Court of Shadows (Indefinite Hiatus)

PART 10: CAIRN & AELIN

Both Feyre and the Night Court continue their search for information about the wyrdkeys, which have fallen into their grasps. Delegates from Doranelle have arrived at the Spring Court, unbeknownst to Aelin, who is still trapped beneath Maeve's power. 

Two tables stood in the middle of a green meadow, shrouded in shadow by two figures. One stood absolutely still among the swaying grass, intently considering his surroundings. And the other laid upon the taller table, her limbs pulled taut and anchored to the to corners.

This was Cairn's idea of an 'outside game.'

They played many games during their playdates, as Cairn liked to call them. Some, he admitted, more creative than others. He liked to experiment with a variety of tools and mediums and elements, ranging from tubs of water to hallucinogenic poisons to iron darts.

Contrary to popular belief, the whip was not his favorite tool. It wasn't even his second or third or fifth or twenty-second favorite tool. In fact, were it not for the symbolism behind the whip in regards to his victim, he would never deem to use it. He thought that it took too much effort on his part. And Cairn was a firm believer that he shouldn't be sweating more than his playmate.

Cairn did, however, find extensive amusement in using fire and heat-- something about the irony of using the element against the once great flame-bringer.

However, nothing brought him more joy or got his creative juices flowing quite like the good 'ole knife and bare back.

Cairn considered himself quite the artist, even though he never allowed anyone else to see his art. It was personal to him, and the one thing that brought him real peace. He loved it. And today was special. Today was landscape day.

Even after the girl had been chained to the corners of the table, her arms and legs outstretched, and the rest of her guards ordered away, Cairn made no move to begin. He stood in silent contemplation, his eyes staring out across the scenery, and his hands gently hovering over his belt of knives spread out on a lower side table. He wasn't one to just jump into his work. He needed time to slip into his artistic calm-- to create an image in his head before he transferred it onto his canvas. A slight breeze rustled through the grass, tousling his and her hair as they both slipped into their stone-faced killing graces.

The waterfall, visible from the throne room, roared in the distance. He closed his eyes and breathed in the warm air, the many elements from his environment piecing together into a single image. He spent another minute like that, taking deep breaths and savoring the different scents around him, before he let loose a pleasant sigh and opened his eyes. His lips curled into a boisterous grin, and he gently unsheathed a small blade from his kit, spinning it in his hand as he stalked forward to his canvas. He took note of his peaceful surroundings once more. And then he started to paint.

...

In the beginning Aelin didn't feel anything. She spent the minutes up until the first cut of the knife preparing herself-- slipping into a mental calm. Eventually, the pain would become too much to shield, so rather than letting it all crash into her at once, she gradually let herself feel. Bit by bit, she let herself feel the knife strokes, until she was experiencing all of it.

Today she was in her fae form, so it wasn't as bad. Not that it was less painful, but when they made her shift back to human, her wounds couldn't heal immediately, so she was in constant pain, versus the often short bursts that came from being in her other form.

Also, they were outside. She didn't know how long it'd been since she'd been outdoors-- since she'd felt the sun.

She hated that her heart squeezed with gratitude for something as simple as seeing the sun.