Aelin's hands shook slightly as she rose. She clenched them behind her back in an effort to still them.
Elentiya.
A phantom pain shot through her heart, as though a wound was attempting to heal. A good hurt.
Elentiya.
The name that had broken her once, long ago. When she had not been Aelin, not been anything at all. Barely Celaena, her ragged edges splintered and sharp as a broken mirror.
To hear it now, from the lips of the friend who had bestowed it on her…
She was not sure she was awake.
For a cruel moment, her mind was back with Maeve.
Maeve had done this. She had woven illusions such as this, entire lifetimes played out over an indefinite length of time. Aelin did not know how long she had been with her, but when she was ripped from the fantasy her torture felt that much worse.
She had woven dreams of a life without the Valg, a life where she had gone to the Torre Cesme and became a healer. A life where she had met a young, innocent Rowan who did not know the harsh reality of loss.
But there was something always off.
Details were missing, the stitching of a shirt just off, or the length of hair slightly uneven. Or the world would be tinted - enough for the feeling of unnatural wrong to persist but never enough to pinpoint what.
And so, even as Aelin's hands shook behind her back, clasping at the fabric there, her eyes scanned the room.
It was raining. It smelt like earth and damp.
Chaol was standing beside her, his gaze bewildered. His eagle winged sword pommel rested at his hip, close enough to draw if need be.
Kaltain stood to the side, her gaze a blank stare of boredom. Aelin's eyes lingered on her and then moved to the guards. Two trailed behind Nehemia. They were her own personal guards and carried curved daggers from Eyllwe.
Nehemia looked alive.
Her eyes were full of life and energy and her gaze seemed to say 'Do not worry. All will be well.'
And as much as she was furious at her, as she wanted to rage and burn at Nehemia for dying, Aelin let her lips curve into a smile.
It was not a smirk. It was not a cruel jagged twist of lips, a mockery of the symbol. No.
She would not wear Celaena's mask in front of the woman who died to unveil Aelin.
She took a step forward.
The guards moved as if to stop her, but Nehemia raised her hand to halt them. Aelin lowered her head.
"Welcome, Your Highness," she said, in Eyllwe. She saw Chaol jerk his head towards her his eyebrows furrowing. "Have you arrived in Rifthold today?"
"I arrived some short time ago." said Nehemia. They were not talking about Rifthold anymore. "Perhaps we can discuss my journey at a later date?"
Aelin inclined her head and pushed.
"How about a later time?"
She wanted to talk to her friend, her friend who had died for her, who had done everything for her country -
Nehemia's lips twitched but her eyes were clouded.
Kaltain spoke up then, her eyebrows arched.
"I'm afraid I didn't understand a word you said." She gave a small, fake laugh.
Aelin turned her eyes to her and considered her.
If she had returned, if Nehemia and Rowan had returned… Why did it seem like no one else had? Why was it just them?
"We were just talking the weather, " Nehemia said with her accent emphasised. Aelin smirked slightly. She had almost forgotten how convincing Nehemia had been.
"About the weather, you mean." Kaltain eyebrows seemed too high on her forehead. A twinge of annoyance shot through her, but she stepped back.
"Your Highness, " she said, after a pointed glance at Kaltain which the lady ignored. "Would you care to join me for a walk? Chaol was just showing me around the castle."
Not entirely a lie.
Chaol seemed to twitch and glanced between the two girls. One, a foreign royalty. The other an assassin. What could they possibly have in common?
Nehemia smiled then. It was small but it seemed true.
"Yes, I would like to walk," She kept her accent thick.
"Now wait two minutes -" protested a man who Aelin hadn't noticed at all. He was small and cowering, his face steadily turning a bright shade of crimson. His hands were clutching a handkerchief which he had been dabbing t his sweaty forehead.
The councilman.
"You can't just -"
Nehemia's eyes simmered slightly, but before she could say a word she was cut off.
"I'm sure that's not necessary," Dorian came from around the corner. Aelin's heart jumped out of her chest when she saw who he had arrived with. "I'll accompany them myself."
The councilman's small, piggy eyes flickered between Dorian and Nehemia. Whatever small courage he had gathered to speak out against Aelin had vanished at the sight of the heir.
"Yes, of course, Your Highness." He said, bowing lowly. He gave Chaol a small nod, and walked quickly down the corridor, almost running in his haste to leave Dorian.
Aelin returned her eyes to the figure of Rowan standing next to Dorian. She saw him glance at Nehemia and then look at her with concern.
Are you okay?
His eyes asked. Her smile grew.
More than ever, Buzzard.
Rowan's lips twitched.
Aelin felt like she could fly. Is this what Rowan felt when he turned into a hawk? This airy freedom of endless possibilities?
Dorian had been sucked into a conversation with Kaltain and looked desperately at Chaol for relief. Chaol, for his part, was standing slightly apart and offering no assistance to his friend.
Nehemia caught Aelin's eyes. She smiled at her, knowing more than guessing who the fae was.
"And who is this?" She asked, in Eyllwe.
Rowan bowed to her and Aelin loved him all the more. Nehemia smile grew.
Before Rowan could explain, Aelin did.
"Rowan Whitethorn, from Doranelle. He's kept me company in this dull place." Aelin grinned at Nehemia.
She laughed.
"A fairly large task keeping this one entertained," Rowan's smirk gave a small flash of his teeth.
Aelin's eyes narrowed playfully at him.
"I'm afraid my Eyllwe needs some more work," Dorian interjected, taking another means to avoid small talk with Kaltain. Kaltain's eyes cooled significantly when she looked at Aelin, Nehemia and Rowan.
Aelin stepped a little farther from her and closer to Rowan. Rowan's fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach out and pull her near him.
Territorial fae male.
Rowan's eyes flicked at her and his twitching lip curled higher into a small smile. She thought he could almost head the eyeroll she wanted to give.
"I'm sure there's plenty of time for you to learn," Rowan was suave as ever, manoeuvring the conversation.
Aelin turned to Dorian.
"We were just discussing dinner - Nehemia and Rowan expressed an interest in joining me."
Chaol eyebrows furrowed.
"Did you and Prince Rowan not have lunch together yesterday?"
"Is it a crime to enjoy another's company more than once?"
Dorian's eyebrows shot up.
"You had lunch together yesterday?" He asked, looking accusingly at Chaol. Aelin rolled her eyes. Dorian's initial distrust of her had been cumbersome.
"I - I regretfully did not join them." Chaol seemed reluctant to say.
Dorian's eyes turned colder, his lips pursing subtly before quirking into a fake courtesan- trained smile.
"Oh, how disappointing!" Dorian aimed his words Rowan, his displeasure at an assassin being left alone with a foreign diplomat clear. "We must join you today."
Chaol exchanged a glance with Dorian, and whatever he found there led him to nod in grudging agreement.
Aelin caught Rowan's eye, and raised her eyebrow slightly as if to say, What now?
Nehemia coughed slightly.
"Perhaps another time?" she asked in her thick accent. "I find myself fatigued from the journey."
Chaol gave a subtle sigh of relief.
"Of course," Dorian replied smoothly, offering Nehemia his arm. Aelin stifled a laugh when Nehemia ignored it and continued to walk on.
"And you, Rowan?" She asked, her lips tugging up.
Rowan's gaze found hers and he returned the smirk.
Are you trying to infuriate them?
I'd love a little help, Buzzard.
Rowan's lip twitched slightly higher.
"I can't abandon my duty so quickly, my lady,"
Nehemia caught Aelin's eye, both of them grinning.
Chaol's shoulders tensed and even Dorian looked slightly uneasy but spoke up readily enough.
"Your duty?"
Rowan's smile cooled several degrees, gaining a sharpness to them.
"Of course - Liliana," Rowan's lips adopted a wry edge, "is a difficult lady to entertain."
"And those books I had sent from the royal library weren't enough?"
"Never - I finished them last night"
Of course, she hadn't. But she had read them before, Dorian had sent her the same ones the first time around and she had no desire to read them again. Perhaps he would send her some new ones.
"Difficult indeed." Dorian was smooth, and he exchanged an amused look with Rowan.
They walked further on in the courtyard, the path winding. It never strayed to any exit or training grounds, Dorian's presence keeping a keen watch on what they saw. They did pass the black clock tower - the key to the release of magic.
Aelin felt it's gaze on the back of her head as if it had eyes.
The conversation flowed steadily - Nehemia talked about Eyllwe and its people. She, in turn, talked about theatres and libraries and the arts in her own home (which was never named). Chaol chimed in occasionally, with wry comments but mostly kept out of it. Behind her trailed Rowan and Dorian, rekindling a kind of friendship. Rowan was a fae, and magic was abhorred in Adarlan. But he came with the protection of his reputation and that of his house, Whitethorn. And he and Dorian shared that experience of heirs who had never wanted to be heirs. She heard his cadre, and Dorian reciprocate with stories of Chaol.
The topic was steered cleanly by Rowan, about armies and combat.
"And what of the Wolf of the North?" He asked, smoothly. Aelin stuttered slightly in her response to Nehemia but continued determinedly, as if she had not one bit of care to what Rowan and Dorian were discussing.
"Ashryver?" Dorian asked surprised. "He's a good general - ruthless, but good."
"His reputation has spread as far as Doranelle," commented Rowan lightly.
"He left a few weeks ago for Terrasen, he's due back for regular check-ins every couple of months."
Dorian scowled slightly, his face betraying his distaste.
"Well," declared Aelin, forcing a smile. The gardens were slowly darkening, tinted orange with the sunset. "It seems about time for dinner?"
Nehemia clasped her hand. "We must meet again soon - and often. Teach me your language,"
"I would enjoy the company," Aelin's smile became a genuine curl.
Dorian glanced between the two, displeased but couldn't speak up. He exchanged a glance with Chaol, who after a moment strode forward and offered Nehemia his arm.
"Could I escort you to your rooms?"
Nehemia considered him for a moment and then accepted his offer. Together the two, trailed by her guards, walked down the corridor after brief goodbyes to Dorian and Rowan.
When they turned left and out of sight, Aelin looked at her two companions.
She gave Rowan a grin.
"Shall we?" She asked, and in imitation of Chaol, Rowan offered her his own arm. Aelin laughed, delighted and feeling happier than she could ever remember. Rowan was with her and Nehemia was alive. Aedion would be with her soon.
Dorian caught her gaze and seemed so struck by the obvious happiness in it.
"Dinner?" She prompted him.
They walked down the hall to her own room, her hand clasping Rowan tightly. Rowan walked closer to her side then strictly necessary, all the while keeping a smooth conversation running with Dorian. He knew that rare as it was, she did not want to speak. Words were useless.
Perhaps she could call Aedion here sooner. Nehemia was alive and together they would free the slaves from Endovier and Calculla. Maeve and Erawan felt like distant monsters, stories told in the darkness that disappeared in the light.
And this hope, these people that she had by her side - that was the light.
another chapter! not too much has happened in it, but i promise things will pick up quite a bit fairly soon. see you soon!