It was still dark when Feyre crept from the bed she shared with her sisters. She could feel the cold from the stone floor seep through the holes in her socks, and her breath was visible in the frigid air, curling like smoke. The fire Feyre lit before bed had burned down to barely simmering embers. There wasn't any more wood to add to it. She'd have to chop more today, she thought as she pulled on her pants and a thick tunic. Feyre avoided looking back at the bed as she got dressed, worrying that a single glimpse at the warm sheets would melt away any resolve she had about going out.
But they needed the food more than she needed a few extra hours of sleep.
"When do you think you'll be back?" Feyre nearly jumped as she pulled on her boots, surprised to lock eyes with her sister Nesta. She hadn't been home by the time Feyre and Elain went to bed the previous evening, and Feyre bit back her curiosity about what ––or more likely who––had kept her older sister occupied late into the night.
"It depends on what I catch," Feyre said, tightening the laces on her boots. "You know it's not always something I can control, Nes," she uttered, more sharpness than she intended seeping into her voice. Feyre hadn't slept well, and she wasn't looking forward to squatting in the cold for the next several hours.
This last winter was particularly brutal, and Feyre spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to quiet her mind as she thought about all the tasks she needed to complete over the next few days to ensure that she and her sisters didn't go hungry or freeze. She eventually gave up on trying to sleep and decided the sooner she got her bow into her hand the better.
"Just remember that Elain told Graysen we'd all be at the Stone Hall this evening to celebrate," Nesta said, rolling over and pulling the quilt higher around her and the still-sleeping Elain, their conversation clearly finished.
Feyre exhaled and closed her eyes, trying to mentally prepare for what would certainly be a long day ahead. She didn't mind the thought of spending her evening in the local tavern, where a few strong drinks and a roaring fire could help coax warmth back into her fingers and toes after hunting in the woods. But Feyre found Graysen and his friends, with their constant boasting and obnoxious jokes, more draining than entertaining. The only reason she tolerated them was for Elain, who had recently accepted a proposal from the lord's son.
Feyre was happy for her younger sister, even if she had some niggling doubts about Elain's feelings. She hadn't seen the courtship play out, not like Nesta had, but she'd caught Graysen chatting with, or rather to, Elain as she gardened, his eyes never leaving her face as she worked over her plants. She never learned what he spoke about during their interactions, but he was constantly bringing her gifts, like ribbons for her dresses and hair or a hat to protect her face from the sun. Elain had accepted the gifts with a warm smile or a kiss on Graysen's cheek, but Feyre hadn't seen her use any of them. And while Elain seemed happy to wear the ring, Nesta had to constantly remind her to stop spinning it around her finger as if it was little more than a toy.
With a soft groan, Feyre rose and collected her bow and arrow from their place on the dresser she shared with her sisters. She fastened her thickest cloak across her shoulders and crept out the door and into the cool, still-dark morning.
The waxing moon was nearly full, illuminating the valley for Feyre as she ventured off the pathway from her cottage and towards the rushing of the nearby river. Despite the cold, Feyre found her mood brightening almost instantly. She loved dark mornings like this, when it felt like she was the only one awake in the entire world.
The grass and leaves crunched beneath Feyre's feet as she made her way to the riverbank, and she could see her footprints left behind in the frost that sparkled in the moonlight. The sister's small village was technically in the Spring Court, but they were so close to the border with the Winter Court that they seemed to experience the full force of both seasons, while fall and summer flew by in a manner of weeks. But Feyre was ready for true Spring, when it was easier––and more comfortable––for her to hunt.
Feyre learned how to hunt nearly 12 years earlier, when the sisters first moved into the abandoned, rotting cottage at the edge of the village. Back then it felt like their entire world was ending.
Their family originally came from the Autumn Court, where Feyre's mother served as a lady to a High Fae female in one of the high-ranking households. Their father had been a merchant in the Summer Court, where he had a fleet of ships and traded across the continent. He'd been visiting the Autumn Court to observe a Harvest Festival when their mother caught his eye, and he'd proposed before the week was out, purchasing a lavish home in an Autumn Court village for his new bride. Nesta was born within the year.
Feyre and her sisters had grown up alongside both fae and rich human families, learning how to curtsey and sew and to not make a mockery of themselves at court among the High Fae families. Feyre hated these lessons, and she usually earned a sharp reprimand from Nesta or a gentle nudge from Elain when their governess caught her attention wandering or when her embroidery became an impenetrable tangle of threads. It surprised everyone when the governess discovered that Feyre had an innate talent for art, transforming stacks of once blank paper into countless sketches and paintings that beautifully captured the world around her.
Feyre didn't remember her parents having a particularly affectionate marriage, and her mother seemed to keep her distance from Feyre and Elain, as if she didn't have enough attention to spread amongst her three daughters. Some days when Feyre wanted to paint or sketch remembered scenes from her past, she had a hard time conjuring more than her mother's dark brown hair and gray eyes.
But she relished her childhood with her father, who had a face that seemed permanently etched with laughter lines. She looked back on this time with longing, remembering how she and Elain would leap into their father's arms whenever he returned from his travels, wrapping them in warm hugs that would always smell of the sea. He'd bring them back fascinating gifts, like foreign seeds for Elain that would sprout into luminescent flowers, or brilliant shades of paint and new brushes for Feyre.
Nesta's relationship with their father was strained. By the time she was 10, their mother had her attending additional lessons with a range of tutors, learning more advanced etiquette techniques and different styles of dance. Feyre was grateful she wasn't told to participate in these lessons, especially when she could hear her mother's raised and angry voice echo down the hallways into the late evenings. Feyre wasn't sure what their father thought of these extra lessons, but she could sometimes remember the way his brows furrowed when their mother criticized the way Nesta was holding her shoulders or how quickly she ate a meal. But if he disagreed with his wife's methods, he held his tongue, at least in front of his children. Nesta seemed to use his silence against him, rarely speaking more than a few clipped words to him and rejecting the jewelry he tried to gift her from his journeys.
If these lessons caused cracks to appear in her family's foundation, their mother's death shattered it completely. The barrage of doctors and healers that had been a common presence in the Archeron home disappeared overnight. Elain, who was only 10, sobbed uncontrollably, and Nesta held her and rubbed her back and shoulders, her face betraying no hints of whatever emotions she felt at the loss.
Something in their father deflated after their mother's death. His hugs and smiles became infrequent, and his trips grew longer, stretching from weeks to months. His absence left a void in their already empty house, and the resulting silence shocked Feyre. For the first time she noticed how much their home seemed to echo, how even her small steps from the kitchen to her room felt thunderous against her eardrums. She found herself preferring to venture alone into the surrounding forest rather than stay inside with Elain and Nesta, where the silence seemed to roar in her ears.
The forest offered Feyre a reprieve, and she found that she enjoyed skipping along the stones and leaping over roots as she carved out new pathways among the trees. She began to trade her dresses for trousers and tunics, and she'd often return home with scratched palms and torn clothing from her exploits. But as Feyre ventured further outside their home, Nesta and Elain retreated inside its doors. They developed a shorthand with each other, and Elain seemed like the only one who could coax out one of Nesta's rare smiles. Feyre was happy for this, even if new dynamic left her perpetually feeling she was missing out on a secret.
Their new normal was upended when their father returned one evening weeks ahead of schedule, muttering about lost ships, how he was sure they would be found. She remembered how his hands shook as he went into the study, shutting the door behind him. She remembered the banging on the front door, just a few days later, as the creditors arrived.
Their maids and cooks left when they realized they wouldn't be paid. Their father refused to look at his girls as he told them to pack up their favorite clothes and belongings, emphasizing that they could only bring what they could carry. Feyre wasn't attached to her belongings like Nesta and Elain, but it still hurt her to part with her paints and easel.
The family took refuge at an inn on the outskirts of their village. The tavern-keeper was friendly with their father, and he offered a heavily discounted rate. The girls didn't know it would be the first of many nights they'd be huddled together under the covers of a single bed.
Their home had been taken to pay off the debts from their father's business, but it hadn't been enough. Everything they owned hadn't been enough. And when her father's business partners weren't satisfied with their repayment, they sent cruel men. Cruel men who tracked her father to the Summer Court, where he was begging old crewmates for work, for a second chance. Cruel men who broke his leg and his arm before breaking his neck.
"They found his body this morning," the innkeeper told them solemnly as handed them the letter that had been messengered. They'd gotten word that their father had gone missing from the Summer Court days earlier, and now their fears had a horrible confirmation. Elain was sobbing hard, her shoulders heaving, and her breath ragged against her throat. Nesta rubbed her back like she had years earlier, trying to console her against another loss. But it wasn't working this time. Nothing seemed to be able to break through Elain's misery.
"I can let you stay here for the evening, but I can't afford to house you on my own," the innkeeper told Feyre and Nesta when Elain had finally cried herself to sleep. "I'm so sorry, but II can't spare the room." He didn't meet their eyes, only stared at the floor as his hands fisted at his sides. "I suggest you look into a training home or locating any extended family," he said before closing their door. Feyre's stomach dropped. They didn't have any other family, and while they were young enough for a training home to take them in, they'd likely be separated to go work as maids and servants in fae households across the Autumn Court.
"Nesta, if we want to stay together, we can't stay here," Feyre said, so quietly she hadn't been sure she'd thought the words instead of saying them out loud. But Nesta nodded, her gray eyes wild. "Let's pick up our things. We'll leave at daylight," Feyre said, her mind scrambling to come up with a plan. With any plan.
They didn't wait for daylight. Feyre tossed and turned throughout the night, and she could tell that Nesta didn't fare much better. Rather than try to sleep, they woke Elain and gathered their things, leaving a brief note of thanks for the innkeeper. They escaped to the woods, where Feyre helped serve as a guide through the forest as they abandoned the land that had been their home. Elain continued to cry, overwhelmed by the uncertainty of their situation as they traversed through the woods that spanned the borders of the seasonal courts. But Feyre and Nesta, who so rarely agreed on anything growing up, were completely united in their decision.
They finally happened upon the small village with tiny cottages spread out through a beautiful, green valley at the border of the Spring Court. They could hear the rushing of a river and ran to a cup their hands and drink down its icy water. The sisters were exhausted, their feet blistered and bloody from the journey, and they could feel pangs of hunger from their grumbling stomachs. They slept by the river that night and finished the last small bit of food they'd scuttled away.
Elain spied the cottage two days later. The glass in the windows was cracked, and shutters hung off their hinges. There was no door, and the inside was strewn with dirt, leaves and the remnants of nests from birds and squirrels. But it had walls, a fireplace, an old stove and a roof, and besides a few small animals, it was clearly abandoned.
"Welcome home," Elain had said, a smile on her lips, despite everything. Nesta stared at the structure, no emotion crossing her face, before striding inside with her youngest sister. Feyre watched them, feeling herself sway from hunger. They needed food.
Feyre had been hunting with her father only a handful of times, but she'd paid attention as he'd made snares for rabbits. She had wanted to paint the scene of his scarred and callused hands as he laid the lines, hiding them among the leaves, and she used the image in her mind to guide her.
Feyre pulled apart the fabric at the bottom of her skirt, braiding the strands of cloth together into a tight, thick line that could hold against the thrashing of an animal. She laid the trap like she'd seen her father do, and she sat, huddled in the bushes for hours, praying to the Mother that this would work, that her remaining family wouldn't starve away in a rotting cabin by the edge of the woods.
When she saw something trigger the snare she nearly burst into tears. The squirrel she'd caught was small, barely able to feed one person, let alone three, but it was something. She cried after she killed it. It was the first time she'd ever killed anything, and it hurt her more than she expected. But she brought the squirrel to Elain and Nesta before laying the snare again and again. It took hours, and by the time she returned to the cottage with additional food it was dark.
But she caught two additional squirrels and a rabbit all on her own, and she was triumphant. Even now, as she strode alongside the river path, the memory had her smiling in the dark. She needed more than snares, in time. Especially when it became clear they needed to trade food and pelts with villagers if they wanted to gather supplies for their home.
Nesta figured out how to sew her small pelts into mittens, and these crafts caught the attention of a fae female in the local market. Feyre noticed when the female's eyes lingered on her gaunt cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes, and she expected the fae to ignore her and continue through the square like so many others did. But instead, she paused, and gently reached out to grasp Feyre's chin, lifting her face so she could inspect it more closely. Feyre had been so surprised by the interaction she'd frozen, only belatedly taking in the female's brilliant red hair and green eyes.
"Your snares will work for spring when there are creatures underfoot, but you'll need to learn how to properly hunt if you want to make it through the winter," the female had said, removing her hand from Feyre's face. "What is your name, child?"
"Feyre," she paused. "Feyre Archeron." The fae considered her for a long moment.
"How old are you?" the female asked.
"Thir-thirteen," Feyre stuttered. The fae considered her for a long while before continuing.
"I need someone to help me forage for a few things before I leave this court. If you help me, I'll teach you what you need to know to survive. Consider it a trade," she said in a way that implied she already expected Feyre to agree on the offer. And it would have been foolish not to. "If you have family, bring them along. The more hands, the faster my work will go."
Feyre and her sisters met the fae at the edge of the forest the next morning, where she described the plants and mushrooms she needed from the forest. Feyre and Nesta trudged about blindly, only coming up with a few small leaves and berries that fit the female's description. But Elain returned with a bounty, needing to use her skirts as a makeshift basket to carry everything she collected. Even the female seemed surprised, and she narrowed her eyes at Elain, appearing to scan her face more closely before refocusing on her new supply.
"And now my part of the bargain," she said once she sorted the leaves, twigs, berries and mushrooms into her wicker basket. She had pulled three wrapped materials out of her pack, laying one in front of each sister. Feyre unwrapped her parcel, discovering a bow and a small quiver of arrows.
"Use the arrows as a model for ones that you'll need to create," the fae said, before grasping the bow and showing Feyre how to notch an arrow and hold her arm. "You'll need to practice, but once you gain a small level of proficiency you won't need to rely on your snares for survival. I suggest practicing on large trunks where you can retrieve the arrows. Remember to shoot where your target will be, not where it is when you pull the string."
Elain unwrapped her package next, revealing a thick, leather-bound book. As she flipped through the pages, Feyre saw flashes of plants and walls of text. "This book describes plants that populate the spring court. It will tell you how to grow the proper ones for a garden and which plants to avoid," the fae said. She lingered a moment longer on Elain's face, their eyes locking, before turning to Nesta.
Nesta's package was by far the smallest, and she was looking at the female with a mixture of distrust and confusion. It didn't seem like anything useful could be stored in such a small parcel. She slowly peeled back the cloth, revealing a bundle of linen, multicolored thread and a small box of needles.
"The needlework of the mittens you sell in the market is well-executed, better than others from the village," the female said, her gaze direct. "This village is far from the central court palace, and its people are often more neglected than they should be. Having a proficient seamstress would be valuable for the people here, if you feel up to the task," she said. Nesta looked down at the tools in her hand, not saying a word. Instead, Elain moved forward, still clutching the book to her chest.
"Nesta would often sew my dresses for me," Elain said, more than a hint of pride in her voice. "She's more than proficient. She's excellent."
"I'll leave you to it. I consider our bargain finished," the female said, smoothing her skirts as she gathered her supplies. "This village is small, but its people are strong and often kind," she said, turning to glance once more at the sisters, as if a final thought struck her. "Be wary of the priestesses in this court. They are not always what they seem." Before the sisters could ask for clarification she turned on her heel and made her way towards the road, leaving them in the growing shadows of the trees.
Now, thirteen years after they arrived in the Spring Court, Feyre pulled that same bow from her shoulder. The grip had been re-wrapped so many times Feyre had lost count, and her pointer and middle finger were permanently callused from pulling the string taught over the years. She could proudly admit that she was a skilled archer, able to shoot a pheasant as it took flight across the sky or a rabbit as it darted out from the underbrush. On her best days in the forest, she had taken down young bucks, selling their hides and antlers to purchase supplies that helped turn the abandoned cottage into a real home. On her worst, she returned empty-handed, needing to rely on the sales of Nesta's embroidery or plants Elain's bountiful garden for food.
But they were no longer struggling, no longer starving. And for Feyre, that meant everything. The fae female that took pity on the sisters gave them the exact tools that they would need to survive in the court, but when Feyre looked for the female to give her thanks, she was nowhere to be found. She never returned to the market, and because Feyre never learned the Fae's name, she was unable to ask villagers anything beyond if they knew of a beautiful female with red hair and hazel eyes.
Feyre kneeled at the bank of the river, cupping the cool water in her hands and splashing her face, the last vestiges of sleep leaving her body. She smiled, the crisp water dripping from her face as she stood and made her way towards the border of the woods. It felt like second nature at this point, to string her bow, to alighn her shoulders correctly and grip the taught string. When she drew an arrow, the weapon felt like an extension of her arm, as if it was a natural part of her body.
She crept forward, her footfalls barely making a sound against the soft forest floor. Her ears were alert, waiting to hear for any rustle of leaves or the snap of twigs that would indicate an animal's presence. Feyre turned when she heard the soft crackle of leaves to her right, moving behind the nearest trunk to wait for her prey.
It didn't take long. A rabbit sprang forward out of the bush, carefully sniffing the air. Feyre took aim and fired, the swoosh of her arrow the only sound as she made her kill. She said a silent thanks to the Mother, as she did each time she took a life. Her hunt had officially begun.