A Court of Chaos and Confusion - An ACOTAR Rewrite

Chapter 12

Western woods. Grove of young birch trees. Slaughtered chicken. Double-loop snare. Close to running water.

I repeated Lucien's instructions as I walked out of the manor, through the cultivated gardens, across the wild, rolling grassy hills beyond them, over clear streams, and into the spring woods beyond. No one had stopped me – no one had even been around to see me leave, bow and quiver across my back, Lucien's knife at my side. I lugged along a satchel stuffed with a freshly dead chicken courtesy of the baffled kitchen staff, and had tucked an extra blade into my boot.

The lands were as empty as the manor itself, though I occasionally glimpsed something shining in the corner of my eye. Every time I turned to look, the shimmering transformed into the sunlight dancing on a nearby stream, or the wind fluttering the leaves of a lone sycamore atop a knoll. As I passed a large pond nestled at the foot of a towering hill, I could have sworn I saw four shining female heads poking up from the bright water, watching me. I hurried my steps.

Only birds and the chittering and rustling of small animals sounded as I entered the still green western forest. I'd never ridden through these woods on my hunts with Lucien. There was no path here, nothing tame about it. Oaks, elms, and beeches intertwined in a thick weave, almost strangling the trickle of sunlight that crept in through the dense canopy. The moss-covered earth swallowed any sound I made.

Old – this forest was ancient, and alive in a way that I couldn't describe but could feel deep in my bones. Perhaps I was the first human in five hundred years to walk beneath those heavy, dark branches, to inhale the freshness of spring leaves masking the damp, thick rot.

Birch trees – running water.

I made my way through the woods, breath tight in my throat. Night was the dangerous time, I reminded myself – I still had a few hours until sunset.

Even if the Bogge had stalked us in the daylight.

The Bogge was dead, and whatever horror Tamlin was now dealing with dwelled in another part of these lands. The Spring Court. I wondered in what ways Tamlin had to answer to its High Lord, if it was his High Lord who had carved out Lucien's eye, or maybe it was the High Lord's consort – the she whom Lucien had mentioned – that instilled such fear in them. Perhaps Tamlin himself was the High Lord. I pushed away the thought, foolish.

I kept my steps light, my eyes and ears open, and my heartbeat steady. Shortcomings or no, I could still hunt, and maybe with the Suriel I could finally get some answers and it would all be worth it.

I found a glen of young, skinny birch trees, then stalked in ever-widening circles until I encountered the nearest stream. Not deep, but so wide that I'd have to take a running leap to cross it. Lucien had said to find running water, and this was close enough to make escape possible... If I needed to escape. 

I traced and retraced several different routes to the stream, as well as a few alternate routes from those should my access to them somehow be blocked. Once I was sure of every root, rock, and hollow in the surrounding area I returned to the small clearing encircled by those white trees and laid my snare.

***

From my spot up a nearby tree – a sturdy, dense oak whose vibrant leaves hid me entirely from anyone below – I waited. The afternoon sun creeping overhead, hot enough even through the canopy that I had to shrug off my cloak and roll up the sleeves of my tunic. My stomach grumbled and I pulled a hunk of cheese out of my rucksack, finishing it off quickly and swigging water from the canteen I'd brought, parched from the heat.

Did Tamlin or Lucien ever grow tired of day after day of eternal spring, or ever venture into the other territories, if only to experience a different season? I wouldn't have minded endless, mild spring while looking after my family – winter brought us closer to death every year – but if I were immortal I thought it would get old, fast. I'd want some variation to pass the time. If I were immortal, one of these High Fae, I would want to do more than lurk about a manor house, though I still hadn't worked up the nerve to make the request that had crept into the back of my mind when I saw the mural.