#she seemed to have been kn hiding the other candidates were waiting on her

[punchholesinthesky]

Liz truss (you know the pm who was outlasted by a lettuce) was just kicked out of her seat,

And it was quite delicious to see

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter One

Link to Masterpost

Aelin Galathynius snarled at the door she had just slammed behind herself, exposing delicate fangs that had been gracing her features for the past several weeks now. At this point she could understand the need for at least enough training for her powers to not manifest in the way they had, but to make it a condition for her to inherit the throne, when the laws Darrow had referenced had been unenforced for generations?

“You can’t say this was entirely unexpected,” came a delicate feminine voice from behind her, and Aelin whirled around before relaxing as she saw who had spoken. “I mean, truly,” her friend Lysandra continued with a careless twirl of the sleek brown curls she had chosen to wear that day, “burning down the entire western gate in the image of a bird does present a bit of a problem in our relations with the town and with our neighbors, does it not?”

Aelin smirked, though she had a feeling Lysandra would see through the feigned expression. “Aelin of the Wildfire summoning a phoenix to rescue her from the city guards certainly does send a message that I am not to be trifled with, doesn’t it?” Never mind that she had not deliberately chosen the form of the flames, nor in fact consciously summoned them at all.

“See, I’ve studied the descriptions in the old books, and I don’t think it was a phoenix,” her friend said lightly. “I couldn’t say for certain what type of bird appeared in the flames, but phoenixes always had a longer neck in the legends. Almost like a swan,” she added.

Aelin couldn’t help a laugh as a swan’s form suddenly replaced that of her friend, and she sat beside it on her bed. “Shifting into a swan hardly proves your point about phoenixes, Lysandra,” she said dryly.

Before she could say anything else about it, Lysandra had shifted back into the form she had been wearing earlier. “This entire conversation is a distraction, and you know it,” the shifter accused. “I think you’re truly angry that he chose to hide his decision from you until the day before your new trainer is due to arrive from Doranelle, so that you wouldn’t have time to find a way out of it.”

Aelin sighed and ran her fingers through her own golden waves, allowing the nervous gesture only because she was speaking to her most trusted friend. “I don’t like it,” she admitted. “We’ve avoided attracting the Fae Queen’s attention for so long now. How do I know this trainer isn’t under orders to just take me back?”

“You say that as though you would have no means of finding an escape. That doesn’t sound like the Aelin I know. Besides,” Lysandra continued, “abducting the Crown Princess seems like an order few monarchs would risk. Not to mention the risk of transporting you on any ship, without more control over your abilities.”

“That assumes the Fae have no protections against magic,” Aelin snapped.

“Hardly,” drawled Lysandra. “The western gate was well-defended, after all, and look where that got it.”

Aelin had to admit to herself, if not out loud, that her friend had a point. The gate had been warded, and had stood against multiple attacks, and she had burned through it without a thought. Honestly, that was the realization that had shaken her the most. Rather than concede the point out loud, though, she continued on. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on this blood-sworn whoever-he-is,” she declared. “I won’t leave my home against my will again, regardless of any relationship the Queen may declare between us.”

Lysandra grinned. “What if he’s coming to win you over and satisfy the other rule the Regent invoked?”

Aelin growled at the thought of it. “Then he’ll fail. The marriage clause is the one I have longer to find a way around, and I will not tie myself to someone blood-sworn to another simply to appease an old man clinging to what control he has left.”

“You might as well look at the options,” her friend pointed out. “Who knows, there may be someone on his list that isn’t so bad. You had to know a political marriage was in your future at some point.”

She had known it for years, though she had hoped she would be able to find someone on her own at least. If she wasn’t to marry for love, the least the world could do for her was allow her to choose someone she actually liked while adhering to the most important of the eligibility requirements.

After all, she had seen where love matches led before, and she had no desire to experience anything like her parting from—

No. That wound was still too fresh, though nearly an entire year had passed. She doubted she would ever truly be able to think his name without a jolt of pain. Best not to start down that path.

Aelin took a breath, hoping it looked more like taking a moment to think than the steadying movement it was. “We’ll look over the options together, when the others have returned. I have until my birthday to announce who I choose to court, and I intend to take as much time as I can ensuring that I’m not making the worst decision. The Regent can wait a week.”

Lysandra nodded and stood, gracefully smoothing her skirts. “Shall I see what can be found about the eligible candidates?”

“Please,” she replied. “I’m certain Darrow has listed their qualifications, but I know you can find out more about what they’re actually like than he would bother telling us. Any rumors you can find could prove useful.”

The shifter grinned, and Aelin noticed that Lysandra had elected to borrow the sharper canines of her current form. “Then I’ll get to work,” she said as she let herself out of Aelin’s rooms.

Aelin waited until she heard her friend’s footsteps fade completely before allowing herself to fall face-first onto her mattress. What had she gotten herself into?

For most of her nearly twenty years of life, she had known of the power that burned inside of her. It would’ve been hard for anyone to ignore that her fingertips had once had the tendency to spark when she was irritated. But she’d thought she’d had the power well enough in hand to go on continuing to ignore it for as long as it took. Her parents had impressed on her from an early age the importance of keeping a hold of her emotions, lest she lose control of both her temper and the fire that burned inside of her. She hadn’t had an incident in almost a year now, and given what had happened then she had allowed that the outburst was understandable.

Aelin sighed. One of the last conversations she’d had with her mother, before she and Aelin’s father had both passed on into the Afterworld, was the true reason she feared this Fae trainer.

“I need you to understand this,” Evalin Galathynius had whispered from the bed where she would breathe her last. “You know by now that I have been avoiding sending you to Doranelle, or taking you there to visit, since you were born. You must know why.”

Aelin had frowned, but before she could say anything her mother continued on. “The Queen there, our aunt, will claim to want to meet you. Likely she will claim affection as a member of your extended family. It is all lies, Aelin. She knows what lies inside you, my dear, and she will seek to either smother or control it. I want you to live a life free of all of that, like the life your father gave me. So I want you to promise me that you will not set foot in Doranelle. Can you promise me that, Aelin?”

Aelin shook her head, as if to attempt to dislodge the memory. She had promised, of course, and her mother had passed on not long after. Darrow had made noise about sending her off to study her magic, she recalled, though nothing had ever come of it. Perhaps she had had a similar conversation with him. At any rate, she had successfully hidden the signs of most of her magic ever since, with only a few slips. It likely hadn’t seemed truly necessary to him until now.

This trainer that the Queen had personally selected had sworn a blood oath to her, and the message he had carried and then sent on before him admitted as such. If he had been ordered to take her back with him, he would have no option but to either do so or perish in the attempt. Unless the Queen remanded the order, of course, but that seemed unlikely.

She had fought before, of course, and if this were any other male she would be less concerned. However, she had never come across a Fae warrior before—much less one of sufficient power for the Queen to send in her place. She knew he would be faster than any of her previous foes, should he become one himself, and more powerful. If he were to be her trainer in magic, he would likely be strong in either fire magic or a power that would nullify what she did.

She would have to slip away, then, if it came to it, and pray that she could stay out of his grasp until the Queen decided the search was no longer worth the effort. Luckily, she was used to escaping unnoticed.

~*~*~

The next morning Aelin awakened with a sigh of relief at her deadened senses. She must have finally shifted back into her human appearance through the course of the night, what little Fae blood she came by through her mother’s line finally relinquishing its grasp. Reaching up and feeling the rounded tips of her ears, she smiled. While she personally didn’t mind the heightened senses, the pointed ears and fangs stood out. Perhaps she would feel better about the shift if she had any control over when it occurred, but as it happened without her wishes she could only feel resentful.

She knew she would be expected to make a formal appearance at the reception for their guest from Doranelle in the afternoon, and dress appropriately for the occasion. However, that was hours away and she refused to spend all day in formal dress for him when he wasn’t even going to be here to appreciate it. Instead she donned a pair of dark brown trousers, pairing them with a linen undershirt and a tunic the green of her family crest. Hardly appropriate for court, but she could get away with it for a morning stroll in the gardens.

Quickly tying her hair into a braid and then into a knot at the nape of her neck, she looked around her rooms for wherever she had tossed her boots the previous night. She found them neatly tucked away in the corner, which must have been Lysandra’s doing, and quickly tugged them on, supple brown leather reaching just below her knees.

A quick stroll down the stairs and a single hallway led her to a small courtyard, populated with flowering bushes and a few small trees. With a smile, she settled below one of these trees and gazed up at the sky.

After a few minutes of gazing up at the clouds she noticed a bird circling in the skies above the courtyard. She stood to try to get a better look, and soon a hawk was spiraling down to rest in another of the trees nearby. While that was certainly out of the ordinary, it was certainly possible that this was either Lysandra or a messenger who had missed its destination. Aelin decided to test her theory, and carefully lifted her arm, hand curled into a fist.

Her suspicions that this was no wild bird were confirmed when the hawk flew to her instead, head tilting as it inspected her. This close, she was reasonably certain this was a white-tailed hawk. Not typically used in the palace, but it wasn’t impossible that this was someone’s lost pet. The possibility still remained that it was her friend, but the hawk pecked at her hand when she went to inspect it for the telltale mark Lysandra could never completely rid herself of. “Hey now,” she said quietly. “Has no one told you yet it’s rude to peck people like that?”

In response the hawk fixed its gaze on her, and she couldn’t help a slight shiver. There was an intelligence there that was certainly not to be found in a wild bird. Without breaking its stare, the hawk deliberately pecked her again, this time between the eyes. “Och!” she cried, startled. “Needy little thing, aren’t you? Where did you come from, anyway?”

It clicked its beak and held out a leg, to which she noticed a tiny scroll was affixed. A messenger, then. She slowly reached up with her other hand and detached the scroll. Once she had done so, the hawk took off, circling once around the courtyard before lighting on her shoulder. Once there, it dug its talons in slightly harder than strictly necessary before taking off again and disappearing into the sky.

How rude, she thought. It must have been Lysandra after all, taking a rare opportunity to tease her when she would be able to get away with it. Perhaps she had information, either about Darrow’s list or about this new guest.

Aelin carefully unrolled the scroll and read the short message it contained.

I don’t care if you decide to miss on the formalities. In fact, it would give me an excuse to avoid them as well. Your training begins at dawn, and I expect you to not be late.

The note was signed in characters Aelin recognized from the Old Language, though it had been years since she had read anything in it. She would have to take it back to her rooms if she wanted to translate it, though given the content of the note she could only assume it was from their newest guest. Lysandra must have met him, and granted her the minor reprieve of not having a court event to meet him herself.

It was just as well, she thought. She could do without meeting him in a formal setting anyway.

She returned to her rooms, only to find a tall, broad-shouldered male waiting for her there. Aelin grinned at the familiar waves of golden hair that came to his shoulders, and when he turned his gaze onto her she was met with eyes that were a mirror of her own, the blue eyes with an outer ring of gold they had both inherited through her mother’s line. “You look fit to burst, cousin,” she said. “Did you have a particularly good sparring match this morning?”

Aedion Ashryver stood from where he had been lounging on her chaise. “Of course not,” he replied. “You weren’t there to hand all of us our asses with your knife skills.”

Aelin laughed. “I was busy.”

“That’s a lie,” her cousin said with a snort. “You’re avoiding everyone. You know, you could’ve warned me about who was coming.”

“You know as much as I do, or so I thought,” she replied. “Some male from Queen Maeve’s court, probably some pretentious Fae male with his head so far up his—”

“I’m going to stop you now before you say something you regret,” he cut in. “She sent Rowan Whitethorn to come train you.”

Aelin knew he would notice the lack of recognition on her face. “I fail to see why that would make me regret anything I could say.”

“He’s one of her most powerful and most trusted commanders,” Aedion replied, awe clear in his expression. “He and the other five of her blood-sworn. I’ve been hearing stories about them since we were children.”

“So I’m to train with one of your heroes, then,” she sighed. “I fail to see how that would make him not pretentious.”

“I heard he once killed a man using a table,” Aedion said in response.

“Exaggerated, surely,” Aelin yawned.

Her cousin scowled. “Are you sure you’d like to find out?”

“What, did he squash him like a grape?”

The look on Aedion’s face told her that he hadn’t heard the details of the story. She allowed him to sputter for a few moments before taking pity on him. “We’re due to start training at dawn tomorrow, apparently,” she said as she showed him the scroll.

Aedion read it over quickly. “It’s almost like he knows you. So tell me, what was your devious scheme to get out of this event, before his messenger said he would prefer to rest rather than have a drawn-out court dinner so soon after his long journey?”

Aelin laughed. “Feminine problems usually work. You know Darrow would never question it.”

“That’s almost boring, for you,” her cousin grinned. “Probably for the best that he called it off instead, then. I would hate to be disappointed in you.”

“Please,” Aelin demurred. “As if you could ever be disappointed in me.”

And as the two cousins continued to discuss their most recent guest, Aelin could have sworn she heard a fluttering of wings outside the window. When she looked, though, there was nothing to be seen.

~*~*~

As night fell in Orynth, Celaena Sardothien tugged on the hood of her cloak to ensure her braided hair was hidden. The motion also protected her face from the rain that had descended on the city earlier that evening, not that she minded the elements. She had more important worries at hand.

She would have to be careful, she thought as she stalked through empty streets, blending into the shadows thanks to her dark clothing. The incident at the gates, where the princess had lost control several weeks ago, had the guard on high alert. Luckily, she was used to escaping notice when she wanted to. Her prey would never see her coming.

It had taken her weeks to track him down, this man, and longer still for him to return to the city after the incident. Her sources indicated that he would be returning soon, though, and she intended to greet him.

Celaena had no problem with spies ordinarily. They were a part of running a country, she knew, and in any case it was easy enough for an assassin to evade them most of the time. If this man hadn’t betrayed Sam, she would have no quarrel with him. But he had.

Two corners away from the warehouse he used as a base of operations, Celaena pressed herself against a wall and took several deep breaths. My name is Celaena Sardothien, she thought to herself, and I will not be afraid.

She couldn’t deny, however, that this target meant more than any she had ever tracked down before. This man could tell her who precisely he had reported to, all those months ago. She intended to find out everything he knew before ending his miserable life.

It was the least she could do for the way he had contributed to her lover’s death.

She allowed herself a moment to recall the way it had felt that night, when she had found him in the apartment they had come to share. The way a fire had started in her heart, only to be suppressed by ice creeping through her veins as she took in each detail. The broken window, the open book, the signs of his final struggle.

The way his blood was pooled on the floor beneath the bed.

Not yet, she had told herself. That still remained true to this day. She needed to keep her calm. Ridding the world of the grunts who had done the job was all well and good, and she had done that with each one she had tracked down. But she needed to track down the man who had given the order before she could let it all go.

Before Celaena could fade away into the countryside, never to be heard from again.

One more deep calming breath, one more reminder to herself, and she slipped down the alley. The warehouse was dark, as it had been for almost a month now, but perhaps one of the spy’s underlings had slipped something into the rooms for when he returned. She had found several such pieces of information already. A look couldn’t hurt.

The front door was locked, as it had been every time she had wandered this way. The window over the man’s desk had a crack in it, though, and just as before she slipped a slender hand in and undid the latch before hauling herself into the room.

It was dark, but she couldn’t risk a candle as she searched. It was more critical than ever that she not be discovered, now that she was so close to answers. She had her suspicions, of course, but she needed proof before she could move against the man she suspected.

It wasn’t every day, after all, that an assassin took down her master.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Before she could do that she had to find the connection between the Assassin King and this spy.

The steady rain escalated into a torrential downpour as Celaena crept through the man’s office, but she paid it no mind. The rain would only help mask her movements, keeping all but the most loyal guards ducked away under eaves and alcoves.

As she rummaged through his desk, she bit back a quiet snarl. Nothing. This had been a waste of a trip, and she had been a fool for risking it. She caught herself before slamming the drawer shut, though, and quietly closed it instead. No point letting herself get caught now.

A quick glance around the room told her nothing had been left out of place to indicate that she had been here. The gloves she wore would keep all but the most skilled trackers from finding anything of her here. It was time to leave.

Reaching to where a dagger was strapped to her thigh, Celaena carefully pulled it free. This was going to be the most risky part of the evening, the leaving. She wouldn’t be able to tell for certain that she was in the clear until she had already hauled herself out of the window, due to the location.

Sure enough, when she had closed the window behind her she turned to see a cloaked figure standing at the end of the alley. Without any hesitation she flung her dagger in its direction, only to freeze when the figure snatched her dagger out of the air.

No man could have done that. She had gotten too good at throwing. That could only mean that the figure before her was not a man at all, but Fae.

Shit.

Celaena had mostly avoided attracting the attention of the Fae, in part because there were precious few in residence in the city and in part a deliberate choice. Fae were stronger and faster than men, with better senses. It was likely this one already had her scent, and she was already running out of time to act before she was caught.

The river and the sewers were both too far away. This Fae, a male judging from the height and a warrior judging from the breadth of his shoulders, would catch her well before she could lose him in other scents. She would have to cause a scene instead, lure him away from the alley and keep him occupied until she could slip away.

Slipping the hood of her cloak back just enough that he could see her smile, Celaena strode over to him, every inch the old friend reuniting. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week!” she said, loudly and brightly enough that the guard two streets away would’ve heard conversation. She grabbed the male by the elbow and hoped that she had surprised him enough that he would move with her.

Either she had or he was humoring her, for soon they were walking down the streets together, her hand still in the crook of his elbow in a parody of a gentleman walking his lady home. When she chanced a glance up at him most of his features were still shrouded by the hood of his cloak, but she could make out the glimmer in pine-green eyes as well as the scowl that graced his face. It looked as though he had worn the expression naturally for quite some time, and she recalled it was quite possible that he was centuries older than her. Not someone who would play along for any great length of time, then. She would have to give him the slip quickly.

She gave a thought to attempting to snatch her dagger back from where he had hidden it in the folds of his cloak as they walked, but quickly dismissed the idea. Speed was going to be of the essence, and the less notice she gave him the better chance she had of escaping.

They came upon a bridge soon enough, and Celaena took it for the opportunity that it was. Making as though she had dropped a ring, she flung herself over the ledge of the bridge, fingertips clinging to the stone until her feet made contact with the narrow passage below. She took a deep breath and slipped into the icy waters, making sure to stay submerged until the next bridge. From there, it was easy enough to slip into the sewers that sprawled beneath Orynth.

Celaena started to run and didn’t stop once she got into the system of tunnels. The Fae chasing her may have the advantage of speed and strength, but she knew this city like the back of her hand. She would not be afraid, and she would not be caught. Not tonight.

Sure enough, by the time she slipped into her own room she had lost her pursuer, and she allowed herself a soft sigh of relief. She was safe, at least for another night.

She would have to be much more careful in her search, though. She could only pray that the Fae she had met was not someone sent after her, and would lose interest soon enough.

Quickly shedding her black garb and donning a simple nightdress in its place, Celaena slipped into her bed, where she would pretend to have been the entire night. Despite the excitement of the night, or perhaps because of it, sleep found her easily.

For the first time since Sam had died, the eyes that followed her in her dreams were not dark. No, they were a bright, piercing green.