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Feyre

"You're an idiot," Nesta hissed at me, as we straightened up and brushed of our dresses. Since our father had began to re-establish his career as a merchant, we'd started to enjoy a steadily increasing income. Although I still had to hunt if we wanted meat, as the prices had skyrocketed as the winter wore on, we were by no means starving anymore.

I'd told myself that soon, we could afford paint. We could already, but Nesta and Elain always needed new clothes, needed a new brooch that they saw in the village and just had to buy, needed only the best of vegetables to grace our table.

There was no space for a hobby between such desires.

But. . . Soon, I told myself. Soon, Elain and Nesta would be married - lords with eligible sons were already circling, keeping an eye on our family's profits as they crept upward - and my father and I could live in peace.

But right now, we had more pressing matters to worry about - like the faeries who thought they could just sack my village, and that we would take it lying down, like the dogs they thought we were. Hence the reason Nesta, Elain and I were loitering on the local lord's doorstep. My sisters' attire was the finest dresses we owned, and my own was the normal clothes I went hunting in - loose, comfortable, and easy to move quickly in.

Easy to blend into your surroundings in.

I'd taken note of Elain's fluttering excitement over the past few weeks whenever the lord's son, Grayson, was mentioned, and carefully catalogued it until a suspicion took root in my mind. Indeed, now, she seemed more nervous than warranted. True, it was Elain, but I had a funny feeling that wasn't the only reason.

"Are you out of your mind?" Nesta continued, even as she reached up to knock on the door, firmly, decisively. "I can't believe you're risking so much on the word of a faerie."

She spat the word, but it was quiet, more of an undertone than anything louder. I understood. It would not be a good idea to say such a hated word whilst on the threshold of a man who hated that species with a burning passion - enough to covet a grove of ash trees, surrounded by sky high walls. The door and the knocker were carved with symbols that I guessed dated back to when humans had been slaves to their immortal kind, and we had needed all the protection we could get.

Whether they worked or not was a mystery. Cleary the ones that passing charlatan had carved on our house had been completely useless. But maybe carved by someone with skill, or with words that actually mean something, they would work.

Or maybe we humans just needed something to believe in.

Whatever it was, the lord clearly believed in them. Or perhaps they were just for show. Nevertheless, his superstition highlighted him as a faerie hater, and that led me to believe that his walls hid a veritable forest of ash.

That's what I was hoping, at least.

Distinctive, crunching footsteps rung out from behind the wall. It was a monstrous, grey thing, ringing the entire estate and leaving outsiders to be evaluated and judged before even letting them set foot on the winding gravel path. But I kept my distaste well hidden as a stout, dark haired man swung the door open and squinted at us.

"You'll be Elain and Nesta Archeron, won't you?" He asked, looking at my sisters. Then he glanced past them, to me, and his brows crawled together like two great bushy caterpillars. He glanced between Nesta and me, no doubt taking note of our undeniable resemblance, and flicked his eyes to the side. casting his mind back - to what he'd last heard about the Archeron sisters. "And I presume you're Feyre?"

I nodded, and didn't make any move to step forward, but Nesta's strong hand still snaked back and pressed against my chest, pushing me backwards. "Feyre was just escorting us," she explained haughtily, and the man blinked then, as though he was only just noticing our differences in attire. "Our father was worried - so many more attacks from over the Wall, as I'm sure you've heard." She said is smoothly, assuredly, but with an air of a concerned citizen. The man couldn't help nodding along. "And Feyre is particularly proficient with a bow, and hunting knives, so. . ." She shrugged, and examined the man, eyes lingering slightly on the rapier at his side. "She's no mercenary, but you take what you can get."

The man flicked his eyes back to me, and I could feel the weight of his assessing gaze as he took in the bow over my arm, the full quiver on my back, and the knives sheathed at my waist. He gave me a quick nod - of respect, I realised belatedly. One fighter to another. Thankfully, I had the nerve to nod back.

He turned back to my sisters, and said briskly, "Well then come in. Grayson is waiting for you," he added to Elain with a sly look. My sister blushed, and I smirked to myself at my assumption being proved right. Nesta's gaze was murderous as she flicked her eyes back and forth between the three of us, trying to work out what he was referring to. I gave her a superior look, and she flipped me off with a scowl when Elain and the man's backs were turned. I choked on a laugh.

The man halted briefly, then looked at me, "Will you be coming in with us, or waiting outside?" He inquired, and I gave him a small smile I'd learned off of Elain - one that made me seem innocent, and harmless.

I had no doubt the extensive weapons on my belt contrasted the image drastically, but he seemed to buy it as I said sweetly, "I was told to wait for them out here."

He nodded, and turned back to where Elain was waiting patiently for him further up the path, playing her part of the doe-eyed potential bride perfectly. I gave Nesta a look weighed with significance, and for all her prickliness she nodded and went up to take the man by the elbow, inquiring on what time of bush a shrub with pink bell like flowers was.

I took my chance, and slipped into the courtyard.

I stuck to the wall on the way round, my grey clothes - the grey of wet snow; the grey of iron bars - inconspicuous against the grey stone wall. I had slipped round into the shadow of where a tree provided a suitable hiding hole, then stood there, as still as I would be if I was mere feet away from a deer I was stalking. I forced myself to breathe, and let my body flow with the movement. My eyes tracked my sisters as they traversed the path, then disappeared into the house.

I took another breath.

Then ducked out from behind the tree and took off.

I ran low, and kept to the web of dirt paths, lest my footprints somehow leave marks in the grass. Everything in this plan relied on stealth.

I passed round to the side of the manor that Elain informed me had few windows, and that the few windows there were adorned the walls of rooms such as bathrooms and storage rooms, that no one would be looking out of. I turned another corner, to where my sister had told me there were no windows, due to it being the side where the lord grew his grove, and he didn't want any busybody guests he was forced to entertain getting too curious about it.

Sure enough, as I rounded another corner - the garden paths had long since run out and become uninteresting flagstones - I saw the beginnings of trees. I didn't hesitate as I ducked into the cover of the canopy, but I made sure to keep my footsteps swift and silent, like I did when hunting. Who knew what workers or manner of creatures lurked in here.

Then I set off, deeper and deeper into the woods, counting the minutes in my head. Ten minutes, I gave myself. If I didn't reach any manner of ash tree within ten minutes of walking, I would turn around and head in a different direction.

Fortunately, at eight minutes forty seven seconds I spied the pale bark that betrayed the species I was looking for. Nine minutes and thirteen seconds and I was surrounded by those trees.

I peered ahead of me. The lord's estate stretched to encompass about a dozen acres of land, and though my father had told me once that such a size was nothing compared to other estates he'd seen, it was a sizable amount of land to grow ash on, and would yield a sizable amount of ash. Why didn't he share it out amongst those who needed protection? Clare Beddor and the rest of her family had been taken last week; Isaac Hale had hinted to me during our meetings that someone close to him had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Why not spread the holy protection this wood afforded?

I didn't realise quite how deeply I was scowling until my cheek muscles ached when I tried to relax them into a neutral expression.

It didn't matter what the lord did with his ash. The wealthy had no mercy or compassion; I knew that. And whining about it wouldn't change anything.

So I stepped up to the nearest ash tree, and began to climb.

Two hours later, and I was leaning against the wall, an expression of boredom masking my face. In truth, my heart galloped like a racing horse, and my mouth went dry at the thought of what the punishment would be if anyone discovered what I'd done. Stealing from a lord was generally not encouraged.

I almost sagged with relief when the gate opened, and the man was ushering my sisters out with a slightly dazed smile on his face. Elain thanked him, and curtsied prettily, whilst Nesta remained stony faced, even going so far as to scowl after the man as the gate swung shut behind him. Fortunately, he had his back turned, and didn't see.

"How did it go?" Elain murmured as we walked away. I gave a curt nod in response, and she seemed to get the gist of it: It worked. I'll tell you in more detail once we're further away.

Because ever step felt like dragging iron chains through rock, and I waited for a moment with each movement, waiting for the shouts of "Thief!" to begin.

But no one did. I'd done my job well: select a random ash tree that looked fairly healthy, climbed to a height most would call dizzying at best, fatal at worst, then began sawing at the branches there, about as thick as my thumb. Hopefully, no one would climb that far up and see the incriminating marks of the handheld saw I'd stowed in my quiver amongst the arrows. And even if they did, hopefully the details I'd added would make it look like a crow or raven had snapped the twigs off as part of their nest.

Once the branches were cut, I'd set about cutting them into sizable pieces, each one the length of my forearm, and stowed them in my quiver. The arrows of normal wood I'd brought, I'd snapped the heads off of, ripped the feathers off and scattered the twigs amongst the undergrowth to make space.

Thankfully, we made it home without being caught, where I found Tamlin lounging by the fire in my father's chair. Thankfully my father was away for his business, or I don't want to imagine what he would make of this colossal mess.

Nesta's face tightened as we walked in, but she refrained from making a snide comment about the faerie's presence, which spoke volumes about her attitude towards the whole ordeal.

Tamlin glanced up then, and he cringed at the sight as I slung my quiver off and set the pale sticks of wood on the table. I took that to mean that the power of ash wasn't a made up folk tale.

"By the way," he said cautiously, eyes flicking between the twigs, Nesta, and me. "My friend came looking for me - said he was worried. I invited him in."

I ignored Nesta's cry of outrage, and before she could jab her finger at him and say whatever uncensored thing was on her mind, I butted in, "Where is he then?" with a raised eyebrow.

Tamlin seemed to sigh in relief, then glanced to the side - at the old worn stool next to fire. I looked at it, and between one blink and the other a faerie coalesced. He, like Tamlin, wore a mask, but his was the russet hue of a fox's ragged coat, rather than the alluring gold Tamlin had.

I jerked backwards in shock. The stick I'd held in my hand held to the floor and rolled under the tables. the two faeries watched it warily.

Despite that wariness, the other faerie bent down and picked up the stick, wincing a little when it came into contact with his skin, but he handed it to me nonetheless. I accepted it, and nodded my gratitude. "Feyre." I said shortly, by means of introduction. Tamlin looked scandalised that I'd done it before he had the chance to.

But his friend laughed slightly, and nodded at me. "Lucien." He replied, his face just as curt as my own. I took a brief liking to him.

"Feyre?" He asked. I just looked at him. "That's a very old name."

I shrugged. "And this is a very old war."

Silence fell after that.

I pulled out a chair from the table, and sat down. I picked up a knife and began to whittle away at the ash stick in my hand; I guessed that a stake, or at least something pointy, would be more useful than a twig. "You told me about the weaknesses of faeries," I said carefully, and took note of the surreptitious glance shared between Lucien and Tamlin. "But what about the strengths? Anything we should look out for?"

Another shared glance. I absently wondered if they realised we could see them perfectly well as they did that.

"Well," Tamlin began, and I turned my attention to him. Lucien hissed something I didn't catch before he could continue, and his friend shot him a withering look, then turned back to me. "When she attacks-"

"She?" I interrupted. "Who's she?"

Lucien said through gritted teeth. "Amarantha. The King of Hybern's general." I could have sworn that the candles and the fire burning in the grate guttered at the mere sound of her name. "She took over Prythian, and took us all as slaves."

"Ah." It was all I could say.

Tamlin still looked mildly annoyed at being interrupted. "Anyway, when she attacks, she'll have the Attor - a great winged faerie from Hybern - circling above, and the rest of her supporters on the ground, as most of them don't have wings. She'll attack swift and fast; she won't want any villagers to survive. She's not just looking to attack the village," he added. "But to exterminate it."

The cold afternoon wind suddenly blew colder.

"So it'll be short and brutal." Lucien surmised, leaning back against the wall. The light of the fire and the grey light from the window played over his face, making him look like a figure carved of ice, bathed in flame. "She won't want to warn the mortal queens on the continent of her impending attack before it comes."

"Is there any way you two could possibly help?" I asked, mind whirring.

Another shared glance. Tamlin's throat bobbed. "We can set up wards," he admitted. "But if she's brought Rhysand along with her, he'll be able to shatter them with half a thought. Many layers and layers of wards might help, but he'd get through them in time."

The information spun like a delicate top on a single point in my mind; like a cog trying to find where it fit. I said slowly, "Who's Rhysand?"

Lucien snarled, and Tamlin reciprocated the expression. The scowl was still carved into his face as he said, "The High Lord of the Night Court."

"Amaratha's whore." Lucien spat in addition.

I weighed the options again.

"Would multiple layers of wards slow him down, perhaps long enough for those inside to arm themselves, or barricade the door?"

Tamlin's brow creased as he thought, then said, "Yes."

I looked back at my sister's, where they'd taken their seats. Nesta's blue grey eyes met my own, and mirrored my gaze: calculating, assessing. We both flicked our gazes to Elain, who was gnawing her lip with worry, and when we met eyes again, I knew that had hardened Nesta's resolve.

I nodded, just once, knowing she understood, and she nodded back.

I turned back to the two faeries in our house, and felt the significance of the moment weigh down on me, and made it hard to breathe.

But I refused to let my voice falter as I said, "Now this is what we're going to do..."

Is this any good? Did I wreck it? I love to hear your thoughts!