After organizing a search between himself, Lorcan, and Gavriel, Rowan arrives at Doranelle, only to discover that Aelin has been taken away. Rowan fights with Cairn (leaving him alive for Aelin to kill at a later date) and steps through the portal. He has yet to arrive at the Spring Court.  

The Summer Court has been informed by the Night Court of a potential attack on the city of Adriata. The Night Court has yet to find any information regarding the wyrdkeys, and Rhysand has entered into an agreement with Feyre to avoid using the bond so that she can lay low.

After deciding that the only way to keep the wyrdkey out of Maeve's reach was to get the stone out of the Spring Court entirely, Feyre uses her shape-shifting powers and faebane (provided by Fenrys) to help Aelin escape. Despite her knowledge of the faebane's existence, Feyre is still poisoned by the Hybern twins and is forced to complete the escape on a dwindling time frame (and with the inability to contact Rhysand, due to its magic-inhibiting qualities). The last we heard from her, she was handing Aelin a pack (containing the wyrdkey, the fae bane, and a canteen of Feyre's blood) while urging her to find the High Lord of the Night Court.

With the assistance of Feyre's winnowing powers, Aelin quickly arrives in the Summer Court. She has been healed by Feyre's blood and treks through the foreign land of Prythian with wide-eyes, eavesdropping whenever she can and searching for any information that might help her find the second wyrdkey. After days spent on the road, she is finally found by one of Maeve's lesser-warriors. Using information she had gathered on the road, Aelin lures the male into a unit of Summer Court soldiers on their way to Adriata, where she arrives in her newly-shifted human form. The Summer Court soldiers apprehend the fae male and seemingly human woman. Here is where we pick up...

The clinking of Aelin's chains rang hollow in her ears. She looked down at her manacled wrists and fought against the surge of flame through her veins. Too soon.

Maeve had kept her wrapped in irons for weeks, months, years-- she didn't know how long-- underneath Cairn's sadistic eye, shoving her power down while the blue-eyed male carved her body. She might have made a vow to never allow someone to put her in chains again. Yet, she knew their necessity in this situation. So, when one of the fae males approached her human figure, brandishing a set of manacles, she did not let herself feel it.

The magic that had been suppressed beneath Maeve's irons now roiled underneath her skin, altering its presence with a dull intermittent throb at the base of her skull. It been noticeable, yet distant back in Doranelle. Yet, the moment Maeve dragged her through that portal, it seemed to increase in intensity. As if the heightened level of magic in this dimension called to it. Expending some of her magic during the fight with Maeve's male had done little to help. If anything, the minuscule release had only made it become more insistent.

She knew her skin was running hot and could only thank whatever god who watched in this world that none of the hundred males surrounding her had garnered the courage, or stupidity, to touch her.

Aelin sniffed and made a show of wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, letting the tears fall like they had for the past hour or so. She could only hope that if the fae males around her wanted nothing to do with a dirty, scrawny human female, then they wanted even less to do with a crying human female. Or that her tears would deter those who had not already been put off by her haggard appearance. Though she felt their gazes bearing into her back, when she turned to look at them, the majority quickly averted their eyes, likely disgusted by the creature who had commandeered one of their horses. There were some who let their gazes linger, a sort of hunger flashing behind their irises. She made sure to mark who they were.

Her chains clinked again. She did not let herself feel it.

They were loose enough, that given the right motivation, it would only take a few moments of pain to slip free. She shifted her weight, her backside already sore from riding. Her horse, a beautiful chestnut mare, glanced back at her before shaking its mane. Placed in the middle of a unit of fae soldiers, Aelin wagered that even the horses could tell she was horribly out of place. The eyes of a hundred males continued to bear into her. She turned in her saddle and looked toward the back of the group. Beaten, chained, and thrown into a mobile cage, Maeve's warrior watched her with particular intensity.

The threat behind his glare was unmistakable, even from where she rode. She'd seen the shift in his expression-- the moment he'd realized that she'd intentionally led him into the ranks of a hundred fae soldiers... and made herself appear the helpless enslaved human.

She fought back another smile.

With only the words of a blue faerie and two drunken taverners, it was an utter fool's chance that the High Lord's army would be as close as she had interpreted-- or that they would do anything to protect a human girl. Her eavesdropping had paid off.

Using smoke to alert her incoming presence had been a risk. But she knew that she would need protection the moment she shifted into her human form. Fortunately, the foreign soldiers had incapacitated Maeve's warrior with little hesitation. He'd taken a bit of a beating before going down, and Aelin had simply knelt on the ground, generating traumatized tears.

It had taken a few minutes for one of the soldiers to brave the crying human girl and place manacles on her wrists. A few soldiers and some cartographer or other attempted to speak to her, but she pretended not to understand, instead babbling hysterically about the weather in Eyllwe.

Her heart constricted as the action hit home, drawing up memories of a stunningly beautiful woman with mahogany skin and gold in her braided hair.

It was a simple concept-- one that Nehemia herself had utilized while staying in the glass castle. People spoke more freely with the presence of a language barrier-- when they thought they weren't being understood. It was comforting to know that in other dimensions, this concept still held true. They quickly gave up trying to communicate with her and, instead, shoved her onto a horse tethered to another soldier's mare.

She rode and listened, quickly interpreting the conversations of the males around her. She supposed it was some sort of divine luck that the faeries in this dimension spoke the same language as the majority of Erilea.

Hours passed. Hours that she spent piecing together as much information as she could and keeping her manacles as still as possible, to avoid chafing. If her ears were to be believed, they were just a few hours out from their destination-- the city of Adriata, where faeries had already been evacuated and the palace was preparing for siege.

The irony was not lost on her. That she had come so far from her last day in Endovier, when Chaol had led her through the passageways to an open chamber where Dorian had offered her a bargain-- offered her back her life. That she had come so far from that girl who hid from the world, just to end up chained to another's soldier's horse, heading toward another castle. She did not let herself get caught up in her friends' locations-- where Dorian was now. If Chaol had reached the Torre Cesme on the Southern Continent. If he was healed. She shoved the thoughts away with a grimace, as her magic throbbed once more. Not yet.

She could have sworn that the wyrdkey, tucked safely within her breast band, pulsed in response.

...

The Summer Court unit had begun a mile-long trek uphill. The last stretch before they reached Adriata, so some of the soldiers announced.

Her time spent listening-in on conversations had been concerningly-informative. The males spoke loudly and frankly, each receiving the full attention of his nearby compatriots. Aelin wondered if so was the nature of all armies. She highly doubted it.

Though she was now familiarized with the unit's rankings-- based off both military experience and how often the males got serviced by their females back home-- the most pressing matter of the day's conversations was talk of the battle to come. Prythian, what they called this land, was at war. Or very soon to be. One of the High Lord Tarquin's advisors had caught wind of an incoming attack from Hybern-- for which there was a king named respectively.

Many of the soldiers speculated which advisor, though there seemed to be a general consensus that it had been Captain of the Guard Price Varian's informant. Another, younger-looking male swore by the cauldron that the information had come via letter from another court.

There was exponentially-more debate about the validity of said information, and heated discussions broke out over whether battle was actually coming. Neither side was especially convincing, and Aelin thought that the entire trek-- the entire Summer Court-- seemed to be shrouded in uncertainty. With war beckoning on her own doorstep-- Terrasen's doorstep-- she knew the feeling.

Supposedly, the majority of Tarquin's forces should have arrived at Adriata by now. Excluding the patrol units who would remain stationed at their usual posts, this unit was the furthest out to be called in, and was expected to arrive last. The commanders speculated that once they arrived, they should have two days before Hybern's supposed attack. Still, they pushed their troops as fast as possible within reason.

A lull in the conversation led to more general information about the Summer Court. Its exports and nobles and celebrations, as well as the location of several cities and villages in regards to each other. Though her time spent on the road had implied as much-- the current High Lord, Tarquin, was considered young and untried by many. She gathered that the passing of his crown had been sudden. Some sort of horrific event which the soldiers mentioned above near-whisper had resulted in the death of their previous High Lord. The details were murky.

When the topic shifted to the caged high fae and his human slave, Aelin forced herself not to betray her peaked attention. Again, the soldiers speculated how the male had kept his human hidden for so long without getting caught, and then how he had let her escape. Not how she had outsmarted him and gotten away of her own doing, but how he had messed up and been found out. Smoke curled in her throat, and she closed her eyes, willing it to dissipate.

It hadn't taken her long to ascertain that the entire unit was made up of males. Apparently, no females were allowed in High Lord Tarquin's armies. That, or no females wanted to fight under his banner. Aelin didn't know which was worse.

It still filled her with no small amount of annoyance. If Lady Feyre's position at the Spring Court was any indication-- though Aelin suspected there was much more at play with that whole situation than met the eye--, then this land was just as backwards with its females as Erilea's faerie lands. Perhaps more so.

The gist of the soldiers' talk was that Maeve's warrior would be taken to a set of holding cells in the city to await trial, and she would be left in the care of someone else more equipped to deal with the situation. She wasn't exactly sure whether that was an advantage or disadvantage to her. A few soldiers mused that it may be more effective to simply take the two captives into the forest and dispose of them. Let their unit focus on the looming battle, rather than petty slave laws. The idea was shut down immediately, but Aelin took extra note of the males who has nodded along or outright agreed.

Soldiers walking beside her had just begun grumbling about the upward trek when the front of the unit finally crested the long, sloping meadow. Her thoughts drifted, for the many-eth time, back to the suffocating heat, which had soaked her tunic soon after sunrise. She marveled how the hundreds of males around her, bearing packs and armor for hours under the sun, had never once complained about the heat. She supposed that they were accustomed to such weather, though she could never imagine living in such sweltering conditions and not complaining.

Soldier's grumbles smoothed into relieved sighs as the middle of their ranks reached the plateau of the meadow. Aelin lifted a chained hand to block the sudden increase of sun from cresting the hill. When her vision returned, she sucked in breath.

Atop the hill, Adriata's entirety emerged into full view. An enormous city teeming with warm, sunlit stone and vibrant colors. At the head of it all, sat a large sandstone castle, gleaming with stained glass windows and reflecting the sun's rays across the land below. Surrounding it all, swayed the rich turquoise of the ocean, extending into the horizon. A perfect peninsula of beach-enclosed Summer.

Aelin breathed deeply, the increasingly-briny air of their trek giving way to a warm ocean breeze.

A horse whinnied, shaking her out of her reverie. Looking across the ranks, she was not the only one to pause and take in the sight of the city, though the majority kept marching without hesitation.

They continued forward. 

About a half mile out from the castle walls, soldiers began peeling off from the unit. Off the gather supplies and report their arrival to whichever higher-ranking officer would assign their positions. A small group of males took the reigns of the horses pulling Maeve's caged warrior and headed in their own direction. Aelin suppressed the urge to wave him goodbye. She hoped the Summer Court soldiers weren't stupid enough to try and move him between cells on their own. 

The remaining ranks continued deeper into the city, toward a sizable construction of tents, where the rest of the Summer Court's troops no doubt gathered. Aelin was beginning to wonder whether they would take her into the camp itself, when two soldiers rode up beside her.

Both had light green skin, pocked with raised markings, where designs had been carved into their flesh-- some artistic balance between scar and tattoo. She'd heard the term lesser faerie used throughout the court and had quickly garnered that the less high-fae you looked, the lower your standing. She was comfortable in her assumption that these two males were considered lesser faeries, for both their appearance and their assignment of dealing with the human woman.

The thinner, lankier one slid from his saddle and began unhooking her chains from the nearby soldier's horse. The male's friend stayed silent and watchful, as the male proceeded to re-hook her chains to her own saddle. She made a show of widening her eyes and looking between the males near-frantically. 

"Don't worry," the lankier one exclaimed before swinging himself up onto her own horse, pressing into her back as he reached for the reigns. She flinched forcefully, curling in upon herself and leaning forward as much as possible. Ever the terrified human.

The other, silent, male huffed, and she sensed the green male behind her shoot his friend a look. 

They both kicked their horses into motion, pulling on the reigns and guiding their mounts back toward the sandstone castle in the distance. "We're taking you to the palace."