Maeve has re-opened the portal through which Aelin tossed the second wyrdkey. Unwilling to risk Aelin causing more trouble in her absence, Maeve decides to bring the heavily-chained Light-Bringer with. Still searching for information about the wyrdkeys, Feyre contemplates what her next move should be.

Feyre had come to the decision that she should paint on balconies more often. Most of the time she set up shop in one of the garden courtyards or on the lawn, which resulted in simple landscapes or detailed orientations of flowers.

Two or three levels above the gardens, however, made for a grand landscape that showcased the seeming vastness of the Spring Court land. It was almost refreshing. As refreshing as a land stuck in incessant Spring could be to an artist who never left.

Today, she was actually painting what she appeared to be looking at. Feyre dipped her brush and leaned forward, her wrist hovering above the canvas. She lifted her head to look above the easel, studying the outline of the clouds against the blue sky.

She let her eyes drift downwards, into the garden hedges, where her gaze continually landed in the middle of one of the courtyards. The courtyard where the rest of the Queen's guards had stationed themselves around the prisoner-- the chained fae woman.

Feyre had been up there a little over two hours, alternating between painting and watching the small party, and in all that time, she hadn't seen any of the guards move.

A couple times she thought one of the males may have shifted their weight on his feet, or yawned, but it also could have been her eyes playing tricks on her.

The prisoner, who was still wrapped head to toe in chains was lying on her back in the middle of the courtyard, also completely still. Feyre surmised that she was either sleeping, thinking very deeply, or cloud-watching.

She had tried several times to reach out to the prisoner with her mind, but quickly discovered that the distance was too great. She couldn't keep herself from wondering how wide Rhysand's range was, and if he'd be able to read someone from this balcony.

Feyre began swirling her brush on the canvas and sighed, recalling her earlier conversation with Tamlin. After breakfast, he had asked her to take a walk with him. They spent nearly ten minutes strolling around the perimeter of the manor in near silence, when, finally, he invited her to sit on the edge of a large fountain. It was here that he announced Ianthe would be returning the very next day.

Apparently, she had an explanation for her actions and wanted to make amends. And Tamlin had agreed to hear her out.

Feyre's body tensed in fury as she fought to not snap the paintbrush in two. It was one thing to betray herself, or members of the court of a high lord, but it was something else entirely to bring two innocent human girls into the fold. Feyre had promised that she would have Ianthe's head on a platter, and now she was expected to sit and hear her out.

The wood of the brush groaned, and Feyre forced herself to un-clench her hand, setting the brush on the edge of the easel.

Tomorrow was going to take a real feat of willpower to not rip that high-priestess-bitch to shreds.

Feyre glanced back at the courtyard. Still, no one had moved.

She sighed again. She was going to have to get much closer if she wanted access to the chained fae woman's mind. At the same moment she thought it, her gaze drifted to the empty tray of food sitting by the prisoner's feet, and an idea came to her.

Filing it away in her head, she picked the brush back up, and set to work on the clouds. The next time she looked up to the sky, Feyre smiled with the brief intuitive thought that she and the woman lying on the ground were watching the same cloud.

...

An hour or so later, having just cleaned up herself from painting, Feyre walked into the kitchens. The rooms were chaotic with bustling faeries running to and from tables, carting pots and pans and baskets of food and utensils. Feyre stepped to the side just as the doors swung open, and a faery rushed in with a series of serving carts in tow.

Feyre titled her head back slightly and inhaled deeply, savoring the warm, steamy aroma of spices and cooking. Pausing to let another faery pass through the doors, Feyre made her way to a table in the middle of the room.

She skirted around the rectangular table, taking extra care not to disturb any of the bowls or utensils on its edge, and stopped in front of the working faery-- the head cook of the Spring Court.

"What do you want?" the cook practically spat, refusing to remove his eyes from his bowl.

Feyre cleared her throat gently, and the faery practically flung his spatula across the room when he stopped stirring to look up. "L-lady Feyre" he stumbled, dropping his bowl to the table, and dipping into a bow. "My apologies, my lady, I did not see--" She cut him off with a friendly smile.

"No worries, cook. It was an honest mistake." He rose up from his bow and clasped his hands together in a shaky motion. He looked at her nervously, forcing a trembling smile to his face.

"Is there something I can help you with malady?"

"Yes," Feyre replied, pushing as much calming goodwill into her voice as she could manage. She tilted her head toward a stack of serving trays in the corner. "I'd like to take the prisoner her lunch today."

...

Feyre's heels clacked somewhat ceremoniously against the stone pathways as she turned into the hedge garden. She paused and shifted the wooden tray, heavily laden with food, up higher on her arms.

The head cook had practically shoved the tray into her arms and ushered her out the door once she offered to keep his mistake to herself in exchange for granting her request . Her chest tightened at the fear in the man's face when he thought he'd gravely insulted her.

Nevertheless, keeping their interaction a secret was only more power to her.  Feyre knew that it was unorthodox for the lady of a house to bring food to guests directly. Especially guests who were chained and guarded.

She made the last turn, and the leafy hedges parted slightly to reveal the long, straight pathway which opened up into the circular courtyard in which the foreign guards had stationed themselves.

She met gazes with the nearest guard and smiled as she approached the courtyard. She made the entire walk without looking away, but purposefully avoided eye contact. She didn't want to draw suspicion by appearing too assertive.

The guard didn't move or speak at all, even when she stopped right in front of him, once again adjusting the tray in her arms. The guard towered above her generally small frame, and Feyre found herself leaning slightly backwards to see his face.

"Hello," she started delicately. She added a slight stutter, hoping he interpreted it as intimidation. "I-I brought the captive her lunch." She lifted the tray up higher, as if validating her statement.

The guard looked down at her in an assessing manor. His nostrils flared, and she was only slightly taken aback when she realized that he was smelling her.

For a moment, Feyre thought that he might take the tray from her arms, but then he stepped aside, allowing her to pass through.

She gave him a warm smile and cautiously stepped forward. Feyre looked around briefly, gathering a quick sense of the space before starting towards the middle. The five fae high fae males had spread themselves out within the circular courtyard. One at each of the two entrances, and the remaining three leaning against the hedged walls, in an equidistant triangle around the prisoner.

The fae woman now sat in the middle of the stone courtyard, her posture filled with nonchalance and superiority, as if her binds were not iron chains, but jewels. Though the woman's face was covered by an iron mask, Feyre could see that her eyes followed Feyre's approach with intensity. If it weren't for the eyes, Feyre would have said that the woman looked bored, even.

Each male was even more formidable up close, and Feyre wanted desperately to hang around and pick through their minds. Unfortunately, there was a narrow window of time that she could spend there without drawing suspicion.

She slowed her walking almost imperceptibly, and threw her mental fingers out to the imprisoned woman. Her shields were extremely weak, allowing Feyre to practically walk right in. Once inside, she gently pushed against the door she'd used, checking to make sure it wouldn't slam shut and trap her inside, before pushing further.

The sound of her approaching footsteps resonated in Feyre's ears like the hand of a clock. She quickly began scanning through the woman's mind-- rifling through all of her most recent memories for anything that might be of use. Unfortunately, even though her mind was mind was wide open, it was also very hard to read.

Feyre found herself bombarded with a somewhat chaotic clustering of information. The prisoner's thoughts appeared to Feyre in a montage of faces and events-- flipping from memory to memory; some moving so fast, that Feyre was only able to catch a glimpse before the next one surfaced.

Feyre wondered if it was the stress of her situation, or if the woman's mind always worked like this-- constantly sifting through information and stowing away every detail, no matter how minute, into facts and figures.

Thankfully, soon, the faces started to repeat themselves, and Feyre was able to piece some of the information together. However, without any background or context, what Feyre was able to comprehend visually made little sense to her.

Feyre's body reached the middle of the courtyard, and she pulled out of the woman's mind just enough to set the tray at her feet. Before Feyre could even stand up from setting the tray down, the woman's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Almost immediately, there were two guards at the prisoner's side, preparing to yank the woman backwards.

"It's alright" Feyre pleaded, briefly giving the guards pause.

The woman's grip loosened slightly, but she didn't let go. They met each other's eyes, and Feyre found herself instantly captivated by the woman's strange eyes-- cerulean blue with a ring of gold around the iris. A moment later, Feyre identified the captivation as an inexplicable sense of trust.

The woman stared back intently, as if trying to communicate something, and Feyre nodded in understanding with her eyes, while slipping back into the prisoner's mind.

It was a completely different experience; this time, the woman's thoughts played in chronological order, like a scrapbook that had finally been put together, or a story she wanted to share.

The woman's memories flipped from scene to scene, loading more and more information into Feyre's mind. A pit of dread had formed in the bottom of Feyre's stomach, and with each passing memory she received, it grew larger and heavier.

Suddenly, the woman let go of her hand, and Feyre fell backwards out of her mind. Physically, she remained bent down, her hands still hovering over the tray, and her eyes looking unblinkingly at the prisoner.

The guards gripped the fae woman by her arms and pulled her away. The rattling of the prisoner's chains seemed almost intrusive in the courtyard, which had previously only had the quiet hum of insects and plant life.

The fae woman did not react to being dragged backwards, but continued to stare at Feyre with intensity, obviously wanting to know if she had gotten her point across. Feyre swallowed and subtly nodded her head before coming to her senses and standing up from the ground.

She felt five more pairs of eyes intensify as she made her way out of the circle and back the way she'd come.

She stopped when she got to the entrance and looked back up at the guard who blocked her path. "I'll, um... have a servant come to pick up her tray later... Perhaps when you all get your food." She tilted her head backwards, indicating the other four guards.

Once again, the guard said nothing to acknowledge that she'd said anything. Feyre cleared her throat and looked pointedly at the path to the manor. The large fae male narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring, and leisurely stepped out of her way; allowing her to pass.

She gave her trademark warm smile, and began the long walkway out of the gardens.

She thought back to what the prisoner had shown her, some of the more horrific scene replaying in her head. Feyre couldn't make complete sense of everything she'd seen, but one thing was certain. To let these powerful stones-- these wyrdkeys-- fall into the wrong hands would mean untold death and destruction.

Her mind flashed back to one of the memories in which she'd recognized the visiting queen-- Queen Maeve--, whose sinister smile was disturbingly akin to that of Amarantha.

Then she recalled the prisoner's-- Aelin's -- eyes, and the way they'd focused on Feyre with such intensity. Feyre recognized it not as a threat, but a silent question; a plea for help.

Feyre felt the eyes of the guard bore into her back as she made the final turn out of the hedges. The shaking of her hands was not just for show.