Chapter Text
The Fall of Magic
Blood was pounding in her ears.
She could hear nothing. Feel nothing. Only the rush of the water was a distant sound, the water right below the bridge she was crossing. Lady Marion had said to make it to the farm. Aelin would listen.
But the flashes of her mother’s dearest friend hitting the table, the red splashing the window, was on repeat in her mind, and she could not escape it. Nor the image of the horrified servant finding her in between her parents' corpses.
“Make for the bridge, and cross it. Do you remember the empty farm down the road? Find a place to hide there—and do not come out, do not let yourself be seen by anyone except someone you recognize. Not even if they say they’re a friend. Wait for the court—they will find you.”
Her nursemaid’s last orders for Aelin.
Her mother’s hand on her heart.
“Wherever you go, Aelin, no matter how far, this will lead you home.”
The voices of her loved ones echoed in her head, fueling Aelin to pump her arms harder, to use every bit of strength she had. The end of the bridge was in sight. She could see the empty road that followed.
Swallowing, and pushing away from the darkness with a stubborn light that refused to be put out, Aelin ran.
Run, Aelin .
The Amulet of Orynth that her mother had gifted her only the night before bounced up and down. She prayed it stayed on. She was praying for a lot of things.
Rain was pounding on her now. It made the wood slippery.
Somehow, Aelin made it across the bridge.
Breathing heavily, she did not give herself time to rest as she launched down the dirt road. The Florine River became a vague sound that she would only hear in her nightmares.
She only had to wait til tomorrow, Aelin told herself. Only til tomorrow, and then her Uncle’s court would come. Lord Lochan, Aedion, and Captain Quinn. They would find her.
A looming shadow grew over the road, and it made Aelin’s heart stutter. But it only belonged to that farm Lady Marion had shown her a few months ago, when the entire royal family had come down to the countryside. Aelin scrambled off the road, reaching for the door of the barn, a muted red color. As if it hadn’t been used in decades.
When she pulled, the door didn’t budge.
Aelin, with her tiny hands, couldn’t pull open the door. Panic was a living thing in her body, making her shaky and forcing small breaths out of her body that refused to give her air.
She didn’t know what she could do.
Letting go of the door, Aelin pushed the tears away with sheer will. No, she would not cry.
She whipped her head around, looking for something— anything —that would help her. The sounds of the land around her, lush and green with vegetation, flat land offering no additional hiding places for her.
Aelin leaned against the door in defeat. That was it.
She’d meet her end like the rest of her family. Like Lady Marion. Was dying painful, she wondered? What was she meant for?
She remembered Aedion, who was still at the castle. Who would’ve known by now, that Orlon was dead. That Rhoe and Evalin were dead.
Who would do such a thing? Who would kill Aelin’s family? Lady Marion?
Overcome with guilt—she slumped to the ground, still in the nightgown her nursemaid had dressed her in, now muddied with water and dirt. Clutching at the Amulet, she sniffed. She was lost. And she didn’t know the way.
Not a second after Aelin had thought the words dejectedly, she heard tiny footsteps.
She’d been in her Fae form tonight. And when she tried to shift back, she found she couldn’t. Couldn’t reach the embers that lived within her, and relief filtered through her. Then sadness. Aelin was afraid of her fire, sometimes even hated it—if only for all the problems it caused her parents—but a part of her thrived on the flames.
And then she remembered the footprints heard by her Fae ears. Standing up quickly, Aelin rose on her tiptoes to make as little noise as possible. Before she could even move, she felt her left leg be pushed forward. Heart thumping, Aelin looked down to see the Little Folk, eyes fraught with determination.
They pushed her with more force. She stumbled. Little hands were all over her legs, and she heard the unspoken word.
Run.
She ran.
They were guiding her, Aelin realized, slightly pulling along her shoulder, or her hair. Her arm was held aloft, while the tiny faeries led her to the side of the barn. Far above her head, there was an open window. Her breath caught. By the gods.
“How do I get up?” Her voice was shaky. It was the first time Aelin had spoken since Lady Marion had kissed her brow and ordered her to leave.
They said nothing, but their fluttering bodies suggested otherwise. Multiple Little Folk rose up over her head, gesturing for her hands. Aelin whipped her head backwards as a roar was heard in the far distance. Her heart started beating faster.
The faeries from above pulled her arms. The faeries from below pushed. Urgency was in every line of their tiny forms.
They killed her parents. They killed her uncle Orlon, and Lady Marion. Now they’re going to kill her .
She grit her teeth as anger surged through her blood. She would not let them kill her. She would kill them .
Pushing up off the ground, the faeries grabbed hold of Aelin’s arms and legs. They propelled her to a ledge jutting out from a first story window. Grappling for the windowsill at the very bottom of the open window, Aelin’s nails tore out of their rightful areas. She didn’t feel the pain, only feeling victory as she wobbled on the tiptoes of one foot. Her hands found purchase on the sill, and Aelin took a deep breath.
Impatient hands on her back. Gentle soothing flips of their wings. Aelin curled her arms, pulling her weight up and over the sill. Her golden hair hung over her shoulders as her torso hit the ledge. It bit into her body but she didn’t think about the pain.
The roar echoed again.
A final push, and Aelin tumbled into the attic of the barn. Heaving a silent sigh of relief, she waited.
She found a large chest, big enough to fit her whole body. She crept into it, and belatedly realized the absence of squeaks from the metal hinges meant something.
Aelin closed the lid of the chest over her, encased in darkness once again. Only til morning, she reminded herself. Only til morning. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hearing that same roaring over and over.
All night.
///
Aedion had never felt more terrified in his life.
“Aedion, hurry,” Lord Lochan, or—as Aedion called him—Mr Cal, urged.
They’d set out for the countryside manor the moment word had arrived that the Prince of Terrasen and his wife had been found dead in their beds. From Ms Marion, who’d stayed with Aelin.
Aelin.
When they arrived, Ms Marion was unconscious. And blood was everywhere.
Mr Cal had fallen to his knees in front of his wife. Aedion had held his breath, searching the entire manor for his young cousin.
Ms Marion was still breathing, Aedion had learned when he entered the room again, but they didn’t know when she’d wake up—if she ever did. Her blood was splattered on the windows, the table, and the ground. He was still, straining his sensitive ears to hear anything that would help lead him to Aelin.
He didn’t let himself think about the deaths of the people he’d loved most in the world. Just prayed that the one who’d understood him best despite her age—the one who he’d sworn to protect regardless of a blood oath—was still alive.
///
Aelin didn’t sleep.
She stayed awake all night—unable to shut her eyes without seeing her mother and father, without seeing Lady Marion with her knives shining, falling to the ground.
The flutter and flapping of the birds was the only sound that indicated the sun had risen. But still Aelin did not open the chest in which she hid. She didn’t react to any sound, not after the roaring had died off a couple hours ago. The Little Folk had given her a tap at her shoulder, a couple playfully flicking her hair, before leaving not long after she’d found the trunk. Leaving her alone.
It was after another hour that she heard footsteps beneath her. Aelin tensed, the familiar fear from last night wracking up her body. Curling herself up into a ball as if that would hide her if someone was able to find the chest and open it, Aelin listened with her Fae ears.
“What did she say again?”
“She was supposed to come down here. Hide in the barn. But the door was rusted—it wouldn’t have opened for her.”
“What if she’s—”
“She’s alive.”
Aelin jolted.
She’d been listening to people who sounded a lot like Aedion and Lord Cal. But she didn’t believe that for a second. If the same people— things —were here that had killed her parents, who knew what they were capable of?
But the one who’d said, “She’s alive,”—that was Lady Marion. And Lady Marion was dead .
“You can’t know that, Mar,” Lord Lochan’s voice echoes, “That old bridge was rickety enough. We don’t know if she—if she's—” His voice broke.
“No.” Marion said, her resolve strong. “She is alive. I know it.”
Earlier that night, when Aelin’d woken up in her parents’ bed, the smell that had greeted her was atrocious. It wasn’t blood, it wasn’t something from this world. There was no way to describe it. And when someone had come to take her, the someone who’d killed Lady Marion, they’d had the same disgusting smell. Like dreams rotting in darkness.
Aelin took a tentative sniff, creaking the chest open only the tiniest of slivers. They were downstairs still—hadn’t thought that there would be an attic. Her nose was filled with the smells of home, of Aedion and Lord Cal and Lady Marion.
But she was hesitant.
Lady Marion said that the court would come looking for her—that they would find her. But—
Footsteps became thundering as someone yelled, “There’s another floor!”
She smelled Aedion, his scent mixed with a huge tint of fear. Aelin frowned.
“Aelin?” He whispered, and she was so tempted to open the chest, to fling her arms around everyone and go to sleep in her big bed. And with their normal scents, it was hard for Aelin to refuse herself.
But what if they were just monsters? What if they were here to kill her like they killed her family?
“Mr Cal!” Aedion called, “Over here!”
There were vibrations beneath her, and Aelin knew they were walking towards the chest. She clenched her fists. There wasn’t going to be any escaping now, she knew inside her heart. She outran them once—only with the sacrifice of Lady Marion—she wouldn’t be able to outrun them again.
Someone found the top of the trunk, and slowly pulled it open, flooding the tiny dark pocket with light that Aelin hadn’t seen in hours.
Fear—something ugly that she’d known in small amounts—rose up inside her as she reverted to her small child-like self. Curling up in herself, her nose was flooded with the smell of Lady Marion leaning over the trunk. Aelin scrambled away.
“Aelin,” Lady Marion whispered, reaching for her. Aelin shook in fear.
“No!” She yelled, “ It’s not you !”
“Aelin, darling, it’s me, it’s me.” Lady Marion pleaded, “Look, I knew you’d make it, and you did,” she said, tears in her eyes. “It’s me .”
Vaguely, Aelin registered Aedion and Lord Cal standing in the threshold, right before the stairs, panting as if they’d run up. Lady Marion had dried blood all over her, dark eyes with flecks of gold tired and red with exhaustion. She had a rather ugly bruise forming on her temple and scratches all over her arms.
“It’s not you.” Aelin said flatly, still shrinking away. “I know ‘cause I saw you fall. I saw you die.”
“But I didn’t, Aelin,” Lady Marion says softly, “I just lost consciousness for a bit.” She explains. “I promise, Aelin, until the day I die, I won’t ever purposely leave you. I swear .”
“We.” Lord Cal corrects, walking over to Aelin, who—slowly but surely—drops her tense shoulder. Still holding her arms together, Lord Cal crouches a healthy distance away from her, as if she was some horse he was trying not to spook. “ We promise not to purposely leave you. Right, Aedion?”
“Yes,” Aelin had never seen Aedion nod so quickly—save for the times her father would call him for training. Back then she’d never seen him more excited .
And then it hit her. Again.
Gods, her father . Her parents .
Smothering a cry, Aelin crumples to the ground, arms held tightly around herself. She opens her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is this horrible sob that she’s never heard from herself in her life .
Instantly, three bodies are holding her small shaking one, three sets of voices soothing her, three sets of arms there to fix her up when she’s broken.
“You found me,” She sniffles.
A hand brushes her dirty, mangled hair out of her face. She’s greeted by the sight of Lady Marion’s gentle face—with the recent addition of grief in her eyes. “Of course we’d find you, Aelin. Did you ever think we wouldn’t?”
The four sit there for a while, on the floor of the attic, occasional cries from Aelin, and the shushing sounds from her court.
Soon, Lord Cal stands up, and scoops up Aelin as if she weighs nothing. Aedion glares as Aelin’s feet. It’s only then that Aelin realizes how much she hurts. Her feet were torn up by branches and stones and some splinters from the old bridge. Her arms are bruised, her skin this pale color instead of her usual golden.
“Come,” Lord Cal says. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”