Chapter 27 - Aelin

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One moment the room is calm, or as calm as it can be with two enemies trying to kill each other with their stares. 

The next all I can hear is screaming, endless, horrible screaming. 

I whirl to stare at Feyre while keeping one eye firmly locked on Tarquin and his party. She is holding what appears to be some kind of strange book, and she is on her knees, head thrown back in a ceaseless, prolonged scream.  

Rhys is by her side, desperately trying to at once hold her and pull the book from her hands, but for some reason it doesn't seem like she can let go of it, like it has been fused to her hand. 

Tarquin is looking at the spectacle, confusion and a hint of something like genuine concern on his features. Almost like he cares about Feyre, if only a little bit. 

As I watch Manon runs over to Feyre and Rhys, brushing her hair out of her face. The rest of the inner circle is standing back, obviously worried, but also aware that they will be of no use crowding Feyre. Manon says something quietly to Rhys, and he lets go of the book, leaving it to her, and instead focuses on holding Feyre, trying to keep her as still as possible. 

Manon is looking at the book, eyebrow's furrowed in concentration. After a moment she lets out a small cry of frustration. Then her eyes lock onto mine. 

"Aelin!" she says, "Over here, now!"

I'm slightly confused, I don't know what help I could possibly be in this scenario. That question is driven from my mind the second I lay eyes on the strange book. 

It's written completely in Wyrdmarks. 

Manon looks at me, "I don't remember enough, I can't make it stop!"

I focus my attention on the symbols strewn across the page. They are not ones that I immediately recognize, and after a moment I realize why. They have been bastardized, each symbol mixed with another to form new, interlocking characters. It's ingenious in fact, the way that the creator managed to seamlessly blend different symbols together, creating a perfect harmony of marks. For a moment the only though in my mind is that this book, whatever it is, might hold the key to get Rowan and I home, and I don't know if I'm happy about that or not. Going home means going back to the damn palace, back to crop yields and tax plans. A small, selfish part of me wants to stay here, where I can be Aelin, rather than queen of Terrasen. 

Then I push away those thoughts to be mulled over at a time when there isn't a girl catatonic with pain in front of me. 

I reach out to Manon and she places something in my hand, a piece of charcoal. The marks I make won't last long, but hopefully it will be long enough to detach Feyre from the book. Quickly I scrawl across the symbols a character of my own, a simple design meant to nullify the power of lesser runes. It lasts for only a second, but it's enough. It's enough time for Manon to pull the book out of Feyre's hand.

Abruptly the screaming stops, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Feyre collapses, only semiconscious, against Rhys' chest. He wraps his arms around her protectively, and pulls her close. I drag my eyes away from the pair, and instead focus my attention on the visitors, Tarquin and his companions. 

I walk over to them, a smile on my face. "Well that was fun, wasn't it!"

All three Fae seem taken aback by my comment, or possibly by the fact that I addressed them at all. It's the woman, the one Feyre told me is called Cressida, who replies "Who are you?"

"Aelin" I say simply, not wanting to get into a discussion about the details of my being here with possible enemies. 

Cressida seems about to continue, but Tarquin puts out his hand, silencing her. She shoots him a furious glance, but his expression coveys his message well enough, 'don't bother, we have other things to deal with.'

Cressida shakes her head in disgust, but keeps her mouth shut. I'm glad. I'd much rather deal with the man in charge.

"What the hell was that?" Tarquin asks, his tone forcibly calm, as though he's trying to pretend that he couldn't care less about the answer. 

I roll my eyes "That was Feyre greeting you with a traditional opera concert. What do you think it was?"

Tarquin glares at me and looks like he's about to snap at me for impertinence, but I silence him with a glare. I don't feel like dealing with pompous assholes spewing their pompous assholery at me right now.

Tarquin takes a moment to rethink what he is going to say, then finally settles on "Why did the book react to her like that? I didn't even know it could do that."

A thin voice from behind me replies "It's angry with me."

Every set of eyes in the room fixes on Feyre where she lays, still curled in Rhys' arms. 

"The book wanted to be used, and I didn't use it. This was its way of expressing its displeasure. It isn't overly subtle."

Tarquin frowns in Feyre's direction. "What do you mean it was angry with you? It's a book, not a person."

"You're right" Feyre says, her voice still soft "It isn't a person, but it isn't just a book either. It's alive, or conscious at least."

"That's impossible" Tarquin breathes, "After all these years, somebody would have noticed!"

"You're forgetting, Tarquin" Rhys says "Like calls to like, and only that which is made..."

Rhys trails off, and though I have no idea what he means, I watch Tarquin's face blanch. 

"Mother help us," he murmurs.

"What?" Cressida asks forcefully "What does that mean?"

"It means," Tarquin says softly "That only Feyre can wield the Book of Breathings. It means, that she might be the only one who can stop Hybern."

He doesn't continue, but the look on his face makes it plain enough what else he is thinking. 

Or she could make him even more powerful than before. And I don't know if she's on our side. 

Hey guys!

So two little notes:

1. Exams are done so I will hopefully be back to more regular updates!

2. I know that the language used in the Book of Breathings is not Wyrdmarks, however it was necessary to move the plot along. Please forgive me for the change!

As always I hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to vote and comment below!




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