Court of Shadows (Indefinite Hiatus)

PART 12: FEYRE

Maeve has re-opened the portal through which Aelin tossed the second wyrdkey. Unwilling to risk Aelin causing more trouble in her absence, Maeve decides to bring the heavily-chained Light-Bringer with. Still searching for information about the wyrdkeys, Feyre contemplates what her next move should be.

Feyre had come to the decision that she should paint on balconies more often. Most of the time she set up shop in one of the garden courtyards or on the lawn, which resulted in simple landscapes or detailed orientations of flowers.

Two or three levels above the gardens, however, made for a grand landscape that showcased the seeming vastness of the Spring Court land. It was almost refreshing. As refreshing as a land stuck in incessant Spring could be to an artist who never left.

Today, she was actually painting what she appeared to be looking at. Feyre dipped her brush and leaned forward, her wrist hovering above the canvas. She lifted her head to look above the easel, studying the outline of the clouds against the blue sky.

She let her eyes drift downwards, into the garden hedges, where her gaze continually landed in the middle of one of the courtyards. The courtyard where the rest of the Queen's guards had stationed themselves around the prisoner-- the chained fae woman.

Feyre had been up there a little over two hours, alternating between painting and watching the small party, and in all that time, she hadn't seen any of the guards move.

A couple times she thought one of the males may have shifted their weight on his feet, or yawned, but it also could have been her eyes playing tricks on her.

The prisoner, who was still wrapped head to toe in chains was lying on her back in the middle of the courtyard, also completely still. Feyre surmised that she was either sleeping, thinking very deeply, or cloud-watching.

She had tried several times to reach out to the prisoner with her mind, but quickly discovered that the distance was too great. She couldn't keep herself from wondering how wide Rhysand's range was, and if he'd be able to read someone from this balcony.

Feyre began swirling her brush on the canvas and sighed, recalling her earlier conversation with Tamlin. After breakfast, he had asked her to take a walk with him. They spent nearly ten minutes strolling around the perimeter of the manor in near silence, when, finally, he invited her to sit on the edge of a large fountain. It was here that he announced Ianthe would be returning the very next day.

Apparently, she had an explanation for her actions and wanted to make amends. And Tamlin had agreed to hear her out.

Feyre's body tensed in fury as she fought to not snap the paintbrush in two. It was one thing to betray herself, or members of the court of a high lord, but it was something else entirely to bring two innocent human girls into the fold. Feyre had promised that she would have Ianthe's head on a platter, and now she was expected to sit and hear her out.

The wood of the brush groaned, and Feyre forced herself to un-clench her hand, setting the brush on the edge of the easel.

Tomorrow was going to take a real feat of willpower to not rip that high-priestess-bitch to shreds.

Feyre glanced back at the courtyard. Still, no one had moved.

She sighed again. She was going to have to get much closer if she wanted access to the chained fae woman's mind. At the same moment she thought it, her gaze drifted to the empty tray of food sitting by the prisoner's feet, and an idea came to her.

Filing it away in her head, she picked the brush back up, and set to work on the clouds. The next time she looked up to the sky, Feyre smiled with the brief intuitive thought that she and the woman lying on the ground were watching the same cloud.