A Court of Bastards [ACOTAR]

Chapter 14

Fiona awoke on the floor of her bedroom, cold and stiff. She couldn't remember getting there - if Aidan and Donovan had thrown her in, or if she'd crawled to the door. But she did remember the crack of her ribs before she'd passed out, and cried out again as she tried to sit up now.

The sun was peaking over the mountains, its warm light spilling across the marble toward her ragged form. A quick look in the mirror confirmed her suspicions; the cut from the knife had already healed, and a lift of her dress revealed a patchwork of blue and purple on her side. Dark, and deep, but healing. However slowly.

Yet it was her throat that drew a rasp of shock.

Aidan's hand had left a perfect mark, the stretch of his fingers painted in purple and sickly green beneath her jaw. That it hadn't disappeared in the night was testament to its severity, and sure enough, Fiona found each breath a labour, both from her broken ribs and sore windpipe.

Aidan had left marks that would show, had done it on purpose as further humiliation. He knew she would never go out and show her injuries, so he hadn't bothered to hide them. The now familiar wash of shame came crashing through her. Weakness was a wound that sat bolder than blood upon her frame. It showed in the dullness of her eyes and the wince she made when she twisted her torso.

A flash of the night before came to mind, of prancing across the dance floor in Rita's, Bella and Xander's matching grins shaded blue under the lights. Her heart ached as she thought of it, though she was suddenly grateful they could not see the girl who stood before her now.

Gingerly, Fiona set about cleaning herself up in the small en suite attached to her chamber. The dress she tossed aside – it was ripped in the side and had a small blood splatter by the neckline. Bathing herself was a series of slow movements and whimpers, but eventually Fiona returned to her bed, clean and blood-free, to fall into an uneasy sleep. 

She slept through the day, ignoring the knocks on her door for lunch and dinner, ignoring the growling of her stomach and the bark of pain in her side whenever she turned in bed. Her dreams were of Valeris, of Riordan's stern frown as he spun her toward Baird, his hands outstretched and holding a key. 

Intermittently Keir's face swam into view, whispering strange things in her ear about cruel sons and beasts of the night. Several times she awoke sweating, the image of violet eyes burned into her vision, though what she had been so afraid of she could never remember.

The night passed in a slew of feverish dreams, and by the time the second sun had set, Fiona's hunger was too keen to ignore. Her ribs seemed better too, though another glance in the mirror made her stomach plummet. The bruise of Aidan's handprint was still visible, and though it was faint, its shape was clear.

With a sigh, Fiona slipped on a tunic with a high collar and a pair of trousers, not caring that she'd likely be yelled at for her attire. She'd considered trying to make it to the staff dining room, or to the Day Court quarters where Riordan might be able to call a healer, but the idea of walking through the palace without anyone noticing her wounds or turning her around was fanciful at best.

So she slid into a chair amongst her cousins, grateful that they were all too preoccupied by the ball taking place in a few hours to notice her dishevelled appearance.

She picked at a leg of lamb, moving it around her plate with a dejected look. Her stomach grumbled with hunger but every mouthful made her wince – it was as if she could feel the imprint of Aidan's hand against her throat, as though the effort of swallowing the smallest morsel might deepen the bruises he'd left. Subconsciously, she tugged her collar higher.

Isolda and Keegan, of course, were nattering away about lesser lords and which of their sons they might deign to dance with at the ball. Though their cousins were largely quiet beside them, the twins didn't seem to care. Fiona suspected that they wanted their shrill voices to carry, that they rather enjoyed the echo of their gossip between the marble walls. They were such desperate creatures, Fiona thought, casting a glare in their direction as Isolda squealed especially loudly.