Chapter Text
Winter’s chill has set in, adding a bite to the air of Terrasen. Maryn pulls her cloak a bit closer as she makes her way through the streets of Orynth. Her parents reclaimed Terrasen years ago, but her father still worries about her being out by herself. Luckily, it’s easy to sneak out for a little fun while her parents are busy trying to reunify their people. She smiles to herself as she thinks about her most recent trip through the markets of Orynth and all the things she managed to get her hands on with a friendly smile and a quick hand. Not that anyone would say no - she is the daughter of the rightful Queen of Terrasen, after all.
Her lighthearted mood fades, however, when she makes it back into the main hall and sees not just her parents but also their entire team of advisers.
This can’t be good , she thinks. I don’t know the last time that everyone was in one room outside of major events. Aedion often disappears for months on end to deal with the Bane, and Lorcan and Elide don’t come to Orynth if they can help it. Fenrys is around a lot; Maryn doesn’t admit it, but he’s probably her favorite. Just the right balance of concern and support around her...less than ideal adventures.
“Where have you been?” her father asks, eyes snapping to her as she pulls her hood down. “It’s not cold enough inside to need a cloak that size.”
She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “I just went down to the markets. The merchants bring out the best things at the start of winter.”
“You know you should have someone escort you, Maryn,” her father tells her.
Before she can reply, her mother cuts in, matching turquoise eyes meeting hers with a message of understanding. “Honestly, Rowan, you act as if the streets of Orynth are as dangerous as Rithfold.”
“For her, they may as well be,” Rowan argues. Aelin cuts her eyes at him. Maryn bites her cheek to hold back her smirk. She knows her mother is on her side, that she knows what it’s like to not be tethered to a single (albeit large) building. Maryn’s desire for exploration comes from her mother.
“She is more than capable of defending herself,” Aelin says sharply. “You know that as well as I do.”
She has a point. She and Rowan have both had a hand in training Maryn - along with every other member of their court. And no matter who she has stood against, she has managed to get the upper hand eventually.
Rowan sighs and looks back to Maryn. “We can talk about your safety later. Right now, we have a separate issue to discuss.”
“Why must you be so dramatic?” Lysandra asks. “Just tell her for gods’ sakes.”
“Tell me what?” Maryn asks.
Her mother smiles. “We’re having visitors.”
“We have visitors all the time,” Maryn responds, her confusion painting her face.
“But these are different visitors. They aren’t from Erilea,” Aelin says.
“Mother, I’m not a child. You don’t have to speak to me like one.”
“You are, quite literally, a child,” Rowan tells her.
“He has a point,” Aelin agrees.
“I am seventeen,” Maryn argues. “By my age, mother , you had already become one of the most feared assassins in Adarlan’s history.” Aelin smiles, pride in her eyes. Maryn turns her attention to her father. “And you...well, that was centuries ago, so who knows what you had done by my age.”
Aelin laughs and rests her hand on her mate’s. “Regardless, Maryn, these are guests from a different land.” She looks over at Rowan before continuing. “They come from a land called Prythian. A land that has had a...different experience with magic than Erilea has.”
“You mean no one tried to eliminate it from jealousy?” Maryn asks. “Or use it to wipe out an entire population?”
“From what we understand, actually,” Rowan says, “they had something similar happen.”
“Where even is this place?”
“That’s the part that we want to know, too,” Lorcan says. “You said you received correspondence. How?”
“It appears that others have managed to cross through the worlds,” Aelin says, straightening the sleeves of her dress, “making connections between our lands easier.”
“Walk through the worlds?” Aedion asks. “Like what you did when you forged the Lock?”
Aelin nods. “We expect them to arrive this evening, but because no one knows exactly how time works when you’re between worlds, we can’t know for sure.” She looks at Maryn. “I want us all ready to make a good impression after dinner.”
“What impression are we going for exactly?” Fenrys asks.
“Welcoming but intimidating?” Maryn offers. Both her parents smile at her.
“Exactly that,” Aelin says. “We don’t know these people. We don’t know what to expect from them. We don’t know for sure that they aren’t a threat.”
“We assume they aren’t,” Rowan adds, pointedly looking in Maryn’s direction again. “But we need to be prepared for anything.”
“What is the point of this meeting?” Lorcan asks.
“To see if we can gain insight into how to protect our land and our people,” Aelin answers, cold stare landing on Lorcan. “These people have dealt with a similar attack. They can help us protect Terrasen to make sure nothing like Maeve or Adarlan can pose a threat again.”
Lorcan looks as if he wants to ask more questions, but Elide rests her hand on his arm and silences him. She smiles at Aelin. “We’ll make the best impression we can.”
“Good luck getting that one to make a good impression,” Fenrys jokes. Lorcan gives him a vulgar gesture in return.
“Why exactly am I needed for this meeting?” Maryn asks.
“Because we will present a united front,” Rowan tells her. “You are the Princess of Terrasen. Any aid that these people can offer needs to be known by you as well.”
“So I can’t walk to the market by myself, but I can meet a handful of strangers from another world?”
“Maryn.” Aelin’s voice is edged with warning. Maryn knows that her mother likes pushing her father’s buttons, too, but she knows better when to stop.
Maryn takes a deep breath. “Very well. I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior.”
“Evangeline has sent over some new dresses for you,” Lysandra tells her. “Maybe you can wear one of them tonight.”
Maryn’s face lights up at the mention of new clothing. She inherited her mother’s penchant for finery, and she is lucky enough to have an entire kingdom at her disposal for new clothes. She prefers what Evangeline brings her, though. The woman has good taste.
“Will she be there tonight?”
Lysandra shakes her head. “She has other plans.” Code for “another date,” if Maryn’s hunch is correct. She feels a twinge of envy at that freedom. “But she’ll be around tomorrow, I’m sure, if you want to let her know what you think of her choices.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” Maryn says, heading out of the hall. She smiles at the people she passes on her way to her rooms, all scurrying around to - presumably - get the castle ready for their guests.
They must be important people if her parents have gone to such lengths and brought in the entire court. Although, if Maryn really pauses to think about it, they would have to be powerful to be able to cross through the worlds like they plan to. Maryn has spent her entire life hearing stories of her mother’s sacrifice to forge the Lock and defeat Erawan and Maeve. She’s heard Aelin’s own recollection of what it was like to move between the realms as she was falling, of the things she saw as she did. It wasn’t something that was done easily, though her parents seem sure it would be easier if one only knew how.
When she gets to her rooms, she shrugs off her cloak and hangs it from a peg on the wall, dropping her satchel unceremoniously on the floor beside the door as she pushes it shut. She is immediately drawn to the packages laid across her large bed, brown paper standing out against the deep green of her bedspread. Evangeline has outdone herself this time.
Maryn wastes no time tearing off the brown paper to see the beautiful fabrics before her. As usual, Evangeline has given her absolutely gorgeous dresses. There’s a blue one so dark that it looks nearly black with matching pants (Evangeline knows Maryn likes to have freedom of movement) and a purple one the color of crushed blackberries with golden trim. As much as Maryn almost hates it, however, she finds her attention pulled to the one on the bottom, almost blending into the bedding. She pulls it from beneath the other two, shaking it out and hanging it from a peg on the wall to get the full effect. She smiles as she steps back.
“Oh, Evangeline,” she whispers to herself. “You know me so well.”
She leaves the dress hanging and moves to put the other two in the wardrobe. She’s sure she’ll have the occasion to wear them both while these guests are in Terrasen, but she knows that the one she has chosen will make the biggest impression.
Hours later, as she emerges from the bathing room with a plush robe pulled around her, she hears a knock on the door. She doesn’t have a chance to respond before the door is pushed open and her mother enters and takes a seat on the end of Maryn’s bed.
“Why do you even bother knocking?” Maryn asks. “You always just waltz in anyway.”
Aelin shrugs. “I’ve been told that knocking is the polite thing to do.”
“So is waiting for an invitation,” Maryn replies.
“It’s my castle; I don’t need an invitation.”
Maryn laughs and shakes her head. “So what brings you to my rooms, Mother?”
Aelin’s nose crinkles in disgust. “Why do you refer to me like that?”
“Because it gets that reaction out of you. Besides, you don’t like ‘Mommy Dearest’ either. What else am I supposed to call you? ‘Your Majesty’ or something more official?”
Aelin pretends to gag. “Please do not.”
“I can do what some of the Lords’ children do and call you Ma-Ma,” Maryn says, emphasizing each syllable.
“Again, I’d rather you didn’t.”
Maryn laughs again. “Seriously. What do you need? Has there been a change of plans? Did you need to borrow some clothes?”
Aelin grins. “I did want to see what Evangeline sent over this time. I’m a bit jealous of all the nice things you’ve been getting.”
“She sends you things, too.”
“But they aren’t the same as what you get. Mine are meant for official things. They aren’t fun .”
“Then I guess it’s lucky for you that we’re roughly the same size. Minus a few inches.” Maryn got more of her father’s height, standing three inches taller than her mother by the time she was fifteen. “I’m sure we could ask someone to bring the hems up a bit.” She looks over at her mother again. “You didn’t come here for clothes, though. So what is it?”
“We don’t know what this meeting is going to entail,” Aelin tells her.
“And as you made clear this afternoon, I’m capable of holding my own.”
Aelin smiles at her. “That you are. But I’m not concerned with whether or not you can defend yourself and Terrasen. I’m worried about whether or not you can watch your tongue.”
“I feel like I should be offended by that.”
“You got your attitude from me. I know that. I also know that I’m terrible at biting my tongue now, and it was even worse when I was your age.”
“Are you going to give me a ‘princess’ speech?”
“Blech.” Aelin grimaces. “I would never. I’m just asking you to try to keep any of your more temperamental responses to yourself.”
“I will if you will.”
“It’s a deal.” Aelin pats Maryn’s knee and stands. “I need to go get ready myself. Your father will raise hell if I’m late to our own dinner. Someone will be along soon to help you dress.”
Maryn rolls her eyes. “I can get myself dressed. I’ll be in the great hall in thirty minutes!” she calls as her mother shuts the door behind her.
She stands and shrugs out of the robe, pulling on undergarments and a shift seconds before there’s another soft knock on the door. She calls for them to enter, and a young woman - only a year or two older than Maryn herself - comes in.
“Do you need help?” the young woman asks.
Maryn looks over at the dress Evangeline sent, eyeing the ties and buttons that it involves. She looks back to the young woman. “That would be wonderful.”
The woman smiles at her and crosses the room, pulling the garment off its hanger and separating the pieces. “Are these pants built into a gown? This is absolutely gorgeous.”
“Hopefully it looks just as gorgeous once I get it on,” Maryn jokes.
“I’m sure it will, ma’am.”
Maryn groans internally. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am’ at any time. Just call me Maryn.”
“I don’t know if that’s really -”
“What’s your name?” Maryn interrupts.
The woman looks taken aback at the reaction, but she says softly, “Leesa.”
Maryn holds out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Leesa. I’m Maryn.” Leesa hesitantly shakes her hand. “There. Now it’s appropriate. We’ve been formally introduced and we know each other’s names. You’re looking at me in barely more than my underwear. We don’t need formalities.”
Leesa smiles. “If you say so, ma - I mean, Maryn.” She kneels down, holding the garment for Maryn to step into.
Maryn smiles back and rests her hand on Leesa’s shoulder as she slides her left and then right foot into the dress. She takes the fabric from Leesa’s hands and pulls it up, slipping her arms through the sleeves. Evangeline really surpassed expectations with this one. The fabric is buttery soft, and form-fitting without being restricting. Maryn grabs the skirt and adjusts it so it is fastened almost at the center of her hips, little of the pants visible through the gap. Leesa laces the back of the gown up, tying swiftly to keep it from falling. Maryn shrugs her shoulders back, testing its give. When she’s sure it won’t move, she pulls the long-sleeved jacket over top of it. She secures it with the buttons along the bodice and turns to look at Leesa.
“Well?”
Leesa’s eyes widen. “Stunning.”
Maryn blushes a bit. “I’m sure it isn’t that impressive.”
Leesa shakes her head and pushes Maryn by her shoulders until she is standing in front of the mirror. She meets her eye in the reflection. “It certainly is that impressive.”
Maryn has to admit that she’s right. The flare at the bottom of the jacket sleeves floats softly around her hands, the silver embroidery accenting the hemline. The buttons down the front look pulled-together enough to be formal but still easy enough to shake off if necessary. The skirt flares out around her feet; the legs of the pants hug tightly to her ankles. She spins slightly, smiling softly at her reflection as she watches the bottom of the skirt twist around her, the swirls on it seeming to move of their own volition.
She turns to Leesa. “Thank you for your help.”
Leesa smiles hesitantly. “Do you need anything else?”
Maryn shakes her head. “I’ve got it from here.”
Leesa bows her head slightly before exiting. When Maryn is sure her footsteps have retreated down the hall, she crosses her room to the table beside her bed. She pulls her dagger and its sheath from the drawer and fastens it securely around her right thigh.
A girl can never be too safe.