A Court of Bastards [ACOTAR]

Chapter 52

Fiona awoke in the bathtub, naked and cold.

The water lay undisturbed and frigid against her skin. She lifted a hand to the light streaming in from the windows and found her fingertips like wrinkled prunes. Though despite the chill in her bones and stiffness in her neck, she arose feeling weightless, her mind clearer than it had been in quite some time. Outside the day was breaking, and birds flitted from one branch to another, twittering peacefully; war was a thousand miles away, and all she wanted to do was bake.

A few carefully aimed puffs of scalding hot air had her hair dry in no time, so Fiona crept around the house until she found the master bedroom, and a huge walk-in closet of dresses beside it. The knowledge that they all belonged to Mor unsettled her a little, but worse was the fact that each one fit her like a glove. Settling on a deep scarlet gown, Fiona tried to ignore the lingering scent of myrtle as she traipsed down to the kitchen to hunt for ingredients.

The pantry was well-stocked - she pulled out sacks of yeast and dough and salt as a field mouse scurried over her bare toes, disappearing beneath the cupboards. Fiona merely laughed, humming contentedly as she began to work, lighting the hearth with a snap of her fingers and summoning ingredients to her side.

Once she had assembled something like a meal, it was packed in a basket and slung on her arm as Fiona headed out to the stables. The black mare from the day before greeted her with a soft snort, tossing her head and clipping her hooves impatiently. Fiona led her out with a smile, whispering gentle encouragement to the filly as she swung herself atop and set them at a canter.

They were past the boundary of the estate in minutes, and soon emerged from the forest onto a well-worn path, racing through fields of heather and barley. She could hardly believe she was in the Night Court. 

Behind her, to the North and East, mountains loomed in the distance. But in the land surrounding Athelwood, ancient forests and rolling hills reigned supreme. Even the air here felt different - Fiona heard it singing in her ears as the hem of her dress snapped and played in the breeze, her hair flying with it as the mare whinnied happily beneath her.

Circling seagulls announced the arrival of the shoreline long before it came into view. Fiona slowed to a halt, slipping off her horse beneath fluffy white clouds, longing for the feel of grass beneath her feet and salty air on her cheeks. The cliffs she'd stumbled upon were empty for miles along both sides - she truly felt as though she might have been the only person in the world as she settled down for lunch, dangling her legs off the cliff edge.

Though her heart was light, Fiona found herself fighting not to remember the last time she was on a cliff, the last time she was facing this grey, roiling sea. 

What were they doing, right then - Keir and Aidan and all their minions? Did the streets still smoulder, had the docks fallen into the sea? Or was it all disconcertingly ordinary, just with darkbringers and Illyrians dancing through the Palaces instead of pixies and children.

Unconsciously, she glanced along the coast, half-expecting to see plumes of smoke from where Velaris sat hidden in the Sidran bay.

Again, Xander's face swam into view, and she wondered what it might be like to sever that bond between them. Males had been known to go mad - to fall into depressive states, to never truly recover, when rejected by a mate. It was a fate she wasn't sure she could endure, especially not if she was the one to gift it to him.

But the High Lord's image was followed by Scilla, and Bethan, then Eris, and her thoughts swerved in the other direction. What was one life in place of hundreds - thousands, even?

And then there was Hybern - that silent, hulking beast in the West.

How easy it is for Kings and Queens, Fiona thought. On a day as clear as this, she could just make out its silhouette, etched ever-so-faintly in the distance. Monarchs were so unlike High Lords and Ladies - confined by the rules of courts and traditions and hierarchy.