Rattle the Stars

Chapter 4

Yes! We're on to the dramatic stuff now! More chapters to come. *Art above is not mine, as always.*

     When Aelin finished, feeling both thoroughly and mentally exhausted, the Inner Circle, as they called themselves, was silent. She slumped back in her chair, trying to ignore the shocked stares being sent her way.

     She had told them almost everything, from Arobynn and Sam to Rowan and her crown. She told them about Endovier, Lillian Gordania, (They had been shocked to find out the alias was the cover of a simple jewel thief), and Nehemiah.

     When she got to the part about her dearest friend, her small image of fire had flickered, dimming. Mor simply had held out a hand for Aelin to grip.

     As her story about how she met Rowan came up, she laughed and cried with the rest of them, relieving all the memories that now made her chest ache. Yes, she left out the rather emotional parts, but everything else... they knew. 

     Honestly, Aelin didn't know why she trusted them so much. She had barely met them all but was telling them her horrific life story. She suspected, though, that some part of her bonded with them out of familiarity. Their Court of Dreams was so much like her own, it was nearly painful.

     In turn, they told her their story. Every villain and plan and sacrifice. In truth, their group had been through just as much as Aelin's.

     After finishing, Feyre stood, one hand resting on her pregnant stomach. "Well, I suppose now it's all up to Amren, isn't it? To see if she can get you out of here, and back to Terrasen." Aelin only nodded. She needed rest. "Would you show me to my room?" 

     Feyre frowned, as if she hadn't thought about it. "The townhouse has a limited amount of rooms. We might have to bring you to the House of Wind." The name cut through the fog in her head. "House of Wind?" 

     "Yes. We have a separate palace, for more official affairs. However, we usually stay in this townhouse or the riverside estate. It's nice being in Velaris."

      Velaris, the City of Starlight. This city that Aelin was so hoping would be a mirror to Orynth one day. If, of course, everything she had so painstakingly planned over the past months would fall into place.

     She barely restrained a yawn that slid past her lips, but the others noticed. "Right." Feyre said. "We're going to have to winnow again, and I know that last time..." She didn't have to mention Aelin's freakish reaction.

     Now, she knew what had caused it.

     Aelin just nodded and held out her hand for  Rhys to grip. He gave Feyre a quick peck on the cheek as he did so, before shadows wrapped around them.

     Honestly, at this point, she would have done anything just be in her damn mates arms. What Feyre and Rhys had... She envied them, for their ease and relaxation.

     This time, the winnow was smooth, the darkness not cruel and sharp, but soft and gentle, reminding Aelin of many nights spent by firelight with a book in hand.

     A gasp shot from her as the scenery around them materialized. A glimmering castle of moonstone and diamond towered above her and Rhys. Beautiful.

     Bidding good night, she left the court on the balcony, following Mor's shouted instructions to her rooms. Only moments after entering, and changing into the least matronly night gown she could find, of course, Aelin was asleep.

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     She awoke abruptly, a scream on her lips and hand reaching for a body beside hers. Aelin sighed through her nose. Desperately, she needed to work off this anger that had been festering in her since she fell through that final world.

     Following the mental map she had created last night, Aelin soon found the training room, still bathed in the midnight moonlight. She smirked at the dummies, then bypassed the weapons rack to begin her practice.

     In nothing but her thin nightgown, Aelin trained. And trained. And trained, until the sun was just peeking over the horizon and her body was torn and aching. Usually, she would have stopped earlier, due to convincing from Rowan or a slap in the face from Lysandra.

     Huffing, she wiped her sweaty brow and went to sit on a bench on the sidelines. Even after the training, she still felt hollow. Narrowing her eyes and concentration, Aelin slowly pulled a droplet of water from a canteen she had found and morphed it into a tiny hawk, the spitting image of Rowan's own.

     The single ember in her crackled, sparks and ash flying in that empty well, but it just... wasn't the same. She had spent 10 years, running and hiding from her powers, and had never realized what a brilliant burning gift the fire had truly been.

     A pair of footsteps behind her alerted Aelin of another's presence, and she instantly was on her feet. A pair of dark-haired twins stood there, reeking of darkness itself.

     "There has been a summons, miss, to the library. A message came this morning, and apparently concerns you." The words were bland, but a message concerning her...

     "Take me to Feyre and the others, please." She didn't know who the twins were, but they seemed trustworthy enough if they were in the palace. All of Aelin's fae senses were on guard as they walked, winding through the massive palace.

     Few servants scuttled through the halls, the only noise being the whistle of wind in the jagged mountain peaks and the soft murmur of the twins, (Who had said their names were Nuala and Cerridwen)  chattering softly.

     Once arriving at the meeting room, the doors were swung open to reveal Feyre, Rhys, and the rest of the Inner Circle minus Amren huddled around a table, staring at a letter.

     All eyes turned to Aelin, then widened as they took in her outfit. She only winked and gave a wicked smile to the group, then took a place beside them.

     The letter sat in the center of the table, untouched and unopened. There appeared to be a small lump in the envelope as well. Something about it... It may have been paranoia, but she felt smoke begin to curl around her fingers.

     The words on the front of the heavy envelope were written in a thick, harsh script. Aelin tapped her knee against her leg, huffing. "Why on earth don't we just open it?" 

     Mor sighed, sounding just as impatient. "These pricks are having us wait for Amren." Azriel shot her a look. "This letter concerns Amren too. I think... my shadows definitely don't like whatever is in there. Mor pouted. "It's just a letter. Honestly, what could be so terrible about it?" 

     From behind them, a dark laugh came from Amren, who had silently arrived only moments before. And, beholding the script, went white. "Open it." Were her only words. Aelin seized it in her grasp. A wave of dark, twisted, black power ran it's fingers down her spine. 

     She knew that the others were waiting, but that power- so achingly, terribly, familiar. With steady hands, Aelin ripped open the envelope, tipping it's contents on the worn wood table. All of her vision narrowed on the thing that fell out of the parchment. 

     No. Not here. It was impossible, improbable. But if they were here... Aelin couldn't do it. All she had done was buy a fools chance at the war. She had given up all of her power, only to be fooled and defeated. Defeated- but not stopped. 

     So Aelin kept on staring. And staring. And staring, at the Wyrdstone ring that now glimmered on the table.