I may have taken some liberties with the Weaver's cottage.

Aelin was pissed again.

The initial rush of outrunning a band of angry, terrified soldiers was gone. Impossible to retain any kind of good spirit if you'd been running nonstop for the better part of a day. Even harder if you were running through a forest.

She hissed a curse as she ran headlong into a branch. Cursed again when an arrow grazed the pointed tip of her ear.

"Damned archers," she muttered, coaxing her weary legs to move faster.

Her breaths came in short, rasping pants, lungs burning, braid streaming. Going from knocked-unconscious to flat-out sprint was a stupid stunt, even for her, but to go from flat-out sprint to marathon-run was proof of how exhausted and addled she was.

The trees were a blur as she ran past, pine and oak and forever-budding dogwood. The animals had been scared off by the commotion behind, but the flora was still present. Purple jasmine flowers and little, yellow spuds that puffed and floated on the breeze. In another situation, she may have been lucid enough to call this place beautiful. But through current events, "fuckin' madhouse" may have been a more apt description.

As the day wore on, Aelin noted that the trees had begun to thin. Her first reaction was to be grateful, for there were fewer roots and rocks to trip upon, but then common sense spoke up and she realized that less cover meant an easy target.

From behind came a shout. "Archers, ready!"

An arrow thunked into the bark of a tree beside her head.

Aelin whirled, cupped a hand to her mouth, and shouted back, "Definitely ready!" And then resumed running.

Perhaps sound carried better in these woods, and perhaps Tamlin's soldiers possessed a pride easily-wounded, (or perhaps she'd finally tired, and she just wouldn't admit it) for suddenly they were that much faster than her, breaking through the trees on white horses and bedecked in golden armor, plated scales running down the graceful lines of their legs and arms. How they had gotten into such assembly while she wasn't looking, she'd never understand.

But her steps were slowing as nausea and dehydration set in, and panic, with his stubby little legs, was finally able to catch up to her mind and say, What the fuck are you gonna do now?"

For the first time in a long while, Aelin Galathynius was prepared to give up, but then that shadowy little voice brushed her mind.

This way, it said, and this time something in it was distinctly female.

A mental tug had her stumbling eastwards, cutting a line directly across the soldiers' path, a necessary risk if she was to have any hope of escape. Her body went into autopilot, brain shutting off, until all she could feel was that insistent pull and a little voice in her head saying, This way, this way.

Aelin's mind woke up some time later, when she realized a miracle was occurring before her very eyes. Somehow, somehow, the voices were fading. A deep inhale had her suspicions confirmed. She couldn't smell Tamlin anymore.

The trees had stopped thinning, but the land was remarkably different. The plants were thinner, longer, as if less accustomed to standing stiff against the wind or pulling nutrient from the sun, and more to creeping around the trunk of some greater life, drawing soul from that being instead.

The air was still and humid, thick with pollen and heavy as a blanket. Aelin was left with the feeling she could sweat as much as she liked and she'd never cool off.

The voice said, Almost there. This way.

She found her steps slowing, mind clearing, and her gaze drifted across the small glade she'd stopped in. There, to the left, was a small cottage. Thatch on the roof, held together by something sticky and thick. Thin windows, tall and thin, like those on the castles back in the mountains of Doranelle. Immediately upon seeing it, Aelin struggled to turn around, fought the hold in her mind. She might be dead tired, but her instincts were still in tact. Something was very wrong with this place.

Calm down, the voice said, and...yes, that was definitely a female, an irritated, testy one at that.

"Hell, no," Aelin said out loud. "You're crazy."

Irritation flickered again.

And then the door was opening, and a clean, brown-haired female was stepping outside. Her scent was strong even with the breeze so full of pollen and Spring-shit, something dark and writhing, like a feral beast shoved into a rusted-down cage, bars popping and straining and near ready to burst.

As the female stalked closer, green dress swishing behind her, Aelin took note of the pointed ears, the delicate tattoo trailing up her arm, and the angry cobalt eyes that now flashed at her. The female stopped right in front of her, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Aelin herself, but not intimidated in the slightest.

The first thing she said was (in a particularly crabby, old woman kind of way, if anyone was asking Aelin), "If you want to die, stay out here. If not, stop being an ass and follow me."

With that, she pivoted on her heel and stomped back to the cottage. Aelin slipped inside before the door could slam shut.

Inside, it was a mess. No matter how disturbing the outside of the house was. The interior was...something. The floors and ceilings resembled hardwood, but they were pure, midnight black. And old. Ancient. No cobwebs, no spiders or creepy things hiding behind rotted boards, but it was cracked and had that musty book-smell of houses long ago abandoned. There were no connecting hallways, and Aelin thought that the whole place was a lot smaller than it appeared on the outside. The single room was lit with scanty furniture: an old chest (and with the chairs surrounding it, and its relatively flat top, she supposed it was passing as a table), a stuffed black dog curled on the purple throw-rug in the back, a bookcase, so low to the ground it might've been built for that hound, once well-aged (and somehow breathing), to go perusing through the stacks. And then there was the old loom, propped in the corner of the room beside a thin-cushioned stool, perfect and unmarked by dust, as if someone had used it just hours ago.

Overall, it was the works of a very creepy house.

Aelin turned to find the female assessing her with a frankness that had her bristling.

She glared right back.

The female let out something that might have been a snort and moved to get one of the chairs from its perch beside the chest. She brought it over, a nice healthy distance away, and flicked her fingers in a way that indicated Aelin should sit.

If she'd been at full strength, she might have laughed, turned the chair upside down and sat on the wrong side, just for the heck of it. But she wasn't, and so she didn't.

Her body sagged when she sat, fatigue hitting her with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. She hadn't let it show, but even when she'd just woken up from unconsciousness she'd been tired. Dealing with fools like Tamlin made her head hurt on a good day, but with Evangeline so far gone, and without Rowan's stoic support at her side...

She knuckled her eyes. "Damn..."

Soft footsteps had her looking up. The female had returned, a washcloth and bucket in hand.

"I know some things about healing," she said.

It was an offer.

Aelin cocked her head. Then nodded.

The female set the bucket down and knelt beside her. She did not pick up the washcloth as Aelin expected. Instead, a gentle whisper in her mind — Let me in?

Aelin glanced up sharply, found the female's piercing eyes already waiting. Knowing. Aelin studied her for a moment, wary and intrigued at the same time. Open trust did not come easy.

But this female had helped her and obviously was aware that Tamlin was an idiot, and as far as she was concerned, that was reason enough to place some good will in a person.

So Aelin nodded and the voice turned into something thicker, more tangible, as it brushed up against a barrier in her mind she hadn't been aware existed.

You need to put this down.

Aelin wasn't sure how, but she tried, and she found that this "wall" slid away as willingly as it slammed back up. The shadow in her head was gentle and feather-light, which she appreciated, given how startling even this small touch was. It wriggled deeper and deeper, like a little black worm, until it had reached the very core of her, a center of golden flame and burning heart. The worm felt out of place in there, and Aelin had to fight to keep from shoving it away entirely.

Relax. A word on the edge of her consciousness.

The word was a command, an order, and it had her rising faster than she could measure. Stubborn refusal and rage bubbling to the surface, hot and angry and compulsory. A knife found its way into her hand and she took a step forward, even through the sub-reality of her own making.

Relax. The word held a harder edge.

It was a struggle to remind herself that the danger was of her mind and not a noose poised about her neck.

She won, eventually, forcing tense muscles to relax and heart-rate to steady. The worm seemed to sigh, and then something deep and dark flowed into her being, a soothing darkness like she hadn't felt since she was less than a babe, rocked to sleep in her mother's womb. It filled her, full to bursting, sending dying embers into a burst of flame that popped and roared before settling into a steady beat.

Aelin opened her eyes with a quiet gasp.

The worm was gone, and —

"I feel...good," she breathed. "Better than good."

The female laughed quietly. "They always say that the first time." Still kneeling on the floor, her stern gaze had softened considerably, into something friendly, if slightly concerned. "You're alright, then?"

Aelin gave her an incredulous stare. "Did I not just say that?"

The female shook her head, a sly smile on her lips. "You did. I meant mentally." Her smile halted, blue eyes darkening. "Tamlin can be a bit..."

"Of an ass?"

"Of an ass," the female agreed.

Their voices died away, and suddenly without them, everything seemed unnaturally still. A glance out the reed-thin window confirmed that yes, the world chirped on outside, with a crescent moon hanging dubious in a purple sky.

"Moon's beautiful, isn't it?" the female murmured, and Aelin wondered if she was imagining that quiet hint of longing.

She debated the many possible tones to which she could answer that question before settling on, "Looks like a toenail clipping."

A snort. "I suppose it does."

Aelin studied the female, brown hair snagging halfway down her back, slender neck and nose, eyes deep and knowing as her own. All distraction to hide the strange broadness of her shoulders, the muscle that danced along her arms and legs, all unbecoming of a lady born to tittering and lash-fluttering.

Sort of like...me?

In the following moments, she contemplated the wisdom of her next decision.

"Aelin Galathynius," she said abruptly, and the female turned to look at her. "That's my name. I also happen to be queen of a kingdom you've never heard of."

The female blinked, then nodded, as if this news was not particularly surprising. "I'm Feyre." A pause. "Affiliated with a Court different than this."

Aelin grinned. "Would never have guessed, what with how loyal you are to His Royal Pansy-ass."

Feyre snorted and shifted on the floor into a cross-legged position. "Try dealing with him for nine months and let's see how loyal you are."

"Oh, I don't know. I think I could entertain myself. It was kind of fun to see him spluttering so beautifully."

Feyre scratched her cheek. "You've got me beat for sheer will, I'll give you that. Knocked unconscious only to wake up Tamlin's face." She shook her head. "I'd have gone right back to sleep."

Aelin laughed. "I was thinking about it." As her gaze wandered the cottage's strange contents, her thoughts returned to more pressing matters. "Where are we exactly."

"Well..." Feyre hesitated.

Suspicion was her bane. Voice flat, Aelin said, "Tell me."

A flash of temper. "I'd tell you if I knew," she bit out. "This place isn't exactly consistent."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes it's here, and sometimes it's...not." She shrugged. "The previous owner was old, older than this land. She needed somewhere safe to stay, so she built this cottage. She made sure it was sufficiently hidden from the rest of the world. Took safety precautions."

"Disappearing to somewhere you can't find it isn't very befitting of a safe-haven."

Feyre brushed a fist down her jaw, a crease of worry appearing between her brows. "That's not all it does."

Aelin gave her a look.

"It also...might disappear while you're in it."

She blinked. "You mean we might be hurtling through space right now?"

"Possibly."

Aelin looked out the window again. The moon was still there, wan and pale as ever. "Doesn't look like it."

"It doesn't have to," Feyre said. "It —" She sighed the sigh of one too young to be so weary. She stood up and smoothed a wrinkle in her dress. "Do you know what a pocket realm is?"

Aelin swung back in her chair, arm hanging over the side. "No idea."

"It's...hard to explain. I...perhaps better if I show you." Feyre paced in a circle, looking decidedly frazzled as she ran a hand through her hair. "I wish Rhysand was here," she muttered. "Always the better teacher." She stopped, took a breath, and turned back to Aelin. "This might be a bit startling."

She snapped her fingers.

Aelin was not sure what happened next.

Cliffhanger for y'all!