Could we perhaps visit her?"
Aedion froze, then glanced at Kaltain, who looked severely put out by her ignorance. "Why would you want to see her? She's just an assassin." He asked hesitantly, still in Eyllwe. Dorian and Chaol may be naïve enough not to notice the undeniable similarities between himself and Aelin, but Nehemia. . .
She was clearly too smart for it to go uncommented.
She huffed an exasperated sigh. "The greatest and most notorious assassin in all of Erilea. Why wouldn't I want to see her? Besides," she added. "She'll probably make better conversation than all of you preening palace ponces, even if I do have to speak in the common tongue."
Aedion had no doubt that Aelin would in fact be able to hold a conversation with her in Eyllwe, seeing as his cousin seemed just as cultured as she had been at age nine, but he didn't comment.
He couldn't take her down there; she could easily betray them to the King. And whilst it was clear that she hated the man with a passion, the rumours of her rebel involvement were just that: rumours. He couldn't risk his queen's life for a potential ally. . . "I'm not sure we'd be allowed down there." He said as a last resort.
The look she gave him clearly conveyed how little she thought of him in that moment. She tossed her braided hair; the gold woven into it clinked inconspicuously. "I am the Princess of Eyllwe," she said decisively, surprising Aedion by saying these forceful words in the common language. Her pronunciation was perfect, grammar completely natural. "I may go wherever I please."
And Aedion laughed to himself at the ruse she'd pulled. It was certainly a smart one, and once glance at Kaltain told him that she hadn't picked up on it.
Nehemia's eyes twinkled at she looked at him, with an eyebrow raised in question. Her guards stood stoic behind her. That was when it hit him: she was testing him to see if they could become allies in the war both of them were planning on stirring. She was evaluating his trustworthiness.
She'd purposefully revealed a secret to him; now he had to reveal a secret to her. And he wondered vaguely if she didn't already know who, exactly, the King held in his castle.
"Very well," he said in Eyllwe. Then he switched to the common tongue with a knowing smirk at Nehemia and shot at Kaltain, who still had no idea what was happening, "Let's head down then."
Aedion crinkled his nose as he descended into the dungeons, Nehemia and her guards in tow. Kaltain had left them alone, saying she had a horror of a headache coming on and that she needed to rest. The princess didn't flinch as she stepped into the dank and dark stairwell, nor as Aedion barked commands at the soldiers to let him past, conducting himself with his usual swagger that had people turning away with lowered eyes.
This time was no different. He strode through belligerently, right to the end where Aelin's cell was. His cousin looked like she'd been trying to get some sleep, curled up in a ball on the floor, but then he noticed how she ensured her head was in the patch of sunlight that shone through, and her gaze was fixed on the sky.
He wondered whether she would stay in that position right until sunset, until the constellation he knew she was looking for came out into the part of the sky she gazed at, and she would know the way home.
He didn't think either of them would get the chance to find out.
She looked up when she heard them come, and didn't react to the big burly guards that walked in front of them, nor the sight of Aedion, giving her a tight lipped smile. Even when she saw - and no doubt recognised - Nehemia, the only reaction she gave was a raising of one fair brow.
The two princesses surveyed each other through the bars, and for a moment Aedion forgot which one was in the cage.
Nehemia said softly, "Celaena Sardothien."
It wasn't a question. For a moment the hollow name hung in the air between them, like an object being held up to the light to be examined, only for the beholder to realise it was made of smoke. Aelin was the first to look away, glancing at her scarred hands, but not soon enough for any of them to miss the Wyrdmark which burned on her brow for a brief moment, before it faded again. The blue in Aelin's eyes dulled to a watery grey in the sudden dimming of the gold in them.
The cell was a small one, and was Aelin sitting on her cloak near the front. Nehemia kneeled and reached through the bars, and lightly rested her three fingers on Aelin's forehead. The guards didn't react to their princess' proximity to an assassin; perhaps Nehemia had actually planned this out. His cousin looked up, and her gaze clashed with Nehemia's.
The princess of Eyllwe, in her own tongue, very quietly, said, "Your eyes are so much prettier with the fire in them, princess. Don't let him put it out."
Aelin glanced down again, and Nehemia stood, retracting her hand. She didn't brush the grime from her dress before she swept out.
Aedion and Aelin shared a wordless look. Looking after her, they both knew they had found their first ally.
I rewrote this chapter, adding some things to what I published before, and adding Aedion's PoV onto the end rather than put it in the next chapter.
What did you think? Review?