Burning Wildfires (Abandoned)

~4~

Manon awoke to rough grass and loamy grounds of the mountains. Her head ached horribly, the weight of the Rhiannon's crown all but gone. A soft cloak was settled over her and she could hear the twelve familiar breaths, but the Abraxos' snoring was nowhere to be heard. 

The half-Crochan and half-Blackbeak sat up bolt upright, terror coursing through her. Her instincts were screaming that it was a trap, but something told her that whatever it was it was safe. The two senses were warring with each other.

Looking around, she couldn't see her faithful wyvern and felt like a piece of her were missing.
The princeling she had grown to care about was missing. Her iron claws extended, teeth gleaming under the moon. The witch queen arose from the ground and scanned the area with calculating, cold, golden eyes. 
"Manon? Why are you awake? Did you sense something?", the sleepy but alert voice of her Second sounded. Hearing that voice, was like the fresh blood after a hunt and Manon almost sobbed. She remembered the Thirteen yielding themselves, to throw back the wave of Ironteeth witches in battle. 

"Asterin? How- how are you alive?", her voice stuttered and shook as she held her iron weapons in front of her, eyes finding the unruly head of her cousin. 
Asterin's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you mean by alive?"

"What's the date?", was her only question. After centuries of fighting and magic, the white-haired witch had learned to recognize signs of illusionary magics, no matter how powerful, fae or valg. And this was not an illusion, something had happened during that battle and she needed to find out what exactly.
Asterin, voice laced with confusion told her and upon hearing the date, the Witch queen surged forward and engulfed her Second in a hug.

Letting go, moments later, her blonde cousin had her pinned to the ground, snarling.
"You are not Manon, she never shows affection. So who are you imposter?"
Manon looked up at her, gold eyes shining with sincerity. "It is me, Asterin. I have one hell of a story to tell you. Wake the rest of the Thirteen up. If I am right, we have a lot to do."

~

Dorian had given her the same room as before, Aelin saw, as she recognized Elena Galathynius' tapestry hanging in one corner. Chaol left her, and she wasted no time in scanning the room. She knew of the underground escape passageway of course, but that didn't stop her from analyzing every way to take down each guard posted outside her room, no matter the number. Once this body was healthy again of course.

Every single thing was the same, and she smiled when she saw several music sheets atop the pianoforte in the music room. Noticing the lack of any usable weapon in the room, she groaned when she saw that a handmade weapons of bone hairpins was to be made again.

After finishing her rounds of the room, she remembered that she had an hour to re-explore the passageways beyond the tapestry, but ultimately decided to sleep, in order to get some rest. She was exhausted. She slept for an hour, until a servant announced the arrival of the tailor, to outfit her with proper court attire. And thus another hour was spent being measured and pinned, and sitting through a presentation of different fabrics and colors. She still hated most of them, muttering that the tailor had no sense of style. She considered kicking the tailor where it would hurt, when her choices were declined. 

After her bath, she appreciated the amazing work the capital servants had done. "Beautiful," said an older, female voice, Aelin pivoted, the yards of cumbersome fabric twisting with her. Her corset—the stupid, cursed thing—pushed on her ribs so hard that the breath was sucked from her. This was why she mostly preferred tunics and pants, and made a note to destroy all corsets when she got the chance. In fact, she would make a law that all corsets should be banned.