Chapter Text
i. tower
Aelin kept her gaze pinned to the stone cold floor.
A voice washed over her in disappointment, “oh darling, you know this is for your own good.”
She lifted her head slightly, meeting her Mother’s eyes.
Maeve smiled slightly, an act that also seemed out of place on her stern face. Despite her best attempts at retaining her youth, thin wrinkles streaked across the woman’s pale skin. Yet, it did little to reduce her beauty. Her porcelain skin and wide onyx eyes stared back at Aelin.
Aelin ducked her head. “Yes, Mother. I’m sorry for asking questions,” she said, trying to make her voice seem earnest. She felt a sting of guilt at upsetting Maeve, but her growing curiosity kept her teetering on the edge of rebellion. Why shouldn’t she get to explore outside the tower? Why shouldn’t she get to live her life?
As if reading her thoughts, Maeve said, “this is for your protection. There are people out there who would love to abuse power like yours. And you remember what happened last time you left the tower?”
As if in response, Aelin felt the scars on her back ache. She shifted, but the material of her simple gown chafed against the raised ridges there. Oh, she remembered vividly. Those awful months chasing her from nightmare to nightmare, as she woke up alone in her prison.
“You’re right, Mother,” Aelin said, swallowing down her bitterness. She met Maeve’s eyes with a smile, even as her mind churned.
Maeve stalked towards her and pressed a cool hand to her cheek. Then her hand slid down to cup her chin, her long nails digging in slightly.
Aelin fought the urge to flinch as Maeve’s grip tightened.
“Good girl,” Maeve said finally. She released her and turned away, and Aelin's shoulders slumped. “Your birthday’s coming up. I don’t suppose you want anything?”
Considering, Aelin said, “I wouldn’t mind more ink, Mother.” She glanced back to the old piano in the corner. Atop it was a thick stack of sheet music, her own sprawling lines of notes splashed across them.
Trapped here, Aelin had little to do but write music. It was her dream to hear an actual performance, even see her own music being played. At night, she hummed to herself and imagined swelling strings and crooning woodwinds and triumphant brass and percussion.
She also read whatever she could get her hands on. But Maeve disliked romance and adventure and anything to fill Aelin’s head with “silly reckless things,” so she got boring books about learning to be ladylike.
“Very well, ink it is. Be good,” Maeve said, blowing her a kiss. She then strode to the lone tower window, outside of which a thick hook was mounted. Maeve gripped the rope dangling from it and clambered onto the stone sill.
Aelin rushed over to help lower the rope. She grabbed the longer end and gently slid it up, watching as Maeve’s side of the rope lowered. It took a couple of minutes to lower Maeve all the way to the ground.
At the bottom, Maeve hopped off. She tugged up the hood of her black velvet cloak and waited.
At the top of the tower, Aelin removed the rope from the large hook and dropped it down with the same sinking feeling in her gut as always.
Maeve strode away, and Aelin was left alone. Almost alone.
“You can come out now,” she called.
A whine echoed in response, followed by a bark. Fleetfoot poked her slender snout out from her hiding spot under the bed, then hesitantly revealed herself.
“Here, girl,” Aelin said, crouching down and patting her leg.
Fleetfoot rushed over to Aelin, rested her head atop Aelin’s leg and nestled in. Aelin laughed and ran her hands over the dog’s golden brown fur.
It had taken weeks of begging Maeve to get her to concede to getting a pet, but it had been worth it when Maeve arrived with this bundle of joy wriggling around in a basket. Fleetfoot had been quick to warm up to Aelin, but remained deathly afraid of Maeve and hid every time she visited.
“She’s gone now,” Aelin said and buried her head into Fleetfoot’s coat. Fleetfoot wagged her tail and barked again, before rushing away to her spot on Aelin’s bed.
Aelin’s home was one large circular room. Standing with her back to the window, she could observe it all. The right side was the kitchen, with a fire stove and some cabinets with dry food. Next to it was a bathing area, with a tub and small pump attached to the stone wall. Beside them, an old bucket.
Her tall wardrobe sat right across from the window. On the other side of it was her piano and scattered papers. And finally, her bed towards her left.
17 years inside these walls. It was enough to drive her to the brink of insanity. But she managed, somehow. Perhaps it was her imagination that allowed her to live so long in isolation, but it was the same imagination that drove her to dream of an outside world.
She’d touched that outside world once. Escaped with a bunch of tied up bed sheets. Maeve had since banned them, leaving Aelin with a straw pallet and a threadbare blanket.
Aelin closed her eyes and remembered the brief moment of escape. Her bare feet against the grass, the breeze against her face.
She’d wandered into the woods, only to find her happiness short-lived.
Aelin blinked her eyes open, eager to ward off the following memories. The men’s meaty hands as they grabbed her, the damp dungeon. The feeling of a whip against her back.
One day, Aelin drifted into unconsciousness and awoke back in her tower with Maeve hovering over her. The woman had so gently, so kindly, placed a damp cloth over Aelin’s forehead and caressed her face.
She had never been so glad to be back in her tower.
“I’m so glad I found you. You’ve learned your lesson, hmm?” Maeve had said softly. Though something about the words sent a tremor of fear through her even now. “Those monsters want your light. They want it for their own use, how selfish.”
Maeve never failed to remind her of that. According to her, Aelin’s power made her a target. Aelin normally scoffed internally at that. She could barely summon a wisp of flame in her palm.
Fleetfoot barking drew Aelin out of her spiraling thoughts, much to her relief.
She strode over to her piano, fingers trailing over the keys. As she sat, she adjusted her pink skirts and thought of her latest composition. The melody came to mind, slowly unraveling as she began to play.
It was a special piece. Every year on her birthday, she sat at her window and gazed at the night sky. And every year, she saw the sky fill with thousands of glowing lights in the distance.
Whenever she asked about it, just as she had earlier, Maeve either snapped at her or pulled the “Mother knows best” card.
Yet, the image lingered. One day, she vowed, she would seek out the source of lights. Ridiculous as it sounded, she felt like they were the answer to some long lost question.
To her, they weren’t just pretty lights. They represented freedom, the longing for which never left her.
It chased her through dreams and wove itself into her music.
And as the last notes of her unfinished piece quivered in the air, before melting away, Aelin felt a single tear streak down her cheek.