#celaena-moon

[ddarker-dreams]

heya, lock 🥺 how's the new year been treating you?

i've quit genshin for a long time now, but was filled with nostalgia and just went back to reread deep sea. i remember being so excited when it first dropped and honestly? still as good as the first time i read it.

(will you be continuing it, by the way? it's alright if you'd rather not say ^^)

i had a really good time recalling those memories from last year and kinda just wanted to say thanks so much for doing what you do - there's no other writer who i keep coming back to, even after i've left the fandom, other than you. deep sea (and all your other works besides) really mean a lot to me.

cheers to a good 2023 ahead! 🎉💙

aaa hello hello!! it was around this time last year that i was doing lots of research and planning for deep sea, wasn't it 😭😭 MAN it's rough because i do want to continue it, but i fell into that dangerous writer trap of 'i should've done so and so different' which makes me feel like if i continue, i'd be building off something subpar... i think that's the best way i can describe it at least. i'm not sure if i should just rewrite it or whatever to get past that particular mental hurdle .

it means a lot to me to hear that you made good memories with the story and still revisit it. making an impression is one of the highest honors for a writer!! so thank you very much. hearing that was very encouraging. especially if you're not that into genshin anymore! i most got emotional reading that my stories mean a lot to you 🥺💖 really, thank you so much.

i'll be honest, the new year has been beating me up and pouring copious amounts of salt on each wound it makes, but i'm still standing. i've been taking things a day at a time and will continue to do so. i hope we can both make the best of this year! i've been hearing from a lot of people that it's been difficult (almost everyone i know is sick right now??) so please take care.

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[witchthewriter]

𝐘𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝑛𝑒́𝑒 𝑇𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠)

INFJ

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good

Virgo Sun, Cancer Moon, Aries Rising

A gifted healer from Fenharrow, Yrene is the descendant of a long line of healer women as they are blessed by the goddess of healing, Silba. When the Adarlan soldiers came to take both Yrene and her mother, the kind woman had killed a soldier and distracted the others so Yrene could escape. Yrene had watched her mother die and hated Adarlan and its soldiers from that day on.

One night as she was working in an Innish tavern, she met Celaena Sardothien, and the assassin taught her how to defend herself. As she left in the morning, the hidden princess left enough money for Yrene to go to the Torre Cesme and become a healer. Celaena left a note as well and Yrene kept that note until she was reunited with the assassin, now Queen, Aelin.

In her years at the Cesme, she became the Heir Apparent of the Healer on High. However, a wounded Chaol Westfall and Captain of the Guard, Nesryn Faliq, had arrived in Antica. Yrene was sent to work on Chaol, although she was adamant of her dislike towards Adarlan soldiers, their relationship went from enemies to lovers by the end of Chaol's stay.

With her ties to the royals and healers in Antica, Yrene and Chaol were able to sail back to the northern continent. The khaganate army (with the heir, Sartaq who had fallen in love with Nesryn) as well as an army of Ruk riders, followed as well, committing themselves to the aid of Queen Aelin.

During the war she was constantly using her powers to heal, treat, aid and improve. She was also using them to rid the 'valg' soldiers and change them into humans again. However, whenever she was drained, her husband - Chaol, was as well.

She had healed his back injury in Antica, but a secret plot by the Valg brought his injuries back to the same as before. Yrene was able to treat Chaol, but she had to entwine her life with his. When she is weak, so is Chaol.

When they arrived in the north, Yrene found out she was pregnant, and didn't tell anybody. But being around healers meant they noticed the changes in her and her body.

So when it came time to kill the very evil of this world, she did so, pregnant and exhausted, she obliterated Erawan.

[anarchiii]

Worlds apart-10 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part ten | warnings: angstttt | Azriel x Celaena Sardothien

Summary; Pain and suffering one after the other, Azriel decides that maybe he’s not meant for this world, but maybe he is meant for another…

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Azriel’s POV

No, no, no, this was not happening, he had left her, left her with them, he should’ve fought better, harder.

He tried to calm his breathing, taking in the surroundings, he was in the Spring Court, if the blossoming plants were any indication, Tamlin wasn’t on the prowl, thank the Mother, he didn’t want to deal with that. . . Male, right now.

He got up from the itchy grass he was laying on, it was then that he noticed the Shadows swirling around him and the wings lightly fluttering in the breeze, his Siphons glittered with raw power, in any other circumstances he would be over the moon at their return, but not right now. Not with Celaena. His lifeblood. All alone, and he could do nothing about it, he stupidly hadn’t been memorising the Wyrdmarks they had found as Celaena was the one that would use them, stupid.

He rubbed vigorously at his face, he had to calm down, he had to figure out what to do, what would Sardothien do? She would probably figure out the day, right, for all he knew. He could’ve been gone for years. There was no way of telling, he started flapping his wings and soon took of to the skies, he wouldn’t deny that he had dearly missed flying, feeling the cool wind on his face.

He entered Night Court and just before he entered Velaris, he decided to go back to that forest and see if Truth-Teller still laid there, he needed his blade if he was going to figure this out.

-

He landed in the icy forest just as the sun started setting, creating a orange glow through the trees, Cel would’ve smiled at the sight, he would not, not until she was with him, he padded his way through the snow, ducking occasionally under low-hanging branches.

It was ironic how this was where it had all started, and now he was back, weeks—in Erelia, at least—later, trying to get back to where he was, perhaps this was the Mother’s wicked sense of humour at play, he wouldn’t put it past the haughty immortal.

He started recognising little things like rocks and uniquely shaped trees, and there it was, Truth-Teller, lying on the ground as if it had been dropped—well it had, there wasn’t any frost or snow on the blade, though it was as cold as ice, it had always had a peculiar temperature but this was unnatural, the cold bit into his hands so he shoved it into his pant pocket, he hadn’t worn a belt. Another thing meant to damn him.

There were no signs of him ever visiting here, not a single footprint or mark, but he knew—knew that no time had passed, not if his blade was so clearly untouched, what had happened? And more importantly, what was happening in her world? Did she live? He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to that question. . .

-

Celaena’s POV

She winced as she was dropped at the bottom of the dias, her knees barking in pain, her head protesting from the particular fist that had met the side of it thanks to the guard holding her down, her returning hand leaving a ugly bruise on his equally ugly face. She’d spit on his face if it weren’t for her being held down by her hair. The strands screaming in agony.

“I expected traitors in my court as there most likely are, but you, Sardothien? Disappointing, I thought you better than that,” the King said, his voice mocking, she looked up at him, staring into his cold, dead eyes. Not a spark in them. She smiled at him, a cruel, wicked thing, “what can I say? I am to impress.”

He laughed In response, the sound sending a chill up her spine, it was then that she noticed Nothung sat by his throne, it’s blade sharp, she could almost see the blood that had once dripped down it, she had heard harrowing tales of the sword and it’s conquests. She prayed to Mala it would not be used on her.

“Now normally,” he continued, “I would have you executed, but I feel that is a waste of your talents, so I’ll make you an offer,” she glared at him, over her dead body would she make a deal with this piece of shit. He smiled at her. Celaena hated the way he did that, it was identical to the one her Master would give her when she dealt with clients for him or genuinely impressed him with her bloodlust, she hated how they had thought her beautiful, not in the way Azriel did, no, in the way like she was as beautiful as a Death-Goddess. Like she could wipe armies off of a battlefield before even blowing the horn or banging the war drum. She hated it.

“Now, I thought it might be hard to convince you to. . . Help me, but I know just the thing that will get you signing the papers in seconds,” the King said, with a hint of amusement in his voice, she shuddered, not breaking eye-contact, she would not look down. She would not back down.

“I’m listening,” she said, her swallowing entirely too loud in her ears, he laughed once more, looking like an approving father, “if you work for me, which will entail capturing and torturing the clients, and following my every order. . . I will not kill the Captain and the Crown-Prince, simple.” Her blood turned ice cold. Seemingly stopping its path through her veins.

No, no, no, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she spat, “oh, yes I would,” he returned, he was a ruthless bastard, he probably would, “Dorian has been quite a nuisance lately, what? You think I didn’t notice his sudden disappearance? Besides, I always have Hollin to take his place, though he may need some more training.” Oh Gods. What did she say? She couldn’t refuse and risk the lives of her friends. . .

How had he found out, had they told the King? She wouldn’t put it past them but still—how did she really know she could trust them? She knew the prick would’ve found out what she had done eventually but so soon? Was this the Gods twisted sense of humour?

What did she say?— “I can see you have trouble deciding so I’ll help you, if you accept my offer, no harm comes to your little friends, but, if you interact with them alone and not in a very conversational way. . .” He tapped Nothung for emphasis. They died, and so did she.

A few weeks ago she would’ve spat in his face and went to the gallows but now. . . Now she had something to live for, someone to live for. . .Azriel.

“I accept,”

The End.

Note: uhm. . . So this escalated quickly. 😶

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@shadowsingercassia

@aelincaddel

@azrielslittleslut

[wingedblooms]

Wraithlike

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

In the Throne of Glass series, Sarah makes quite a few references to wraiths. Forms that are wraithlike are nearly transparent; they are bodies that aren’t bodies. These forms move like the wind and appear suddenly. The most striking references include the void, like when Aelin and Manon enter a witch mirror and watch a memory in the space between. Or the references to hell, especially the grieving queen who walks like she is traveling through a dreamscape, or an empty, barren hell. Take a look for yourself:  

He dragged a hand across the floor before the darkness, and greenish lights sprung up from where his fingers passed before being sucked into the void like wraiths on the wind. One of his hands was bleeding. (tog) Dorian Havilliard stood at the ballroom window, watching Celaena and Chaol dance in the garden beyond, their dark cloaks flowing around them like they were no more than two wraiths spinning through the wind. After hours of dancing, he’d finally managed to get free of the ladies demanding his attention, and had come to the window to get some much-needed fresh air. (com) Slowly, like lovely wraiths from a hell-realm, the witches appeared. (qos) Aelin had a body that was not a body. She knew only because in this void, this foggy twilight, Manon had a body. A nearly transparent, wraithlike body, but … a form nonetheless. (eos) Clad in white silk, her long curtain of dark hair unbound, the Grand Empress strolled, silent and grave as a wraith, down a walkway wending through the rock formations of the garden. Only moonlight filled the space—moonlight and shadow, as the empress strode alone and unnoticed, her simple gown flowing behind her as if on a phantom wind. White for grief—for death. […] Nesryn lingered in the shadows of the pillar, watching the woman drift farther away, as if she were wandering the paths of some dreamscape. Or perhaps some empty, barren hell. (tod) Silent as wraiths, they appeared across the glen. As if they’d simply sparked into existence in the shade of the foliage. Little bodies, some pale, some black as night, some scaled. Mostly concealed, save for spindly fingers and wide, unblinking eyes. Elide gasped. “The Little Folk.” (koa) It was over before it really started. The mercenary got in two hits, both met with those wicked-looking daggers. And then she knocked him out cold with a swift blow to the head. So fast—unspeakably fast and graceful. A wraith moving through the mist. (ab) The moon illuminated the mist swirling along the leaf-strewn ground, and made the trees cast long shadows like lurking wraiths. And there—standing in a copse of thorns—was a white stag. Celaena’s breath hitched. (ab)

Naturally, I was curious how these links held up when we actually meet wraiths in A Court of Thorns and Roses (acotar) and Crescent City (cc). In acotar, we meet half-wraith twins who appear and disappear suddenly, even into a puff of smoke. Amren says they are nothing but shadow and mist, and can travel through walls. 

They appeared through the cracks from slivers of darkness, just as Rhysand had. But while he’d solidified into a tangible form, these faeries remained mostly made of shadow, their features barely discernable, save for their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They remained silent when they reached for me. I didn’t fight them—there was nothing to fight them with, and nowhere to run. The hands they clasped around my forearms were cool but solid—as if the shadows were a coating, a second skin. (acotar) The shadow maids, as usual, walked through the walls and vanished. (acotar) Nails clicked on stone, and my escorts swapped glances before they swung me into an alcove, a tapestry that hadn’t been there a moment before falling over us, the shadows deepening, solidifying. I had a feeling that if someone pulled back that tapestry, they would see only darkness and stone. One of them covered my mouth with a hand, holding me tightly to her, shadows slithering down her arm and onto mine. She smelled of jasmine—I’d never noticed that before. After all these nights, I didn’t even know their names. (acotar) Amren, at least, knocked this time before entering. Nuala and Cerridwen, who had finished setting combs of mother-of-pearl into my hair, took one look at the delicate female and vanished into puffs of smoke. “Skittish things,” Amren said, her red lips cutting a cruel line. “Wraiths always are.” “Wraiths?” I twisted in the seat before the vanity. “I thought they were High Fae.” “Half,” Amren said, surveying my turquoise, cobalt, and white clothes. “Wraiths are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone—you name it. I don’t even want to know how those two were conceived. High Fae will stick their cocks anywhere.” I choked on what could have been a laugh or a cough. “They make good spies.” (acomaf)

In Crescent City, Vanir wraiths change bodies often to maintain a youthful appearance (thanks for this reminder, @offtorivendell!). We learn this when Bryce meets Vik, a wraith who is trapped in the beautiful body she possesses, and then ripped from that same body and contained in a box at the bottom of the Melinoë Trench as punishment. (This is a terrible punishment, but the name is fitting—Melinoë was associated with ghosts, and wraiths are ghostly in appearance.) Micah is truly the worst. 

The wraith folded her alabaster hands in her lap, the unnatural elegance the only sign of the ancient power that rippled beneath the calm surface. Vik had no body of her own. Though she’d fought in the 18th, Isaiah had learned her history only when he’d arrived here ten years ago. How Viktoria had acquired this particular body, who it had once belonged to, he didn’t ask. She hadn’t told him. Wraiths wore bodies the way some people owned cars. Vanir wraiths switched them often, usually at the first sign of aging, but Viktoria had held on to this one for longer than usual, liking its build and movement, she’d said. Now she held on to it because she had no choice. It had been Micah’s punishment for her rebellion: to trap her within this body. Forever. No more changing, no more trading up for something newer and sleeker. For two hundred years, Vik had been contained, forced to weather the slow erosion of the body, now plainly visible: the thin lines starting to carve themselves around her eyes, the crease now etched in her forehead above the tattoo’s twining band of thorns. (hoeab) At least Bryce could now appreciate the beauty before her: the dark hair and pale skin and stunning green eyes were all Pangeran heritage, speaking of vineyards and carved marble palaces. But the grace with which Viktoria moved … Viktoria must have been old as Hel to have that sort of fluid beauty. To be able to steer her body so smoothly. (hoeab) “Through the glare of the firstlight beams atop the remote submersible, more fleshy white bits floated by. This was what the wraith Viktoria had been damned by Micah to endure. The former Archangel had shoved her essence into a magically sealed box while the wraith remained fully conscious despite having no corporeal form, and dropped her to the floor of the Melinoë Trench. […] The wraith’s shoebox-sized Helhole had been bespelled against the pressure. And Viktoria, not needing food or water, would live forever. Trapped. Alone. No light, nothing but silence, not even the comfort of her own voice. (hosab)

What does this mean for Elain’s story, and why am I even mentioning her in a wraith meta? In the acotar series, Nuala and Cerridwen, half-wraith twins, draw Elain out of her grief and help her learn how to bake. Sarah mentions that Elain considers them her friends twice in acosf alone: 

Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens–she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. (acosf) “You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (acosf) 

She also plants the idea that Elain might be engaging in stealth training with them (and/or Azriel, who trained them). That would make sense since she has learned from them before and she started to move like them after developing a friendship. She tends to move silently and appears suddenly, even stepping out of shadow. Before she was Made, Elain moved with the grace of a doe, so that newfound skill may have come fairly naturally.

In acosf, Nesta also recalls how Elain was after being Made and refers to her as a ghost. She comments that she (Nesta) was the ghost now, worse than a ghost: she was a wrathful wraith. This description of a wraith doesn’t quite match what we know about the few wraiths in the maasverse we’ve met; it seems more like a frightening bedtime story of a legendary monster, which is perhaps meant to reflect Nesta’s own inner turmoil. But the description of Elain when she is first Made is eerily similar to the wraithlike queen in tod:

Where Nesta had been in contented silence before we found her, Elain’s silence was…hollow. Empty. Her hair was down—not even braided. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it unbound. She wore a moon-white silk dressing robe. She did not look, or speak, or even flinch as we entered. Her too-thin arms rested on her chair. That iron engagement ring still encircled her finger. Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white. The lack of color. Of vibrancy. […] Nesta’s rage was better than this…shell. This void. My breath caught as I edged around her chair. Beheld the city view she stared so blankly at. Then beheld the hollowed-out cheeks, the bloodless lips, the brown eyes that had once been rich and warm, and now seemed utterly dull. Like grave dirt. (acowar)

The interesting part about this connection is that Elain likely was wandering through some dreamscape like a wraith with her Sight. This pale, hollow image of Elain also aligns with the definition of a wraith. 

Elain appears wraithlike again (probably on purpose) when she wears a black gown in the Hewn City, a place of rotting darkness. Cassian notes: 

“Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved modest gown leeched the brightness from her face.” […] He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…It sucked the life from her.” (acosf)

Elain’s black dress makes her look plain and invisible compared to her sister. She lacks color and vibrancy just as she did in the House of Wind, though in black instead of white. It’s possible she did this on purpose since she’s altered her appearance before and the half-wraith twins helped her dress for that occasion, too. Could they have dressed her strategically to escape notice on solstice, and could this be another hint of wraithlike powers?

In Song of the wind, I wondered if Elain could be a pale wraith, a force of light and color and wind, who moves like Hope through the Void. She’s described in terms that do not have a definite form (pale, golden mass in his arms; sunlight on gold; purple and gold flashed), and even asked Amren about changing bodies in acofas. We know that Vanir wraiths can wear different bodies, like shapeshifters walk in different skins (ie., skinwalkers). Wraiths, however, have no definite form beneath the body they wear. Is that the true reason why Elain boldly asked Amren if she could take a different form, change bodies?

“Could you have done it? Decided to take a male form? […] Then why did you pick this body? […] And once you were in this body, you couldn’t change?” (acofas)

Elain as a wraith (or wraith adjacent, lol) would be a fun way to come full circle with the parallel @kimsnnn discusses here. After pointed inquiry about Amren’s otherworldly eyes, Nesta’s otherworldly power glowed silver in her eyes. It’s possible the dinner conversation about changing form might then be a hint that Elain and Amren will share otherworldly forms. Amren’s otherworldly form was a bird of prey, a messenger. She watched over humans, and when ordered, acted as a soldier-assassin. 

Amren smiled slightly—at me, at Varian. “I watched them for so many eons. Humans—in my world, there were humans, too. And I watched them love, and hate—wage senseless war and find precious peace. Watched them build lives, build worlds. I was … I was never allowed such things. I had not been designed that way, had not been ordered to do so. So I watched. And that day I came here … it was the first selfish thing I had done. For a long, long while I thought it was punishment for disobeying my Father’s orders, for wanting. I thought this world was some hell he’d locked me into for disobedience.” (acowar)

You know who else watches others through physical eyes and Cauldron-blessed Sight? Elain. I’ve wondered before if she is an otherworldly messenger and/or guardian like Silba’s owl or the Suriel (who is your stereotypical wraith). Alert and aware. Silent travelers, full of wisdom. There are some who even believe the word wraith is connected to the Norse word for watcher, but several sources indicate the origin is unclear. Regardless, Elain acts like a wraithlike guardian, appearing suddenly out of shadow to protect her family. It's possible she used this skill to wear the body of Balthazar and help Nesta and Emerie find safety during the Blood Rite.

Even if Elain isn’t an actual wraith, I think we can reasonably predict that she will learn more from Nuala and Cerridwen, and their gifts may complement her own as she practices using her Cauldron-blessed powers. When she cannot see something, Elain says it is all mist and shadow, and Nuala and Cerridwen are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone. Could they teach Elain how to break through the walls of her Sight? 

With all the connections wraiths seem to have with void and hell, Nuala and Cerridwen may help her use the Void to peer into and/or travel to Hel (as both @offtorivendell and I have theorized). It would make sense for them to use the space between together, especially if Elain has mystic abilities and can move fluidly across space like a wraith’s essence. They’ve been helping her all along and will probably continue to do so. In her own words, Elain already told us that “Nuala and Cerridwen will help her [me]” (acowar). And there are so many things Elain seems eager to learn from them. 

Elain stood between Nuala and Cerridwen at the long worktable. All three of them covered in flour. Some sort of doughy mess on the surface before them. The two handmaiden-spies instantly bowed to Rhys, and Elain— There was a slight sparkle in her brown eyes. As if she’d been enjoying herself with them. Nuala swallowed hard. “The lady said she was hungry, so we went to make her something. But—she said she wanted to learn how, so…” Hands wreathed in shadows lifted in a helpless gesture, flour drifting off them like veils of snow. “We’re making bread.” (acowar)

P.S., Is it any coincidence that they likely look like three lovely ghosts, covered in flour, when they work together?

[anadxanax]

Celaena I —

Some branches of the story get lost over the years, despite her importance to the events that unfolded in the Dance of Dragons, Celaena Targaryen's name is not given due credit in any of the records made by the citadel's maesters. There are many justifications for this, but none of them please me so this is my tribute to the dream tamer...

Previously - Index - Next

The air was dotted with stars, their fire thousands of miles away illuminating the earth that burned like never before.

Fire, salt, tears.

Wind was nothing more than a memory.

The walls were damp, red, and moving like sea waves. Contracting and expanding, swallowing. The water that covered her from the knees down was bright green, so bright and beautiful that it made her want to cover herself completely in it, but she couldn't, something in the back of her mind screams that was dangerous to play with that.

Muffled screams outside remind her that she must keep going, she couldn't stop now. She needed to climb.

The girl climbs the narrow, damp walls, and when she finally manages to stand, the floor sinks beneath her feet. It's fluffy, lumpy and rough, there are traces of the green liquid there. In front of her, a narrow corridor of raw flesh stands, the sides covered in ivory white stakes that come from the floor and ceiling. Hot wind passes through the gaps between the stakes but doesn't burn her. Nothing can burn her. She's made of dragon's blood.

A gutural noise echoes up the hole she came out of and it contract's again. The girl turns and stares in terror at the sight: wild fire. It climbs the hole slowly and then expands. It wasn't green water, it was wild fire. The walls open and the fire covers everything in a strong and destructive breath. The ground above her feet disappears, she's falling and when she looks up she can only see the dragon that spat her out close its mouth and fly away rocked by it's withered wings. She screams, but the dragon doesn't comeback to save her.

Why doesn't he come back?! She was like him, her blood was fire too! Why didn't he come back?

Her skin falls apart, scattering into the air until all that remains are bones of her former self and silver hair. Warm wind embraces her in her fall. She looks up, seconds before being embraced by the ground, and sees the moon, full like never before, explode and expel a million dragons.

When the dragon's blood finishes its fall, the ground turns into ice and Celaena opens her eyes.

"The dragon..." Celaena screams sitting up in bed when he finally woke up. She was drenched in sweat, her hands were shaking and her breathing was uneven.

She was used to these dreams, the ones that seemed too real. When she was immersed in them she didn't know how to get out. Celaena knew they were just dreams, that nothing could hurt her body, but the mind... It was her mind she was worried about.

The light emanating from the window bathed the room in a silvery glow, the moon was full, huge like never before just like in the dream. Its comfortable glow contrasted with the infernal heat in the room, She was sweating so much that she had wet the bed sheets.

How disgusting, what would they think of her? She was no longer a little girl, she was already twelve years old and practically a woman. Imagine what they wouldn't think if they thought she still wets the bed when she sleeps? No. Celaena couldn't let the news spread. She got up and took the sheets off the bed throwing them in the fireplace so quickly that she didn't even needed to think.

As soon as she finished cleaning the bed, she looked for a new nightgown among the countless trunks that her servants had brought from Dragonstone. Celaena didn't understand why there was a need for so much clothing since they would leave shortly after the end of the tournament, still, she mentally thanked the maids every time she woke up sweaty at dawn and had a clean nightgown to wear.

Outside the Red Keep the city was in an uproar, the arrival of nobles from all corners of the kingdom certainly boosted local commerce and, of course, the festivities too. King's Landing was the kind of city that was alive at night, but Celaena's room only had the view of the Blackwater bay that ran slowly with the soft shushes of the water. She could hear the ordinary people in the city living their lives, screaming, moaning, laughing... she could also hear the dragons roaring in the pit and... no, this roar was too close.

Celaena's lost eyes turn to the moon through the window, full like never before, as if it would explode and expel thousands of dragons like in the dream the girl had just woken up from. There was a black spot in front of the moon, cutting it in a smooth and slow flight. The roar of that creature echoed throughout the Red Keep like a lullaby to Celaena's ears, she knew who it was immediately.

The Dreamstealer circled the Red Keep in the air as if it were his prey, his orange eyes swept the countless towers, gardens, gates and windows until they settled on the only thing he could recognize as his: Celaena. As soon as he saw her, he changed his flight path, diving towards the balcony where she was waiting for him with a huge smile on her lips.

His long wings swept the ground, spreading dust and star's as he landed messing up the little girl's hair and nightgown. He was young, so small that she was barely able to put a saddle on his back, but she loved him.

He was the most beautiful dragon to be born in centuries, the blue and purple scales contrasted creating an almost boreal effect never seen before. When he flew in the night sky the only thing that gave him away was his bright orange eyes that adorned his face like little suns. He was a wild dragon that hated being caged, but was also extremely gentle and faithful to his owner.

"Skoriot emagon ao issare, Dreamstealer?"

"Where have you been, dreamstealer?"

Asked the Targaryen approaching her dragon and touching its nose. There is more in dragons than ordinary men can understand and the Targaryens understood this on a certain level, their dragons might not speak but they always made it clear what they wanted and Dreamstealer wasn't any different. He tilted his head towards Celaena's body, poking her and then pointing back to the moon.

He wanted to fly.

"Nyke kostagon daor sōvegon sir. Se istia sagon isse zaldrīzes ripo."

"I can't fly now. And you must be in dragon pit."

She scolds him, but can't seem angry at all, just enchanted by the beautiful creature in front of her. Celaena always found herself admiring Dreamstealer and couldn't get used to how beautiful and unique he was, the smallfolk used to say that Targaryens were closer to gods than to men, and for Celaena that was true because there is no way that there is anything more divine than dragons in this whole wide world.

"Ēdā iā bantis ossȳngnon tolī?"

"Did you have a nightmare too?"

Dreamstealer grunts poking her again, he wanted to fly. He didn't need words to make it clear that he too had been disturbed by the world of dreams. Celaena's mother told her that in her first years of life she used to spend the nights screaming in her sleep, that she would be disturbed and woke up sweaty and shaking every night. These nightmares only calmed down after Daemon gave her the egg that gave birth to Dreamstealer.

The bond between them was remarkable, sometimes it seemed like he was more people than dragon, that he understood her like no one else could. When Celaena cried he did too, when he was sick he also weakened, and when she had nightmares he was also disturbed.

There were no records of such a dragon.

"Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys, yn kostā sōvegon isse lyks, ñuha byka mēre. Iksan ȳgha."

"The night is dark and full of terrors, but you can fly in peace, my little one. I am safe."

With one last touch to the dragon's forehead Celaena stepped aside to give him space as he reluctantly took flight. His long, shiny wings sweeping the ground. He was like a dream, but better than anything she could ever dream about.

"My lady?" the voice coming from inside the room woke her up and Celaena quickly turned her back on the balcony and returned to the room.

"Sor!" she scolded him as soon as she closed the balcony door and could look at him. She didn't know that man, he wasn't her sworn sword sor Daren Waters. "What makes you think you can come in uninvited?”

"Nothing, my lady" replied the man with a cheeky smile making a short bow. "Forgive me for coming in without asking permission, but I heard a noise and thought-"

"Oh, no... it's not your fault. Sor Daren should have warned you that I have these night terrors and might end up screaming."

The soldier nodded, he was gigantic and very beautiful. Celaena was used to seeing the same men every day, the dragon seeds her mother took in as her wards and common people who served in Dragonstone. That soldier was different from the people she was used to, he didn't have an ordinary face neither was Valyrian. He's features were something else, men usually made Celaena afraid with their perverted eyes that found pleasure even in a child like her, but his eyes were big and kind, and even if she tried, she couldn't feel afraid of him. It was almost funny how respectfully he avoided looking at her body, it made her want to smile.

"Oh, sor Daren warned me about the screams but there was something else a-"

"A big noise like thunderstorm coming from my chambers?"

"Exactly!" he responded clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eliciting giggles from the young lady.

"That was my dragon, sor..."

"Harwin" the nameless soldier finally introduced himself and Celaena couldn't help but echo the name, sliding it off her tongue. Harwin... "Exactly. Harwin Strong, my lady. And... a dragon? What was he doing here at such a time? Shouldn't he be in the pit?"

"He had a nightmare" replied the young lady, knowing it would sound childish, but with no better answer than the truth.

"A nightmare... just like you did."

"Yes, sor Harwin, just like I did."

His gentle eyes carefully analyzed the lady's strictly serious face, trying to distinguish if that was really true or if she was just trying to have a laugh at his expense.

"Impressive" he concluded after a few seconds of silence, shaking his shoulders and looking around. "So there's no threat against you in this room?"

"That depends, sor, are you a threat?"

"I don't think so, my lady" replied Harwin, bowing again.

"Great. Thank you, sor Harwin."

"At your service, my lady."

N/A: I know this may seem confusing, but my intention is to follow a POV structure similar to GOT, so yes, there'll be chapters from the pov of several oc's and maybe canon char's.

Also, again: please be kind. English is not my first language and is hard asf to translate, especially because some things sound great, like real poetry, in my language, but in English it doesn't work. 😭 (crying in latino america)

Continue in:

[theladyofbloodshed]

I saw your review of 'When the moon hatched ' on goodreads and cackled!

You don't know how right you are about it being ToG fanfic.

The only reason i finished it was because I was listening to the Audiobook while I cleaned

You are stronger than me to get through to the end. It was like 20 hours or something? I was listening on spotify but you only get 15 hours a month in the plan and I decided not to waste anymore on that book 😂

This review kills me

- a copycat celaena sardothien that’s somehow more annoying???! a snarky, sassy, stabby assassin 🗡️🩸that doesn’t actually do any assassinating despite the fact that apparently she is the bestest most greatest assassin in all of the rebel organization that she works for!!✨✨ And also actually he has a cabin that was his mom’s that’s really nice and has a great city where all the people are super happy and a friend group consisting of more ambiguously tan men that are not-cassian and not-azriel because they don’t have wings and his hot sister who is “the most beautiful” but she’s not Mor because she has brown hair not blonde🥰✨ Have you ever wanted to read more about the most annoying and entitled assassin in existence: Celaena Sardothien?? Well here’s her clone newest competition on the block!! 🪩Raeve🪩✨😍✨ she’s the most special special girl!!! She’s the heir to the super powerful and strong family that all got murdered while she was sleeping!! 

[leiawritesstories]

PART SIX: JUNE

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: swearing, violence, breaking and entering, fuzzy science, scheming, flirting and more flirting, innuendo, a villain, more violence, blood, minor character death

shout out to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading this hot mess and to @backtobl4ck for encouraging frederick

I don't know if I should say this, but...enjoy!! 😁😈

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Moon Moon!” Aelin clapped her hands twice as she strolled past Fenrys, who lounged against the Boss’s office door like it was the most natural place for him to be. “Thanks for showing up.” 

The blonde man shrugged, a half-smirk curling his lips. “Like I had a choice.” 

“You always do.” She threw him Celaena’s sweet little grin that usually made people either piss themselves, cry, or start babbling. “You can choose to show up, or you can choose to die.” 

“Not much of a choice, Boss,” he drawled. He flopped into the chair across from her desk. “So tell me, who’s the mark?” 

Aelin tapped on her computer for a few minutes before she slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. “Have a good long look, Moon Moon, because this is the only time you’ll see all of this info in one place.” As the Boss, she was many things, and stupid was decidedly not one of them. 

Fen picked up the paper, his dark eyes scanning each line of text and small, grainy photo. He cocked one blonde brow. “Rourke Farran, eh?” Not looking up from the paper, he huffed out a breath. “The man’s whole fuckin’ house is a booby trap, Boss.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So what’s this bastard done to…god damn.” Before he could even ask the full question, it was answered. “He’s got a front for a front.” 

“I have never tolerated, nor will I ever tolerate, the treatment of human beings like commodities,” Aelin said softly, lethally. Celaena Sardothien’s notorious steel undercut her tone. “Farran thinks he can get away with it because I haven’t come for him. Yet.” 

Fenrys whistled lowly and set down the paper. “What’s your timeline, Boss?” 

Aelin liked this man more and more with each interaction. “I need Farran at the river warehouse by the 10th. You can use whatever means necessary, beat him up a little, get him nice and ready for his session with me, but don’t even fucking think about killing him.” 

“Don’t worry, Boss.” A lazy, hungry grin unfurled across Fen’s handsome face, the dim lamplight reflecting off the scars on his cheeks. “Softening up bad boys is my specialty.” 

“That’s why I hired you.” Aelin took back the paper and tossed it into the shredder next to her desk, which ate through the single sheet with a brief mechanical grinding of teeth. She burned the shreds at the end of each day, never one to take any chances with documents that could potentially be stitched back together. Fenrys stood up to leave, and she waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “One more thing, Moon Moon.” 

“Yeah?” He paused, alert, his stance striking an oddly familiar chord in her mind. 

“Farran isn’t dumb enough to put all of his guard dogs in one place.” 

He nodded slowly, working over that little tidbit of information. “Noted. I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you.” With a wink that was far too flirtatious for anyone’s good, Fen left her office. 

Aelin rolled her eyes as she returned to her computer. Her encoded list of targets was shrinking by the week; really, there was only one name left after Rourke Farran received his one-way ticket to her riverside warehouse, and it called to her every day. Some days, it took all of her willpower to stick to her typical Boss hours and Galathynius hours when she knew that if she spent just one more hour as Boss, she could solidify the plans that she’d been simmering for so fucking long. Just before she slit his throat, she’d once murmured to a criminal that she was cleansing the world of villains. In the months since then, that cleansing had nearly been completed. 

She slid her gaze down to the end of the page, following the trail of crimson lines that struck out each name up through Farran’s, and stopped, musing on the last name left. Five letters. One name—the villainous criminal was possibly more elusive than Celaena Sardothien herself. 

Maeve.

On the one hand, it made complete sense that Arobynn’s lover—ex-lover—would have taken over his business, diminished as it was when all of his cronies started fighting over their pieces of the trade after Arobynn died. On the other hand, Aelin had wondered just why the hell Maeve would have wanted to take over Arobynn’s drug- and gun-running business; surely the money couldn’t be the only reason. The more she dug into the grimy, seedy backchannels of truth, though, the more she came to understand why Maeve had done it. 

The woman had been madly in love with Arobynn Hamel, and now she was madly out for blood. 

~

In the prep room of the Gal Inc. labs, Aelin snapped on a fresh pair of sterile blue latex gloves, checked her badge where it was clipped to her lab coat, and nodded at her reflection. It had been seven weeks since Ren had come into the labs to have his SecondSkin changed—she and Nehemia had decided to extend the wearing period to seven weeks, as Ren’s use of SecondSkin was an experiment—and she was curious to see if anything was different. 

“About time,” Nehemia said dryly as Aelin walked into the small, sterile lab, the one that Nehemia typically reserved for experiments that needed to be kept quiet. “I was just about to assume you were in a meeting and start the removal process without you.” 

“Hello to you too, Dr. Ytger,” Aelin returned, just as dryly. “I just had to primp a little longer, you know how much effort it takes to look this good.” 

Nehemia snorted. “Galathynius, if you spent that much time primping, I’d never let you in my lab.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Aelin sat down on the second rolling stool and scooted over to Ren’s side. “Okay, Nemi. It’s your experiment.” 

Quickly but clearly, Nehemia ran through her usual list of removal instructions, then dismissed Ren to go take his shower. He emerged about half an hour later, wearing his robe, his hair damp and his face…

“Aelin, come here.” Nehemia motioned for Ren to sit down and scooted her stool up close so she could examine his ruddy face. “This doesn’t look like a typical hot-shower flush.” 

Aelin scanned the redness on Ren’s face and nodded in agreement. “Allsbrook, does it itch?” 

“Not on my face, no,” he answered. 

“Are you itchy anywhere else?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Chest, elbows, upper arms, torso, knees, feet, most of my back, some other areas. It’s not bad, it’s more annoying, like when you have a mosquito bite that you want to scratch.” 

“Would you please remove your robe so we can see if there’s anything visibly wrong with your skin?” Nehemia asked. 

“One sec.” Ren hopped off the chair, went into the shower room, and came back out a moment later. “Just wanted to put my boxers on.” He took off his robe, hung it on the hook in the wall, and sat back down.

“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled. 

Nehemia ran her analytical gaze over Ren’s body, charting the red rash spread over the areas that he had said were itchy. It looked like an ordinary chafing rash, the skin irritated and slightly split in some places, and some of the redness faded, indicating that it was probably sensitive to the heat of the shower he had taken to remove the SecondSkin. 

“Are you allergic to latex or any of its components?” Nehemia inquired. 

“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Ren said. 

Nehemia hummed. “Ae, I have thoughts. What do you think?” 

“Prolonged exposure?” Aelin asked. “It almost seems like what happens when you wear the same tightly fitting garment—like a leotard—for an extended period of time and it chafes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. It could also potentially be compounded by bacteria and dirt buildup under the material. It lays atop the skin, and as much as we want to claim that there’s no gap, we know there has to be a microscopic distance between the material and the wearer’s skin that could allow that to happen.” Nehemia gently touched two gloved fingers to the rash on Ren’s chest. “Does this hurt?” 

“No.” 

She pressed down. “Does it hurt when I do this?” 

He shook his head. “No. Itches, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

“That’s a good sign, at least.” Nehemia sighed. “Okay, Galathynius, we need to talk before we can decide how to move forward.” She beckoned Aelin towards the back of the room. “Should we go ahead with another application?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper. 

Aelin pressed her lips together. “Well, we can’t exactly have him disappear while we try and work out the rash.” 

“I don’t want it to spread or get any worse because it wasn’t treated, though,” Nehemia said. “I think we need to at least treat the rash.” 

“Yes, I agree, but how will that work with another application?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “And how should we treat the rash if we’re not fully certain of what it is and how it works?” 

“We haven’t yet agreed to do another full application,” Nehemia reminded her, “and my instinct is saying to treat it like it’s a normal chafing rash—hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, that kind of thing.” 

Aelin nodded. “Okay, that sounds fine. How do you think we should apply the SecondSkin?” 

“Hmm.” Nehemia tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “We could selectively apply it and avoid the rash areas. Theoretically, he’s not going to be stripping down in front of anyone for any reason, so he really only needs to have the right fingerprints and face, maybe footprints too. I vote we just apply the SecondSkin to his hands, face and neck, and feet.” 

“I think we should apply it from hands up to elbows, just to be safe, but that sounds like a solid plan. Do we have hydrocortisone cream here?” 

“Should be in the first aid bin.” Nehemia returned to Ren’s chair. “Okay, Allsbrook, here’s how we’re going to proceed. We’ll treat your rash and reapply the synthetic to your hands and lower arms, face and neck, and feet, which should hopefully give the rash time and breathing room to heal. You should apply this cream every day, as often as necessary, to the parts that are most itchy or inflamed.” She took the tube of hydrocortisone cream that Aelin handed her and applied it to Ren’s rash. 

“Is this something I can find at the pharmacy?” he asked. 

“Yes, it’s a common treatment,” Aelin replied. She walked over to the safe built into the far wall, keyed in the combination, opened the compartment, and retrieved a sleek steel canister from inside. She closed the compartment back up and brought the canister over to the prep table next to where Ren sat. 

Nehemia took off her used gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. “Ready?” 

“Ready,” Ren confirmed. 

Working in tandem, Aelin and Nehemia carefully laid the almost-invisible film of SecondSkin over Ren’s hands, forearms, face, and feet, carefully molding it to his skin. The pieces had all been prepped beforehand, since it took a significant amount of time to press fingerprints and other distinctive blemishes and markings into the synthetic material, and the SecondSkin molded to Ren’s skin flawlessly, leaving almost no evidence that it was there. 

“Come back in two weeks,” Aelin instructed him as she disposed of her gloves. “We’ll want to see if your rash has improved, which will help us decide how to move forward.” 

“Got it.” Ren went back into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back out as Chaol Westfall, contact lenses placed and bland grin on his face. “See you in two weeks, Dr. Ytger, Galathynius.” He left the lab. 

“We should have seen this coming,” Nehemia groaned when Ren was gone, chucking her gloves into the trash bin. “Honestly, Ae, I feel like such an idiot.” 

“Nemi, you are a genius,” Aelin reassured her. “You’ve been so busy with development and research, and we didn’t even know this could happen until we saw it today.” 

“Yeah.” The chief engineer sighed. “I need to go chart all of this, and you probably have meetings or whatever shit you do in your big fancy office.” She smirked at Aelin.

Aelin rolled her eyes, nudging her friend in the shoulder. “I’d say something smartass, but I do have a meeting pretty soon. Let me know if anything comes up with Allsbrook, yeah?” 

“Of course.” Nehemia waved and turned down a side hallway towards her office. Aelin headed back to the prep room, put her lab coat in the laundry basket, and collected her things before heading to her office and the inevitable day of meetings. 

Two weeks later, Ren came back to the labs, his rash significantly improved. Nehemia removed and reapplied the SecondSkin in the same few areas and instructed him to keep treating the rash, as she didn’t want to move forward with full SecondSkin application until it had completely healed. 

“It’s a good sign that the rash is healing,” she told Aelin over the phone later that day. “In theory, that means the SecondSkin could cause a rash from chafing, irritation, or prolonged use, but the rash can be treated like normal.” 

“Definitely a good sign.” Aelin jotted down that note. “Hopefully, that means SecondSkin can be used for the wide audience we’ve been intending all along.”

“How much longer do you think this is going to be in development and testing?” Nehemia asked. “It’s been over two years, Ae. Shouldn’t this be about the time where we start to consider trial groups?” 

“I’d say yes, but we’ve only just learned about the rash, and we’re not yet sure if the current formula won’t cause that rash.” Aelin was partially thinking out loud. “My gut says to wait until the Ren trial isn’t getting a rash, and then move into trial groups.” Which will give me more time to get rid of Maeve before she can make a move for the SecondSkin tech like Arobynn did, she added silently. 

She was the only person who knew why Arobynn Hamel had died when he did—the former crime lord had taken one step too close to her highly guarded technology, and she’d had no choice but to retaliate. It was…not unexpected that Maeve would try to do the same. 

~

Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane. 

People had told him that frequently, ever since he was a reckless kid jumping off the playground structures at school, but he’d never had the thought himself until he was strolling into the Night Owl—a popular nightclub that was rumored to be the primary front of Maeve’s organization—in tight leather pants, a silver sequined jacket, and no shirt. Because rumor also had it that Maeve, the so-called Queen of the Night, had a…taste for handsome men, and he had it on good information that Rourke Farran was a frequent guest at the Night Owl. 

He sauntered up to the bouncer with a lazy, easy grin sprawled across his face. “Hey.” 

The bouncer, who could accurately be depicted as a concrete brick, stared flatly at him. “Invitation only, fancy boy.” 

“I’m with Cadre,” Fen returned, sliding his hand into his jacket to retrieve a beautiful ivory card with purple script embossed across its fine surface. He waved the card at the bouncer. “And they’re expecting me in ten minutes, so it would be great if you’d let me get my pretty ass through the door.” 

“Fuckin’ performers,” the bouncer muttered as he swung open the door. 

“Thank you,” Fen crooned, blowing a kiss at the stone-faced man. The door slammed behind him, and he tucked the invitation—expertly forged by Celaena’s man Nox—back into his jacket and slipped into the crowd of dancing bodies. He winked and smirked his way through the crowd, letting the thumping beat of the music ease his rhythm, until he reached the bar. 

Sure enough, Rourke Farran lounged on a barstool near the far end, one hand around a bottle of beer and the other around the waist of a blonde woman whose lipstick was littered all over his neck. 

Fenrys muffled the snort he wanted to let out and waved over the bartender. “I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” he purred, giving the guy, who was probably in his early twenties, a wink. 

The bartender’s blush was faintly visible in the flashing strobe lights. “Want that extra strong?” His gaze flicked ever so quickly to Fen’s bare chest. 

“Give it to me as-is, and then we’ll see.” Fen lowered his eyes to half-mast and watched the bartender make his drink. The other man threw the drink together effortlessly, sliding it across the bartop to Fenrys with a little smile of his own. 

“I get off shift in an hour,” he said softly, dark blue eyes alight with hope and a little hesitancy. 

“Good to know.” Fen took a long sip of his cocktail and nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.” In his periphery, he noticed Farran push the blonde out of his lap and stand up, swaying a little, and turn towards the dancefloor. 

He brushed past Fen on his way over. “Get a fuckin’ room,” he slurred, his glassy-eyed gaze flicking once over Fen’s glittering jacket and tight pants. “Goddamn fancy boy.” 

“I’ll be back.” Fen drained the rest of his drink, tossed a twenty on the bar, and rose, following Farran into the sea of dancing bodies. He kept a discreet distance from the man, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to watch the man’s moves. 

As he had suspected, Farran oozed sleaziness. What he was doing on the dancefloor barely passed for dancing; his gyrating hips and roaming hands were just barely short of outright having sex in public. He moved from girl to girl, changing partners as often as the music changed, leaving a good number of people giving him dirty looks for being too handsy. Fen snorted, knowing that the man probably deserved their scorn. Farran began to move towards the doors, and Fen slipped onto the dancefloor himself, moving fluidly through the crowd, keeping a constant eye on Farran’s steady, subtle escape route. 

Time to move, Moonbeam. 

Feeling a twinge of guilt for not staying to meet the cute bartender, Fenrys watched Farran leave the club and waited exactly a minute and a half before he headed out as well, putting enough unsteadiness in his step to indicate intoxication. Once he was out of the club, he glanced down the street in both directions and then went left. Even if he couldn’t track Farran, he knew where the bastard lived. 

After a quick pit stop in an alley to swap out his flashy jacket for a closely fitted black knit turtleneck, Fenrys headed into the tidy grid of streets that made up western Orynth, taking a meandering route towards the tidy, wealthy neighborhood where Rourke Farran lived. The neighborhood was decked out with security cameras, as Celaena had warned him, so he looped around through the expansive back yards, slinking easily through the landscaped trees and plants until he came to the fence that marked the edge of Farran’s property. There weren’t cameras along the back fence, primarily because of the rotating patrol of guard dogs and security guards, so Fen swiftly scaled the fence and hopped into a tree. 

He waited for the first round of patrols to pass before he carefully reached into the thigh pocket of his pants, withdrew a slim, vacuum-sealed package of meat, quietly cut open the plastic, and tossed the meat in a gentle arc directly onto the grass beside the paved walkway that wove around Farran’s house. A pair of guard dogs came barreling around the corner within sixty seconds, barking and growling and quickly discovering the meat. The second and third patrols weren’t far behind, and it was only a few minutes before all eight guard dogs were tearing apart the meat. 

“The fuck is happening?” A security guard rounded the corner, breathless from sprinting. He saw the dogs calming down and settling back into their patrols after having finished the meat. “God. Which idiot dropped snacks everywhere?” 

Another guard sprinted around the corner. “Everything okay?” 

“One of you jackasses dropped the dogs’ snacks,” the first guard snapped. 

The second one raised his hands in innocence. “I’m not the snack keeper tonight, dude.” 

“Whatever. Just get your ass back to rounds.” The guards nudged the dogs back onto the path and headed away. 

Mentally, Fenrys started counting minutes. He got to four, then five, then slowly and carefully slid down from the tree and darted across the lawn and onto the shadowed back porch. A moment later, he’d scaled the drainpipe leading up the side of the house and was perched on the balcony directly outside the master bedroom. 

Wherein Rourke Farran was fully naked in front of his mirror, with his—

“Fucking hell,” Fen groaned to himself, shaking his head. “Disgusting.” But also enough of a distraction for him to slip down onto the balcony, pull a slender silver tube from his sleeve, raise it to his lips, and blow a tiny needle dart straight into the back of Farran’s neck. 

Farran crumpled to the floor. 

Good work, Moonbeam, Fenrys complimented himself. Now you just have to get the asshole out of his booby-trap house and over to the river warehouse.

Easy. 

Right?

~

“He’s all yours, Boss,” Fenrys drawled as Aelin strolled past on the way out of the storage warehouse. 

She glanced at her smart watch. “It’s only the eleventh, Moon Moon. That was quick.” 

He shrugged, irreverent as always. “What can I say? I like to work fast.” 

“Hopefully not all the time.” She smirked wickedly. “Your bartender boyfriend might be disappointed.”

Fenrys flushed a delightful shade of pink. “How the fuck—”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Moon Moon.” She winked wickedly at him. “How’s our special guest doing? Is he adjusted to his new home?” 

“It took him some time to get used to the room,” Fen returned, casually pulling a set of brass knuckles from a pocket of his cargo pants and spinning them over his fist. 

Aelin chuckled, soft and lethal. “Not surprising. Thanks, Fen.” She paused just in front of the side door, her gloved knuckles resting on the doorknob. “Oh, Moon Moon?” 

“Yeah?” He froze, his posture still as a…soldier’s. 

“I’ll need you for cleanup on the twenty-seventh.” 

He nodded. “Got it, Boss.” 

Aelin keyed in the door code and left the warehouse, satisfied that she had set the wheels of her plan in motion. While she trusted Con’s assessment of his brother, she wasn’t fully convinced that she could completely trust anyone on her payroll, and Fen’s easy charm masked a cold, heartless willingness to carry out whatever depraved task she demanded of him. Furthermore, that stance of his—the utter stillness of his posture when someone ordered him to stop—had been pricking at her memory for days, and she’d only just realized why. 

Fenrys stood like a soldier. More than that—he stood like one of her uncle’s men, one of the Terrasen Special Forces. 

And Aelin knew the day one of Gav’s men got into Celaena Sardothien’s business would be the day her double identity began to crumble. Even if she wanted to trust Fenrys, she had to confirm for herself that she could, and that meant giving him a fake kill date in case he needed to report back to someone in the military. 

If he did, if he turned out to be a spy, then the TSF would come sniffing around for Rourke Farran when it was already weeks too late. 

~

Aelin laced her fingers with Rowan’s as they strolled through the fancy restaurant’s glass front doors, something settling deep in her chest at the simple, casual intimacy of holding his hand. Her mind had been running in overdrive for the last two weeks, and even now, with ten days left in the month, she hadn’t been able to slow the constant dizzying whirl of her thoughts. 

Rowan was one of the only people who’d brought her a glimpse of peace recently, in the few scattered dates they’d been able to snatch between both of their busy schedules. He flicked her a tiny, secret smile, one that only she ever saw, before approaching the hostess stand with the same confidence that cloaked him when he was in his investigator clothes and badge. And dear god, the things that confidence did to her already throbbing pussy—she was half tempted to slip off her panties and sneak them to him under the table. 

But she was a mature woman, so she wouldn’t. 

“Whitethorn, party of two, seven-thirty reservation,” Rowan said to the hostess. 

The young woman—probably a college student, if Aelin’s guess was correct—tapped a few things into her tablet. “Your table is ready, Mr. Whitethorn. Please, this way.” She led Rowan and Aelin through the low-lit restaurant towards the far wall of windows. Through the glass was a breathtaking view of Orynth, the city cast in shades of bronze as the sun began to drift downwards. 

“Gorgeous,” Aelin murmured, captivated by the view. 

Rowan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. “Not half as much as you.” 

She blushed. “You’re quite the flirt, you—oh!” Unexpectedly, a man’s shoulder brushed hers as they wove through the restaurant floor. She looked up to find none other than Police Captain Chaol Westfall, wearing a nice suit and a mildly shocked expression. 

“M–Miss Galathynius,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “And, ah, Lieutenant Whitethorn. I…I apologize for running into you.” 

“Westfall, what are you doing here?” Rowan inquired, polite on the surface but with narrowed, suspicious eyes. 

“Considering we aren’t at work, it’s none of your business, White-horn, but I was at dinner with a friend of mine,” Chaol shot back. There was definite animosity underlying his words. 

Rowan raised a brow. “You…have friends?” 

“Ah, lighten up, darling,” Aelin interjected before either man could resort to fists. “We don’t all live at our workplace, as we seem to have discovered. And Ro, darling, we’ve left that poor hostess floundering.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards their table. 

He shot Chaol one last suspicious look. Chaol returned the look, but broke the stare-off to nod respectfully at Aelin as she passed. “Ms. Galathynius.” 

When they reached their table, Rowan pulled out Aelin’s chair before seating himself across from her. Questions brewed in the shifting of his eyes. “Question, Ae—do you know Westfall? How?” 

“That was two questions,” she teased. “Yes, I’ve met Captain Westfall before. It’s all part of the business; I’ve met just about every notable figure in Orynth at some function or another. I probably met the police captain at some kind of gala.” 

Rowan nodded slowly, digesting the information. “That makes sense. All those faces probably run together after long enough, yeah?” 

“I try to keep them separate, but yeah.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “There’s only so many names and faces you can memorize before they all start to appear the same.” 

“Why, Miss Galathynius,” Rowan drawled, his face alight with mischief, “are you implying that there are too many men in suits in this fine city?” 

She shrugged, meeting the gleam of his humor with her own dry wit. “I’m simply observing that if a few less of them were to bother me at every function I attend, my mind would be clearer.” 

“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap, love.” Raising a brow, he sipped his water. 

“It sometimes takes a moment to pull out a name from the file cabinet,” she returned. “And—oh look, here comes our server.” Their server, a sandy-blonde-haired man in his late twenties wearing the restaurant staff’s uniform of white shirt, black trousers, and maroon tie, wore a pleasant (if tired) smile as he pulled his notepad from his apron pocket. 

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear about our specials this evening?” 

Aelin glanced at Rowan, whose eyes had visibly narrowed as he scanned the server. The look was so blatantly male, she almost rolled her eyes, but her possessive buzzard relaxed when he saw the silver wedding band adorning the server’s left ring finger. “I actually think we’re ready to order, if that’s alright?” 

James the server just about melted to the floor in relief. “Are you serious?” he asked, lowering his voice to an incredulous whisper. “I—I haven’t had a single easy table tonight, and it’s the last two hours of a double and—I’m so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me.” 

Aelin chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, was it? Customer service is a rough job.” 

“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled. 

Rowan shot Aelin a confused look. “Ae, love, I haven’t even looked at the menu.” 

“Do you trust me, love?” she asked. 

He pursed his lips, not quite used to letting someone else order his food. “All right.” 

“Perfect.” She blew him a subtle kiss. “Okay, James, is it alright if I give you our order a few steps away?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, keeping it still loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I want to surprise my boyfriend; I’ve been here more than once but he hasn’t ever been.” 

“Of course.” James smiled, a genuine one this time. “I brought my wife here once when we were dating—took half my paycheck, but it was worth it.” He stepped aside a few paces and Aelin followed, quietly giving her and Rowan’s order. The server’s pen flew over his page. 

“And say hi to Chef Emrys for me, would you?” she concluded. 

“You…you know the head chef?” 

“Bit of a long story, but yes. Tell him Aelin Galathynius says hi, please. Thanks!” She came back to the table and slipped into her seat, leaving the very nice but very shocked server to collect his wits after realizing just who he was talking to and go to place the order. 

“Poor guy looks like he just got hit by a truck,” Rowan observed, smothering a laugh.

Aelin smirked. “I may or may not have given him my full name.” 

“Ah, the name drop.” He nodded sagely. “Just what every famous CEO has to do to the poor server who got their table.” 

“You’ve got quite a mouth for a soldier, you know,” Aelin mused, her words slowing to a near- seductive pace. “A respectable man would never insinuate that his date uses her job title for perks.” 

“I never said I was respectable.” Lazily, his gaze roamed down her upper body, admiring the way her little black dress scooped beneath her collarbones, accentuating the gleam of the single small teardrop diamond pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat. 

James came by with two glasses of white wine and an appetizer platter with two sharing plates, breaking the dangerous haze of the moment, and Aelin thanked the server as he headed off, no doubt to take care of his other tables. 

Rowan’s jaw slacked just a bit at the sight of the cured meat and prawns arranged on the plate. “Please tell me you didn’t order the most expensive things on the menu, Ae.” 

“Of course not.” She reached across the table and linked her hands with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. “I got us an appetizer to share, a first course, a meat course, and a dessert, and I’m not the kind of person who orders expensive items just to flash her money around.” 

He breathed out a deep, controlled exhale. “I know, love. It’s just…” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “I’m not used to any of this—the fancy restaurants, the fancy food, the way people don’t bat an eye at spending thirty dollars for some toast.” 

She cracked a grin at that. “Let me introduce you to the fine, fine work of Chef Emrys, then. I actually used to work for him, way back when I was eighteen and my parents decided I needed to experience real-people jobs.” 

“Way back when,” he drawled, teasing her. 

“Hush, old man,” she teased right back, plating up a sampling of the appetizer plate and sliding it over to him. “I know I’m only twenty-seven, but my stint as a hostess feels like forever ago.” 

“Kind of like how basic training feels like forever ago for me.” Rowan agreed. He bit into one of the cured prawns and nearly moaned, his eyes closing in joy. “God, this is incredible.” 

She beamed. “Wait until you taste Chef Emrys’s filet mignon, Ro.” 

The conversation flowed freely between them after that, only interrupted by the arrival of new food and wine. A mushroom and herb risotto accompanied by an aged Riesling. The promised filet mignon, which almost made Rowan cry with joy, and a spectacular six-year Merlot. And finally, individual blackberry cobblers, the berries ripe and fresh and perfectly sweet-tart, paired with the restaurant’s signature Cabernet. 

“I don’t think I can move,” Rowan sighed as he set down his last empty wineglass. “But it was absolutely worth every bite.” 

“I think I’m going to dream of this cobbler,” Aelin added, regretfully nudging her empty dish towards the end of the table. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave, yes?” 

“Gonna need three to five business days,” he mumbled. 

Her laughter rippled across their low-lit table. “I love when you let that humor of yours loose.” 

A different kind of hunger flickered in his forest eyes. “And I love when I have you all to myself.” 

“Possessive much?” 

He just shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, love, but we both know you only come for me.” 

Flames flickered through her blood at the deep, sinful timbre of his voice. “That’s only because I haven’t introduced you to my drawer full of battery-powered boyfriends.” 

The banked embers simmering in his expression flared into a bonfire, and he sat upright and beckoned their server over. “Suddenly, I’m ready to go home.” 

James was at their table within two minutes. “How was everything for you tonight? Can I get you anything else?” 

“It was absolutely mind-blowing, as always,” Aelin said. “And no, I think we’ll just take the check.” Covertly, she slipped James her credit card, and he gave her a small nod as he went over to the server computer to process the payment. 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” Rowan murmured, the velvet caress of his voice stroking down her spine. “Mind-blowing, Ae?” 

“Would you happen to know anything about that?” she asked, innocently. 

In response, he trailed a brazen stare down her figure. “Seems like you need a refresher.” He stood up far too smoothly for someone who had just finished his fourth glass of wine, gave her his hand for stability as she rose, and then rested that hand against the small of her back, his touch burning through her dress. 

Their server returned with a check folder in his hand and passed it over to Aelin, who glanced over the receipts, signed her name, and tucked her credit card and her copy of the receipt back into her small handbag. “Thanks, James.” 

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn. You might have been the best table I’ve had all day.” He tucked the folder into his apron pocket with a wry grin. “Have a good one!” 

“If it’s good, it won’t be just one,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear. 

A shiver danced down her neck. “Is that a promise, Lieutenant?” 

He held the door open for her as they left the restaurant. “Ask me again when you’re begging for my cock, love.” 

~

Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, was expecting Whitethorn’s visit, but the man’s presence in his office still gave him an oddly unsettled feeling. 

He pasted a bland, blasé expression onto his face. “Yes, Whitethorn?” 

Rowan dropped into the chair opposite Ren’s, regarding him with a piercing look that almost seemed to pierce beneath the layer of SecondSkin cloaking his true identity. “How the hell do you know Aelin, Westfall?” 

Ren shrugged. “We met at some city leader event a while back. Some big thing the mayor hosted so the big names of Orynth could pretend to be civil to each other.” 

“Yeah? How long ago was that?” 

Fucking think, Allsbrook. Chaol Westfall had been the police captain for about three years, Ren had taken over as Chaol six months ago in January, and the mayor’s Leaders Gala was always held in…the fall…“Last October, I believe. You’ll have to give me a little grace on the estimate, since I was damn busy with actual work.” 

“Cute of you to think you can get away with sneering at me from your soapbox, Westfall,” Whitethorn said dryly. “Well, I checked the dates, and the mayor always holds his little party in October, so I’ll buy your story.” 

“My story, huh? When did you get so desperate for leads that you started accusing coworkers, Whitethorn?” 

“Shut up,” Rowan grunted. “I’m just making sure you haven’t been doing anything shady with my girlfriend, jackass.” 

“Ooooooh, we’re using official terms now?” Ren couldn’t resist the urge to press Whitethorn’s buttons. “I thought you were allergic to that kind of commitment.” 

“I wouldn’t get smart-mouthed with me, Westfailure,” Rowan grumbled. “I’ve seen you going to the Galathynius labs. What the hell are you doing there?” 

Ren muffled a rather creative string of curses. “Whitethorn, I know you’re terse, but what the hell was that subject change? Give me some goddamn context, for shit’s sake.” 

“Fine.” Rowan pulled up some security camera footage on his tablet. “This is a record of the feed from the Galathynius, Inc. lab complex’s security cameras, and before you open your mouth, I have clearance. Two and a half weeks ago, on June 4th, you went to the labs. You went again yesterday.” He tapped on the video, and the footage played, clearly showing Chaol walk into the labs and walk back out after a period of fast-forwarding through nothing. 

“Well.” Think, you fucking idiot! “Since we are currently quietly investigating a connection between Galathynius, Incorporated, and the, uh, Shadow Killer—”

“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected. 

“Whatever. That person. You think there’s a connection, and I’m pursuing it. I happen to know a scientist who works in the Galathynius labs, and I set up a couple of meetings to speak with her.” Ren folded his arms across his chest. Buy the story, Whitethorn. 

Whitethorn frowned. “Why didn’t I hear about these meetings?” 

“Because I was being discreet, duh.” Ren poured a heavy dose of sarcasm into the last word.

Rowan grumbled something that sounded like a string of cussing. “I didn’t get sent to this investigation for the laugh track, Westfall.” He stood up and left the office, carelessly banging the door shut behind him. 

“Jackass,” Ren grumbled. He turned back to the endless slog of paperwork and files he had to get through, because the job of police captain came with a lifetime supply of that shit. Against all beliefs, he’d actually come to enjoy this job, this role, and he was just as invested in the case as Whitethorn was. 

He just happened to be on a different side. 

~

This is fucking insane, this is fucking insane, this is fucking insane. Those were the words running through Fenrys’s head as he and his twin strolled down the secret back stars of the Night Owl. He was barely able to focus on the opulence of the hallway—plush velvet lining the walls, fine mahogany banisters, and black wall torches and overhead lights giving the whole space a deep purple glow—when his mind was so focused on what lay at the end of the walk. 

“Relax,” Con muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed before we’ve found out what she wants.”

“I’m trying,” Fen grumbled. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, the same sequined one he’d worn to the Night Owl three weeks ago. “But—”

“But nothing.” Con cut him off. “Remember why we’re here.” 

“Right.” Because Celaena had trusted the two of them with infiltrating Maeve’s lair. Because they were the key to taking down the last obstacle in Boss Sardothien’s path, whatever the hell it was. 

The masked guard in front of the twins stopped at a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said, expressionless. He went into the room, closed the door behind him, and came out a few minutes later just as expressionless. “Maeve will see you now.” And he opened the door. 

Fenrys took a quick, deep breath and strolled into the dark-paneled office, Con at his side, both of their gazes immediately locking onto the woman who sat behind the imposing black marble desk at the far end of the room. Her face was pale, nearly opalescent in the darkness, her lips were stained scarlet, and her unnervingly violet gaze was fixed on the twins. 

“Thank you for being willing to meet on such short notice, boys,” Maeve said, her calm, cold voice slicing through the room like a blade. 

“Our honor,” Fen replied. Maeve gestured at the pair of leather chairs opposite her desk, and the twins sat down. 

She steepled her fingers under her chin. “I have a job for you.” 

Con shared a loaded look with Fen. “Both of us, or just one?” 

“Both of you. I need one of you for each side of the job.” 

Slowly, Fen nodded. “Alright. What can we do for you?” 

One corner of Maeve’s scarlet lips curled upwards. She retrieved a thin manila file from her desk and slid it across the desktop. “Fenrys, kill this man.” The order was as clearly and casually enunciated as if she was asking for a glass of water. “Connall, you will stay here to monitor Fenrys’s task.” 

Beside Fenrys, Con’s posture stiffened. “How?” 

“We have an advanced tech space that will provide all the equipment you need, as well as the chance to experiment with some of the devices we’re working on.” A gleam flickered briefly through the Queen of the Night’s unflinching stare. “And I require company.” 

“Alright.” Con dipped his head in acquiescence, flatly refusing to meet the sharp, concerned gaze Fen shot towards him. 

“Excellent.” Maeve smiled, and it sent a shiver down Fenrys’s spine. “You may go, Fenrys. I expect it won’t take you too long to get the job done.” 

“I pride myself on efficiency,” he smirked, masking the oily chill in his blood with a lazy, half-wild grin. He rose, nodded at Maeve, and strolled out of the room and then out of the club, his steps sure and unfaltering until he was around the corner and out of sight. 

Then, he ducked into a side alley and slumped against the wall, his veneer of easy confidence dropping to reveal his hidden terror. Fuck! He’d left his brother in that spider’s lair; gods only knew what could happen if either of them failed to do what Maeve commanded. Hands shaking, Fenrys reached into the hidden inner pockets of his jacket, his fingers closing around the comfortingly cold steel of his favorite twin flat knives and the envelope containing the thick piece of cardstock that had been in the file. The least he could do—for himself, for Connall, and for the man he had to kill—was carry out his task quickly, before the Queen of the Night could hurt his brother.

And so, heart heavy, Fenrys Moonbeam adjusted his jacket and the weapons contained within it and began his prowl towards Orynth Police headquarters.

~

Rowan arrived at Orynth PD unusually early on the morning of June 30. After a restless night—he’d tossed and turned far into the wee hours of the morning, snatched probably three solid hours of sleep, and had a muddled collection of dream snippets—he’d just decided to bite the bullet and drag his ass out of bed at five in the morning. Shortly before six, he keyed in his code at the door of the police station, let himself into the quiet, chilly building, and dragged himself to the locker room to dump his bag and splash some icy water on his face. With his vest strapped on and his badge around his arm, he grabbed his laptop bag and trudged up the stairs to the offices, ducking into his office to drop off his things and try to form a to-do list. 

Fuck, he needed caffeine. He needed it badly enough that he’d even drink the bitter shit from the common-room carafe. So he pushed his chair in, left his office, and went down to the bullpen, following the faint scent of the first batch of coffee. Operating on autopilot, he was halfway to the break room before he smelled it. 

Blood. 

That coppery tang was unmistakable. 

Fuck. 

Coffee forgotten, Rowan whirled around and strode back to the bullpen, following his nose like some kind of hound. A bloodhound, whispered the traitorous part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Aelin’s witty laugh. In any other context, he might have laughed along. But not this time. Head down, he tracked the metallic stench of blood across the bullpen, its tang growing heavier with each successive step he took. The blood, wherever it was, was still fresh enough to be that strong, but old enough to have spread its scent through a significant part of the floor. Both of those things worried him. A lot. 

Hand straying to his holster, Rowan rounded the corner towards the cluster of desks where the detectives and Westfall worked whenever Westfall was in the bullpen. He inhaled, catching a lungful of blood-scent, so strong it nearly knocked him back. That part of the floor was still shadowed in the early-morning dimness, so he flicked on the nearest light for a better visual. 

The flashlight in his hand clattered to the floor. His other hand clenched around the cold, smooth handle of his gun. 

He’d found the source of the blood stench. 

He blinked. Shook his head. He snapped his jaw shut, swore at himself a few times, imagined Gav yelling at him for losing his mind like a goddamn fucking green idiot, and took one step forwards. 

He froze. 

Sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, the back of his skull concave as if bashed in with a heavy, blunt object, with a bullet hole ripped through his temple and knives pinning his now-limp hands to the desk, was Chaol Westfall. 

Rowan locked up the side of himself that immediately started screaming questions and approached Chaol’s…corpse…carefully, forcing the investigative side of himself to take the lead. He cautiously nudged Westfall with his baton, noting the lack of response. With that amount of blood loss, he’d be more shocked if the man was alive, but he still had to go through the steps. As much as he could, Rowan circled the body, clocking each new wound he found on the man’s body. It was…more brutal than he had initially noticed, slashes and cuts scattered over the body, as well as the knives stabbed through the hands and the obvious point-blank range of the bullet, marked by its entry and exit wounds. 

As he came to the other side, Rowan stopped once again, because there was a goddamned note tacked to Westfall’s forehead. No—nailed to his forehead. 

Fuck.

He pulled on the pair of latex gloves he kept tucked into his belt and gingerly reached for the note, lifting it up enough to read it. He didn’t remove it; he was too experienced to fuck with a crime scene like that. He did, however, lift up the paper, which was surprisingly thick and high-quality for a fucking assassin signoff. Three words were printed onto the note in dark ink. He tilted the paper slightly, and the black ink shimmered with a dark purple sheen, indicative both of its quality and probably of the signature colors of whoever the hell had written the message. 

Tread carefully, Lieutenant. 

There was no signature. There was, however, a symbol stamped beneath the short, threatening message. Rowan peered at the stamp, sharp gaze scanning it until the shape came into focus. It was an almost photographic image of an owl, the bird posed in eerie stillness, its inked eyes large and unblinking. And atop the owl’s head sat a crown, a perfect arc of five jeweled spikes. 

It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.

~~~

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[acourtofthought]

Hi I was wondering if you still think eluciens book is next after hofas?

Even after HOFAS, I still think Elucien's book is next especially because as of HOFAS, Az still does not seem to give credit where credit is due in terms of Elain.

SJM gave Chaol a book but not at the expense of Aelin finding the person with whom she was meant for.

I like Chaol very much but I don't think it can be denied that he was unable to truly embrace Celaena for everything she was. Dorian once said to him that he didn't get to pick the parts of her that he loved and it was true. He struggled with thinking she was assassinating people at the Kings orders though that is what she was hired to do. He struggled once he found out she had magic. He struggled once he found out she was really Aelin.

So imagine if SJM gave Chaol his HEA with Yrene before Aelin fell in love with Rowan? It would send the message that "hey, it's cool you had prejudices and here's your reward in Yrene!"

People in the fandom go gaga over Az. They either moon over his interactions with Elain or over his interactions with Gwyn.

But his attitude towards both Elain and Lucien often gets swept under the rug unless it's being addressed in a post trying to prove why he and Elain aren't endgame. There's a sense of "he doesn't respect Elain and therefore will not end up with her" and then many move right on to how he and Gwyn would be great for one another while completely skipping over the fact that he probably needs to learn a lesson or two before that ever happens.

It would be like SJM giving Tamlin his HEA with someone before Feyre ended up with Rhys. Or Tamlin getting his HEA before Lucien.

I'm not saying Az is exactly like Tamlin but there are similarities there and I think it's odd that we would all probably agree Tamlin should not have gotten his HEA before Feyre or get one before Lucien because of the way he treated them while some believe Az, with the way he acts towards Elain and treats Lucien, should get his HEA before them.

Az's behavior is problematic but many want to turn a blind eye, believing that as long as he is with Gwyn, he'll be a better male.

To me, Az's true growth will not ring as true until he sees that Lucien is in fact good enough for Elain, that she does in fact have interest in him, that Elain and Lucien are in fact just as powerful and capable of Az himself and him feeling happy for them, him being able to acknowledge he was wrong.

Az finding his mate in the next ACOTAR book and him suddenly being gracious as a result is not a lesson learned. "I got my mate so now I can admit you're a good guy Lucien, sorry about that."

It rings insincere. I think that as we just got the first hints of a Gwynriel mating bond introduced in SF, it's not crazy to think that SJM will give their story a little more time to cook while Elucien's mating bond is first dealt with.

Beyond that, I don't think a Gwynriel book at this time moves the plot forward with Koschei, Beron, Tamlin, Vassa, or the peace treaty.

Suddenly drawing the current "villains" into Night Court territory drama with the Illyrians, the Valkyrie or the Prison lands doesn't make a lot of sense to me because then, Elucien's story would be set in the NC.

I think it's clear that the current main issues in their world exist outside the NC borders.

Beron wants Spring lands and the NC needs Springs armies as an ally yet Tamlin isn't getting better.

Koschei wants to free himself of the lake to become master of their world (not just one territory).

The fae in Vallahan want to move into human territory.

Vassa's curse takes her back to Koschei's lake on the continent.

The Valkyries and the Illyrians have nothing to do with these plots. People claim that Koschei is connected to the Illyrians because of the Rite but that was Briallyn's plot for Nesta because she needed to wear Nesta's powers down. "Your power is too strong - throwing you into this primitive spectacle wore you down". It really had nothing to do with the Illyrians themselves.

I also don't believe that SJM is going to heavily tie Merrill and time travel into what's going on across the continent and Spring. I think SJM laid the groundwork for her future series which I imagine will deal with more crossover plots, Merrill as a villain and world walking but the Valkyrie storyline which consists of building up an entire legion of elite female warriors is not something I see happening within the same year that the idea of the Valkyrie being reborn took place. And there's no point in suddenly tying the Valkyrie / Illyrians to Koschei and the peace treaty in a single book when we know Elucien's book will not take place in the NC. It makes no sense for SJM to turn Beron's attention to the NC when Rhys remains the most powerful HL and could easily wipe Beron off the map if he dares to enter NC territory. The reason Beron is looking to Spring is because of it's weakened state.

I once called it a marble run but SJM recently used the airplane taxiing metaphor.

Yes, Gwyn talked of wanting to leave the library but Vassa has been trying to free herself from her curse for much longer.

Yes, Gwyn and Az have both been given mysterious backgrounds but both Lucien and Elain have had unexplored powers and Lucien's still hasn't learned of his real father for a much longer time.

Yes, Gwynriel had the first hints of their mating bond established but Elucien's "will they / won't they?" has been one of the main questions of the ACOTAR series since ACOMAF.

Yes, Gwyn has her own story to tell but Elain is Feyre's sister and she's been waiting to tell her story for much longer. And I do think the underdog deserves her chance to shine when SF continued reminding us that there are still some who feel it's alright to speak for Elain and who don't believe her capable.

This series is not going to end up only being about the Archerons, I imagine SJM will continue on with Mor's story, Gwynriel's story, and more on Nesta's journey outside of Feyre and Rhys.

But to me it doesn't make sense that she would skip over Elain to tell Gwyn and Az's romantic arc first, especially when Az is one of the guilty parties of underestimating Elain.

SJM herself spoke of how her stories revolve around the female's journey and while I admit she also writes books that start off because of a male's journey (Chaol), I think Az getting a book before Elain would completely go against the foundation of what she typically writes. A problematic male character's happiness gained at the expense of a female character's happiness (and an unproblematic male like Lucien) would not be a very Girl Power message.

But of course, that is only my opinion and I have no idea whether SJM sees it that way or not.  

[golden-kingdom]

Favorite Crime - Chapter 3

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: Violence

Author’s note: I'm starting school again tomorrow so the next update might take a while. We'll see how it goes. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

When Rowan woke up, the first thing he noticed was the thrumming of his head. He tried to clear his brain and recall what happened, but all he could remember was a sharp pain in his neck and a dark silhouette behind him. Then nothing. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. He was in an abandoned building, the place empty and illuminated only by the moon. He tried to get up from the chair he was sitting on, but he realized his feet and hands had been tied up. He pulled on the rope wrapped tightly around his hands, trying to free himself, but it didn’t budge. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

He heard light footsteps coming his way and a person dressed in black from head to toe stopped in front of him. The light of the moon lit up their hidden face. They were wearing a hood and he could only make out amused turquoise eyes. Rowan tried to set himself free, using all his strength, and a feminine laugh echoed off the walls.

“Well, there’s no need to leave so fast, agent Whitethorn. You just arrived.”

That voice. He had heard it before, but he couldn’t figure out when.

“This isn’t how I imagined our first meeting would go. I’m usually more into candlelit dinners, you know. But I guess this will have to do. I hope you’re into bondage.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Rowan asked, tired of playing this game.

“How rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself. Celaena Sardothien, pleased to finally meet you.”

“Sardothien” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. I just wanted to have a little one-on-one chat,” she reassured him.

“If you really wanted to see me, you could’ve just come to my office. No need for all the theatrics,” he replied dryly.

“Ah, but see, that’s the thing. I didn’t want your colleagues interrupting us. And this is much more fun.”

He couldn’t see her mouth, but he knew she was smiling.

“What did you do to Cortland?” he asked her, hoping to get something out of her.

“Ah Sam. Poor Sam, he really was a good kid. I liked him,” she said as if she cared about anyone other than herself. “It’s a pity he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was becoming dangerous.”

“Is he dead? Did you kill him?” he pressed on.

“Is Sam dead? Good question. I don’t seem to remember,” Celaena said, pondering the question like if it was a riddle.

“But don’t worry, agent Whitethorn,” she added after a few seconds. “If he’s dead, he didn’t suffer. I’m not cruel.”

Rowan trashed in his chair, livid, which only amused her.

“You’re a sadistic psychopath who only cares about herself,” he spewed out, clenching his jaw.

“Is that really what you think of me? I’m wounded, agent Whitethorn,” Celaena replied, fake offended. 

“What about Lillian? Did you hurt her too?” he inquired.

“Who?” Celaena asked, feigning confusion.

“The nurse who was with Cortland at the hospital when he disappeared.”

“I have no idea who you are talking about,” she insisted. 

“I swear if you hurt her, I will kill you,” Rowan spit out in a threatening voice.

Celaena looked at him, her eyes glinting, as if she knew something he didn’t. It infuriated him. Damn her, she knew how to get under his skin.

“It looks like you care about her... Do you have a crush on the pretty nurse, agent Whitethorn?” Celaena said with what he could only imagine was a wicked smile.

Rowan tried not to react to her taunts. He didn’t want to give her this pleasure. But anger was brewing inside of him.

Celaena stepped forward slowly, never breaking eye contact, and got close to him. When he inhaled, he was hit with the smell of jasmine and lemon verbena. 

“Tell me, agent Whitethorn. When you are alone in bed at night, do you think of her? Or do you think of me?” she whispered in his ear.

Rowan spat at her, and she laughed loudly.

“You’re crazy,” he exclaimed.

She moved back, clicking her tongue.

“I’m afraid our time together is running out. Your friends from the FBI will be here soon,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’ll see each other soon enough.”

She blew him a kiss and disappeared into the dark of the night.

After a few minutes of silence, Rowan started to doubt she had actually warned his colleagues he was here. He was trying to figure out a way to free himself when Lorcan and Fenrys finally arrived, guns ready to fire.

“Whitethorn! Are you okay?” Lorcan exclaimed when he spotted him, dropping his weapon.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’m not hurt.”

His boss ran to him and cut the ropes that were holding his hands and feet, setting him free. Rowan rolled his wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again.

“It was her,” Rowan told them, looking up at his friends.

“Her who?” Fenrys asked, perplexed.

“Sardothien,” he clarified. “She drugged me and brought me here.”

“What did she want?” Lorcan enquired, always straight to the point.

“To talk,” Rowan replied.

“She wanted to talk?” Fenrys said, disbelief on his face. “What did she say?”

“She killed Cortland,” Rowan said, his anger quickly resurfacing.

“Is that what she said?” Lorcan questioned him.

“Not exactly, but she alluded to it,” Rowan answered.

The dark-haired man looked at Rowan with uncertainty in his eyes. He turned to look at Fenrys, who appeared unsure as well.

“I know it’s her. She’s crazy,” Rowan said adamantly.

“We worry about you, Whitethorn,” Fenrys said in a soft voice. “You seem fixated on Sardothien. There are many criminals in this city who wanted to see Cortland gone. She’s not behind everything that happens.”

“I-,” Rowan started, but Lorcan cut him off.

“Maybe it would be good for you to take a few days off. Get some rest, come back with a bigger picture of this.”

“Are you kidding me, Lorcan!? She just kidnapped me, and you want me to take a break? I don’t need rest, I need her behind bars,” Rowan exclaimed, baffled by his colleagues’ behavior. “You need me on this investigation. I’m the one who knows her best.”

“Alright, but I’m in charge of this investigation. You do what I say,” Lorcan replied firmly. “And tonight, I want you to go home and sleep. We’ll see each other tomorrow.”

Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Lorcan’s eyes kept him quiet. He simply nodded.

…

Rowan was pissed off. Really pissed off. He couldn’t believe Lorcan and Fenrys’ reactions. He gets drugged and kidnapped by the female assassin and he’s the one who’s fixated on her? His colleagues didn’t get the urgency of the situation. This woman was dangerous and insane. He tossed and turned in bed, too furious to sleep. He kept replaying the night in his head, looking for something he might have missed. Any clue that would lead him to Sardothien. When he finally fell asleep, exhausted, he dreamt of gleaming turquoise eyes and of jasmine and lemon verbena perfume.

…

The next morning, while she was eating breakfast on the couch and reading a novel, Celaena received a text. She ignored it, wanting to finish her chapter first. She was getting to the good part. But she had a gut feeling she wouldn’t like what the text said anyway. When she was finished reading, she put her book down on the coffee table and finally picked up her phone.

Boss wants to see you

She put her face in her hands, deeply breathing out. She knew she was in trouble. She went against Arobynn’s orders last night and he must have learned. She should have known; he had eyes everywhere. She shuddered at the thought of facing him. She threw her half-eaten bagel in the trash. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

Celaena took her time taking a hot shower and getting ready. Anything to postpone the inevitable confrontation that was waiting for her. When she couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore, she headed to The Guild’s manor.

It was large building, sitting on even larger grounds. The manor was located where you would least expect a criminal society’s headquarters would be: in the middle of a quaint and peaceful neighborhood of Rifthold. She knew the place like the back of her hand. She had lived there from the moment Arobynn had recruited her when she was 10 until the moment she turned 21 four years ago. She still had her room there and used it to store weapons. But she had moved out as soon as she was allowed to. She didn’t like this house and, even though she had spent more than ten years living there, she had never felt at home. It probably had more to do with the people living there than the building itself, but even the sight of it made her feel uneasy.

She was let through the gates by a security guard and made her way to the manor. The place was high-security and there were guards everywhere patrolling every inch of the grounds. Inside the building, there were cameras in every corridor and in the main rooms. She let herself in, simply nodding her head when she met someone she knew, and walked to Arobynn’s office. She took a deep breath, composing herself, before knocking on the door. It only took a few seconds for a voice to tell her to come in. She opened the heavy door and closed it behind her. Arobynn was standing by the window, looking outside.

“Sit,” he told her without looking at her.

Celaena obliged and took a seat in front of his desk. Arobynn was silent. She knew it was a bad sign. He finally looked her way.

“I’m disappointed, Celaena. Very disappointed,” he said, though his face didn’t show any emotion.

“I directly ordered you to stay away from Whitethorn,” he continued. “And what do my sources come and tell me? Whitethorn was kidnapped during the night.”

Celaena didn’t dare look away, even as his gaze darkened.

“I know it was you. You’re the only person foolish enough to do that,” he drawled out.

Arobynn stepped away from the window and walked until he was close to Celaena. He grabbed her roughly by the chin. Celaena tried not to recoil at the contact.

“You know I hold higher expectations for you. As my heir apparent, you must lead by example. You cannot do whatever you want and act recklessly like you did last night,” he told her. “But you already know all of this.”

Celaena didn’t say anything. She knew he didn’t expect an answer. 

“You know what happens when you disobey me,” he said.

She didn’t flinch as his hand hit her cheek loudly. Again, his hand came down on her face, even harder than the first time. Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, but she didn’t want him to see her cry.

He grabbed her by a fistful of hair and forced her to stand up. 

“You know I hate to do this, Celaena, but you need to learn,” he said.

This time it was his fist that hit her in the face. He pushed her violently, her head hitting the wall with a loud thump.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he exclaimed, bringing her head up by her hair.

Celaena looked at him with daggers in her eyes. She tried to get free from his strong grip, but he put his hand around her throat and squeezed. His gray eyes were full of rage.

After a few seconds, just when she was about to pass out from the lack of oxygen, he let go of her neck. She fell to the ground, gasping for air.

Arobynn walked away and went to sit behind his desk. Celaena was curled on the floor, holding herself.

“I also heard that Sam Cortland disappeared from the hospital after talking with the FBI. I’m hoping it was your work and we didn’t just lose him. Should I send someone after him?” he asked, his voice neutral as if nothing had happened.

Celaena cleared her sore throat, she could still feel Arobynn’s strong hands around it.

“No need. I took care of it,” she rasped out.

“Good. Did anybody see your face?” he inquired.

She thought about Whitethorn. She shook her head.

“Just a security guard. I don’t think he’ll talk. I can pay him a visit if you want,” she said.

“I’m not into taking chances. And I want you to stay away from this. He will be handled.”

Celaena knew what that meant, and guilt ate her up. She saved Sam, but an innocent man would die because of it. She should have come up with a better plan.

“Go. And don’t ever disobey me again,” Arobynn finally said.

Using all the strength and dignity she had left, she pushed herself on her feet and wobbled outside the room.

…

“Lochan, we need you to analyze this video footage and tell us if there’s a way to fix how it’s been tempered with. It’s urgent,” said Lorcan, handling a USB key to the small woman who was sitting at her desk.

Lorcan had requested the camera footage from the hospital and, as Rowan had expected it, the footage of Sam Cortland vanishing had been deleted. The only thing of interest they had noticed were two people leaving the hospital around the time of Cortland’s disappearance, one who looked like the young man, wearing a security guard jacket, and one with their face hidden by a hood. It was hard to tell in those few seconds of footage if Cortland was being forced or walked out of the hospital of his own free will.

“Good morning to you too, agent Salvaterre. I’ll do it but it’s not my priority. Maybe you could ask more nicely next time if you want me to put it first on the list of things I have to do,” Elide replied dryly.

Elide Lochan was an IT specialist who had worked with them at the FBI headquarters in Rifthold for the last three months. Despite her small size, the brunette was one of the only ones who dared stand up to Lorcan. She was a fierce young woman and a genius in her field. Rowan liked her. And he knew that even though Lorcan acted like a grouchy bastard around her and complained about her behavior, he liked her a lot. Rowan even had a bet going on with Fenrys on when they would finally get together.

“As I said, it’s urgent. It concerns someone’s disappearance and possible murder. Would you please do it as soon as possible, Miss Lochan?” said Lorcan with his best amiable voice.

Rowan suppressed a laugh. Lorcan never said “please” to anyone, his employees not the least. Elide already had him wrapped around her finger.

“I’ll do what I can,” she simply replied, taking the USB key and going back to work, typing away on her computer.

Knowing this was the best he would get out of this, Lorcan turned toward Rowan. He led him away from the IT specialist where no one could hear them.

“We can’t find the security guard who was watching Cortland’s room yesterday,” he whispered.

“Whoever took Sam probably got rid of him too,” replied Rowan, defeat in his voice.

“And now we don’t have any eyewitness or camera footage,” Lorcan said irately.

“What about the nurse I told you about?” Rowan asked him.

“What about her?”

“Maybe she saw something. If she’s still alive. We should have put protection on her and the security guard yesterday,” Rowan said, angry at his boss and at himself.

Lorcan didn’t say anything, but Rowan knew he was beating himself up for that mistake. Not that he would ever admit he made a mistake.

“Alright, get a warrant for her address and go see her,” Lorcan relented.

…

Celaena had finished her book thirty minutes ago. She was sitting on her sofa, contemplating what to do. She was bored and her body still hurt from her altercation with her boss. She had never hated someone as much as she hated Arobynn Hamel. But it’s not like she could leave. This wasn’t the kind of job you could quit alive.

She thought back to the moment Arobynn had recruited her. Well, recruited was probably the wrong word. She didn’t have much choice in the matter. Her parents had just been killed and she was young and scared. She didn’t have any place to go. She couldn’t go back home; she didn’t know if she could trust anyone back there.

She had been wandering the streets for days when she bumped into an auburn-haired man in his thirties. He looked important, wearing a nice suit and walking with assurance. She had apologized and walked away, but he had called after her. He had asked her what she was doing alone in the streets and offered her a warm meal. She knew she couldn’t trust anyone, never mind a stranger on the street, but when he had offered her a place to stay and hide, she couldn’t refuse. She had nowhere to go. And the man didn’t look like one of those creeps she had been warned about by her parents.

For the first few years, he was kind to her. He got her a private tutor so she could continue studying. He let her take any lesson she wanted: ballet, piano, languages… She loved to learn and was a good student. She had her own room which she had been able to decorate to her taste. Anything she wanted, she got. Except if it involved leaving the manor. That was always a no. He was worried for her safety, he had said.

When she had turned 14, he started being stricter. He had her take all kind of martial arts classes, brought her to the shooting range to show her how to shoot and even had her learn fencing. She had to spend long gruelling hours training and, when he wasn’t satisfied, he yelled at her. But he didn’t hit her. Not yet.

At 16, she was killing her first target. She had emptied her stomach in the toilet for hours afterward. But with time, it got easier. She was good at it and Arobynn was proud of her. Except when she made mistakes. That’s when the blows had started. And if she tried to defend herself, or even worse, fight back, he just hit harder, until she couldn’t anymore.

But he wanted to make her his heir, he had big aspirations for her, so she took every hit and kick and kept quiet. She had no other choice anyway. This was her life now. At least, she had Lysandra. They had met when they were teenagers and hated each other at first. They were always in competition and Arobynn encouraged their rivalry. But while Celaena became an assassin, beautiful Lysandra had become a con-artist and a thief. At some point, they realized they were both in the same boat and it would be nice to have someone to talk to. They had become fast friends after that.

She shook away the memories. She needed to do something, or she would die of boredom on this couch. Her body was still aching, but she changed and headed outside. She got into her car and instinctively, she drove downtown. She passed the FBI headquarters. She absentmindedly wondered what Whitethorn was doing today. Probably still on Sam’s case, trying to track the young man. She had just decided to drive away, knowing it was a bad idea, when she spotted silver hair on the sidewalk. She hid and observed as Whitethorn got into his gray sedan. Maybe today could be fun.

…

Rowan had finally obtained Lillian’s address. He hoped it wasn’t too late. He got out of his car and walked up the stairs to an average apartment located close to Rifthold’s Hospital. He knocked on the door and waited. A middle-aged woman opened up, her graying brown hair tied back. Rowan quickly checked the address, wondering if he had knocked at the wrong place, but no, this was it. He gave the woman a small smile.

“I’m here to see Lillian,” he said, looking inside the house and hoping to spot golden blonde hair.

“I’m Lillian. What can I help you with?” she replied, eyeing him curiously.

Rowan took a step back, surprised.

“What?” he mumbled, confused. He quickly clarified, “No, I mean Lillian Gordaina. She’s a nurse at Rifthold’s Hospital. Does she still live here?”

The woman looked at him, just as confused.

“I’m Lillian Gordaina and I work as a nurse at the hospital. You’ve got the right person,” she said.

This didn’t make any sense. This woman was definitely not his Lillian.

“There’s got to be some mistake. You’re not the person I’m looking for,” he explained, perplexed.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll go back to cooking my dinner. Goodbye.”

Rowan stopped her before she closed the door.

“Wait,” he exclaimed.

The woman looked frightened, so he said, “I work for the FBI.” He showed her his badge and she opened up the door fully.

“I’m looking for a woman in her twenties. White skin, long blonde hair, around 5’8”. She works as a nurse on the third floor too. Does it ring any bell?” he asked her.

“No,” she replied, at a loss. “I’m sorry but my dinner will burn if I don’t go back now. I hope you find her. Have a good day.”

She closed the door in Rowan’s face. He stayed there, looking at the closed door, stunned. What had just happened?

He got back down the stairs, walking to his car and getting inside. His mind was running wild, trying to make sense of the situation. Lillian Gordaina was a woman in her late forties who looked nothing like the woman he had met. Had the nurse given him a false name? But Mrs. Gordaina said she didn’t know any nurse who looked like her. Who was the blonde woman then? Why would she steal someone’s name and pretend to be a nurse at the hospital? And he had seen her at a bar too. It wasn’t the first time he had met her. He scoured his brain, thinking back on his interactions with her.

He suddenly sat up straight in his seat, dumbfounded. No, this couldn’t be it. He would have known, would have noticed something. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense and things seemed to click together. He hit his head on the steering wheel, cursing.

Lillian was Celaena Sardothien. 

...

Tag list:

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@morganofthewildfire

@leiawritesstories

@fireheart-violet

@autumnbabylon

@swankii-art-teacher

@violet-mermaid7

@goldryngalathynius

@ladyofterrasen

@shyvioletcat

@icecream52

@athena127

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@omoshiroi2u

[blueflame-krp]

New kindlings have been accepted into the fire pit! ♡

An Yujin. (IVE) [Pucca]

Byeon Wooseok. (Actor) [Jiji]

Cho Miyeon. ((G)I-DLE) [Miffy]

Choi Beomgyu. (TXT) [Kirby]

Choi San. (ATEEZ) [Guts]

Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups. (Seventeen) [Astarion Ancunín]

Choi Soobin. (TXT) [Apollo Justice]

Chou Tzuyu. (TWICE) [Louise Le Blanc]

Huh Yunjin. (LE SSERAFIM) [Midge Maisel]

Hwang Hyunjin. (Stray Kids) [Emily Prentiss]

Jang Wonyoung. (IVE) [Kaiba]

Jung Eunbi | Eunha. (VIVIZ) [Sailor Moon]

Jung Wooyoung. (ATEEZ) [Aria Stark]

Kim Hongjoong. (ATEEZ) [Cat in the Hat]

Kim Jisoo. (BLACKPINK) [Wanda Maximoff]

Kim Minji. (NEWJEANS) [Eevee]

Koga Yudai | K. (&TEAM) [Uzui Tengen]

Lee Heeseung. (ENHYPEN) [Yoruichi Shihoin]

Lee Minhyung | Mark. (NCT) [Sailor Jupiter]

Lee Yongbok | Felix. (Stray Kids) [Alan from Pit Babe]

Minatozaki Sana. (TWICE) [BMO]

Nakamura Kazuha. (LE SSERAFIM) [Celaena Sardothien]

Park Chaeyoung | Rosé. (BLACKPINK) [Holly Golightly]

Park Chanyeol. (EXO) [Anakin Skywalker]

Park Jongseong | Jay. (ENHYPEN) [James Bond]

Park Seonghwa. (ATEEZ) [Anakin Skywalker]

Park Sujin | Swan. (PURPLE KISS) [Tunip]

Park Wonbin. (RIIZE) [Joey Wheeler]

Roh Jisun. (FROMIS_9) [Cedric Diggory]

Sim Jaeyun | Jake. (ENHYPEN) [Alice]

Song Mingi. (ATEEZ) [Prompto Argentum]

Yang Jeongin | I.N. (Stray Kids) [Superman]

Yu Jimin | Karina. (AESPA) [Rapunzel]

Please follow the admins: Sapphire & Aquamarine within 3 days to secure the spot of your flame in the roleplay.

[acourtofquestions]

This time would be different. This time she would be fast enough…

But even her force of will; that could hold flame with death itself; could not escape the copper and carnage that tinges her dreams and trailed in her wake.

As I told you in the beginning and as I’ll tell you in the end. The story is always the same. Over and over again and again…

It was not the rain, nor a broken clock, and this snowless winter would not save the lotus.

[witchthewriter]

𝐀𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐧𝐢𝐮𝐬

ENTJ

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Aries Sun, Taurus Moon, Gemini Rising

*spoilers for the throne of glass series*

Formerly known as Adarlan's greatest assassin, Celaena Sardothien, Aelin is the last surviving member of the Galathynius bloodline. Her parents, Rhoe Galathynius and Evalin Ashryver, died in their kingdom of Orynth, with Aelin in between them in bed.

As a young girl, she ran away from her home to escape the King of Adarlan as he brought her kingdom to its knees. She was found by Arobynn Hamel the king of the assassins (who had been entranced by the ghost of Elena). He gave her two choices: to train with him and become an assassin or to live on the streets.

Throughout her life, Aelin hid her true identity, from everyone.

At the age of sixteen, she was sent to Skull's Bay with Sam Cortland (another assassin and boy she grew up with) to enact a deal with the pirate lord. However, when finding out it was a slave deal, she and Sam set them free.

In retaliation, Arobynn beat her badly and sent her to train with the Silent Assassins in the Red Desert where she learnt more about herself than anything else. On her journey there, she met Yrene Towers in a run-down pub and taught her how to defend herself, as well as leaving her with a sack of coins. During her time in the Red Desert, she met Ansel of Briarcliff.

When Celaena/Aelin came back to Rifthold, she realised her feelings for Sam, and after a while, they decided to leave Arobynn's assassin's guild.

Arobynn did not like this. And within a few months, Sam was dead and Celaena was sent to Endovier's salt mines for avenging her lover's death.

That's how she came to be the king's champion. The king's son, Dorian, chose her as his champion. After surviving the trials and tribulations sent her way, she signed a contract and agreed to be in the king's survive for four years. To do his bidding.

Celaena and Aelin are the same woman but have slightly different personalities. Celaena is more sly, cunning, and willing to use whatever means necessary to achieve her goals. She's independent and seeks out trouble.

Aelin has a lot of responsibility to carry, she's a fae princess and the last of her line in succession. Although when she claims her original name, she has matured, Aelin starts to think before she acts.

This woman is one of the most powerful beings. Going head to head with gods and goddesses themselves, she's fallen through worlds and won wars.

[ohanthonytomallamadingdong]

i finished the last two novellas in Assassin’s Blade today as a lovely beach read. it was great to have the wind in my hair, the rhythm of the waves in my ears, and the sand under my feet while i had an entire breakdown

before i move onto Heir of Fire, as has become custom, here are my thoughts:

- Sam

- Sam Sam Sam SAM SAM

- whywhywhywhy

- all i can say is that i really really want Celaena to have the honor and satisfaction of killing Arobynn and Rourke Farran in Heir of Fire

- that is not a want actually it’s a need

- Celaena’s classic phrase “…and i will not be afraid” coming from Sam has shattered me

- aside from aforementioned tragedies, THAT WAS DORIAN AND CHAOL AT THE HARVEST MOON PARTY

- DORIAN HAS MET SAM

- the slave trade situation and Arobynn’s double betrayal on that is so frustrating to me and im ready to see Celaena tear it down as Aelin

- Celaena’s love of music and art and dancing and the finer things is actually a side of character that’s so dear to me

- it’s not just appreciation it’s bone-deep, whole-bodied love

- the symbolism of the white stag and Celaena telling it to run and it looking her in the eye as she goes to the salt mines I-

- excellent

- last thing:

- i want more of this Yrene and this Ansel they speak of

- more Silent Assassins too

- i like them (even tho Ansel needs some help)

[ofdieus]

' poppy drayton, cis woman, she/her, 30 (300), cauldron made high fae ' — cauldron save you. it seems NESRI SESSONDAL has finally made it to the capital, the ARCHER/MERCENARY from the NIGHT COURT is said to be DAUNTLESS and is said to describe themselves with THE RAW INSTINCT TO SURVIVE, WELCOMING YOURSELF TO YOUR OWN CAGE, A LIFE SPENT UNDER THE COVER OF DARKNESS, YOU WEREN'T BORN WITH ALL THIS HORROR & UNTETHERING YOURSELF FROM EVERYTHING YOU RECOGNIZE and with all of this in mind their DECEITFUL nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

GENERAL DETAILS.

full name: nesri lesbeth sessondal nickname(s): nessie (only close friends) date of birth: august 14 zodiac: leo sun, scorpio moon, virgo rising gender & pronouns: cis woman ( she / her ) species: cauldron made high fae place of birth: winter court orientation: bisexual, biromantic occupation: archer & mercenary for the night court

PHYSICAL, ETC.

faceclaim: poppy drayton hair colour & style: here clothing style: here distinguishing characteristics: scars across arms and back from battle piercing(s): lobes x3, helix x2

PERSONALITY.

positive trait(s): dauntless, resourceful, charming negative trait(s): deceitful, volatile, pessimistic like(s): travelling, snow, cold weather, blankets, warm drinks dislike(s): repeating herself, being interrupted, bullies hobbie(s): reading, archery, hand-to-hand combat training, gardening character inspiration: nesta archeron (acotar), faith lehane (buffy the vampire slayer), clove & katniss (the hunger games), celaena sardothien (throne of glass)

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

mother: elle sessondal (deceased) father: alexi sessondal (deceased) sibling(s): twin (tbd), other sibling (tbd) significant other: koray aksakal

BACKGROUND.

biography trigger(s): death, mention of abuse, murder

Nesri never knew a life without War. Whether it was in her own home or outside the town lines throughout the mortal lands, she was born into it and it followed her everywhere. 

Her father, once a man of great power and value, lost everything once the war was over and the wall was created. he never let her forget about it. Days where she was just trying to ensure their family was fed, he took the money and blew it all trying to get his fortunes back, no matter the cost or who he crossed. Her mother was long gone while her and her siblings blessed the stars she never had to see the man he became.

Nesri learned from her father though. He taught her how to use a bow, a sword and how to handle pain. So much pain. She was thankful for the first two, it was what kept her alive all these years.

When she turned seventeen, she did the unthinkable. She left. She wandered towards the faerie realm, desperate for a change. Desperate for something better for herself, regardless of what her family wanted. There was a chance for her in the Dawn Court, where she headed first. The journey was long and there were times where she didn’t think she would make it. 

For the first few years, Nesri hid there, amongst the other fae, planning what she wanted to do next. She kept her training up and started offering up her services to anyone who would pay. 

She caught food, liars and thieves and other horrible people…making use of the only things she knew. After a few years of being discrete, she was approached by a high fae. They told her that they would expose her to the ruling family of the Dawn Court if she didn’t come to do more interesting jobs for them, at least, that’s what the plan was. Nesri was promised protection, a large fee and safety. How could she deny it?

Years passed and the sense of protection faded. They loaned her out to the highest bidder and started setting their sights on higher levels of other courts. Nesri didn't want to kill them but she didn't have a choice. Finally, after years of working with the high fae, Nesri refused them. There was constant blood on her hands, including that of her own father.

Instead of allowing her to be free of them, they sent her on an impossible mission where she would fail. She never failed and this cost her life. She was thrust into the cauldron and emerged as a high fae, stronger than she could imagine. Too scared to return, she sought refuge in the night court where she joined their forces and now resides. Nesri continued to plot her revenge on the high fae that ruined her life and knows that one day, she'll be allowed to act on it.

HEADCANONS.

nesri prefers a bow & arrow over hand to hand combat (although she is highly trained in both)

she also does work under the table for other courts if the price and timing is right

she masks herself completely except her eyes when she is completing tasks to ensure her safety - only one person has seen her full face and she has a secret of theirs in return

she is fiercely loyal and once you consider her a friend, she is a friend until the end and will go to the ends of the earth for you

enjoys reading and gardening - has a small cottage in the night court that no one knows the location of

holds a grudge (small) towards a few of the courts regarding the war and lets them know it

has not seen her family since she was made a high fae and doesn't care if they are alive or dead

does not work well with others at first, she reads people very well and has a very good gut feeling if you are looking to trick / manipulate her ( although she doesn't really care if it involves money )

[theodaione-incorrect-quotes]

Celaena: Goodnight moon. Celaena: Goodnight tree. Celaena: Goodnight grim reapers that only I can see.