DISCONTINUED A Court of Blood and Night Rewritten

Preface Part One

She didn't know how long it had been since the day she'd been separated from her court. Since she'd been whipped and shoved into a coffin made of iron, built specifically for an heir of Brannon, promised to save the world from Erawan long ago when those before her could not. Since she'd been dragged away by the Queen of Doranelle -- Maeve. Time didn't seem to exist, here. Not while she was locked in this place, void of sound and light. Had it not been for the persistent thumping of her heart, Aelin might've thought she was dead. But even with her beating heart, the silence continued, suffocating.

She knew there were guards posted outside of this place, expecting her to fight, to try to escape. But if she tried to fight, to run, what might Maeve do to Elide? What might she do to Fenrys, still stuck under Maeve's controlling grasp? She would not be able to forgive herself if she was the reason anyone got hurt or killed. For now, she'd have to be content with the knowledge that Rowan was looking after Terrasen with the others. Would they help Dorian retake his throne in Adarlan? And how was Chaol? Was he back on his feet yet, or would he be forever stuck to the confines of a chair? She hoped not, and she hoped with every fibre of her being that her friends were all safe. She didn't want more names be added to the collection of ones already written on her back. Many of those names were already broken by the new scars she received from Cairn before she'd been taken. She was fortunate to have not seen him since.

A sudden jolt threw Aelin against the opposite wall, the iron chains clamped around her wrists clanking as the slack tightened. She heard herself spit a muffled curse, but felt disconnected from the action as she righted herself.

A moment later, a loud clanking sounded, then a squeal that hurt her ears. Light flooded in to her ever-moving cell: a wagon, it's walls lined with iron. It was a step up from the coffin she'd been stuffed into, though the iron mask stayed. She had to close her eyes because of how bright and sharp the light was. It reminded her of her fire, once boiling in her blood, grown dormant under the effects of iron and exhaustion.

She heard a voice give an order, though she didn't know the language it spoke, and she stiffened. Gods, she hated that voice. And she hated that she had grown scared of that voice. She knew what Maeve was, now, knew what she was capable of. Soft footsteps sounded as the source of that voice approached her.

My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. She wished she believed those words. But Aelin was terrified.

A figure appeared in Aelin's line of sight, more a shadow against the sudden onslaught of sunlight. But she stepped into the cabin of the wagon, and soon Aelin could register the pale skin and onyx features of the Queen of Doranelle, the female pretending to be someone she wasn't. Maeve was cold as ever, though she was smiling.

"Are you going to listen to me, now, Aelin?" Maeve spoke like a mother would to a child that just threw a tantrum as she delicately removed the mask. "Or are we going to go through this again?" Aelin didn't speak, refusing to give the Queen the satisfaction of hearing her respond. After a moment, Maeve nodded and straightened. "I thought so," she sighed. Then she called a name, and Aelin's blood went cold.

He appeared before the Queen of Doranelle and Aelin within moments, as if he were a dancer waiting for his que. A deadly dancer. One wielding a whip. As Aelin watched, frozen in horror and confusion, he uncoiled it slowly, the black leather stretching on forever until it was fully unfurrowed and about the length of a person. Another word from Maeve, and two Fae seized Aelin by the shoulders while another moved the position of her manacles. When they were once again secured, the two guards dragged Aelin from the wagon, who was suddenly too dazed to fight. There was something incredibly wrong going on, here.

Once outside, Aelin was forced to her knees. She looked up in time to see the whip-wielding Faerie emerging from the wagon again, sharp eyes cold as he offered a hand to Maeve-- his Queen. Aelin's eyes roved his features: the tan skin, the silver hair, the tattoos.

All of this was wrong.

His eyes were the color of the fresh pine needles littering the ground beneath her. The tattoos on his face seemed to suck away at the light around it, but not in the same way the collar around his neck did. It was a battle of will to keep looking at him silently, to not burst into tears or scream at him for letting Maeve do this to him.

The male left her vision, and she turned her head to at least keep him in her peripheral. "One more time, Aelin," Maeve said from in front of her.

His hair gleamed in the sunlight. She'd never noticed just how beautiful it was when it caught the light like that. She wanted to touch it, to run her fingers through the soft strands.

"Where are the Wyrdkeys?" Maeve's voice was like splintering glass.

For a moment, Aelin seriously considered the question, mulling over her options. It wasn't as if she had much else to lose. She was enslaved to a Demon Queen, as was the male to whom she entrusted Terrasen. She could only assume that the rest of her court wore rings of a similar material to the collar on his neck, though not by choice. She was to be a sacrifice in order to trap Erawan, and hopefully Maeve, back in the Realm from which they came.

But there were innocent lives at stake here, too. Lives that would be lost should she give in. Her heart ached. Her body hurt. She was exhausted. But Aelin kept her mouth shut. A moment later, Maeve nodded. In her peripheral, Rowan raised the whip.

As it was brought down, she readied herself for the impact, could already feel tears scorching on her skin.

A snap sounded in her ears, and Aelin woke up in a cold sweat, heart thumping a persistent, heavy beat. She was in the wagon, and the chains were ice-cold on her wrists, as was the mask on her face. But Rowan was not there. Aelin let out a shuddering breath, and relaxed as much as she could in her circumstances. He was safe. Maeve had not captured him. She did not put a collar on him.

Even though it had been a long time since she had set a foot outside the wagon, she was certain she could smell the acrid tang of smoke.

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So, totally read the Dresden Files before I wrote this, so I've got no idea if this is the correct style, but oh well! In celebration of ACOFAS being released two days ago, I present you with the first revised chapter of A Court of Blood and Night!