A Court of Curse and Roses; acotar

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖒𝖓

I am in agony.

Tamlin grips my body as he drags me down a long hallway. The walls are crafted out of stone, stacked so high I can barely lift my head to see the roofing. I don't know where he has winnowed us too, however, outside the open windows, the world is a latticework of red, gold, brown, and green. I breathe in deep and smell sandalwood and fire. Confusion rattles through my aching body as I realize where we are.

The Autumn Court.

"The arrow was crafted out of ash wood," Tamlin says, although my mind swims too much to comprehend his words, "We need to get you to a healer. Beron has the best healers in all of Prythian." His tone is rushed, frantic. I have heard of ash wood, its deadly effects on the fae, but I never imagined it to be this agonising.

As we round a corner, a thought drags its way out of my chapped lips. His handsome face, dark hair, alone in Hyberns war camp.

"Tamlin," I gasp, "We left him there,"

Tamlin turns his head to look down at me, not slowing down his pace, and frowns, "Who?"

Pain shoots through my wing as I struggle to stand up straighter. My voice comes out in a frantic gasp, "Jurian."

We stop in front of a large door, crafted out of oak, the handle resembling a maple leaf. Tamlin bangs his fist on it before he replies, voice gruff, "I winnowed him out the moment Hybern was alerted to Feyre's presence. He's here, probably trying to convince Beron not to boot us out."

Relief washes through my body, lessening the agony in my wing. I open my mouth to ask where he is but the door opens before I can speak. Two sentries stand on either side of the doorway, their amour shining golden, hair as red as blood, sharp faces calculating and deadly. They usher us into the room - a wide, open meeting space. An enormous table, fastened out of a tree trunk, sits in the middle of the room, a dozen people standing around it. They all look up as we enter.

I see Jurian first, still, in the same loose, black clothing he wore this morning, and I try to go to him but the pain in my wing forces a cry out of my throat as I drop to my knees. Tamlin grips my arm and pulls me back to my feet.

"What are you doing here Tamlin?" A callous voice snaps. Beron. "If you've come to beseech me to join the war, then you and your injured mate should leave now - preferably before she bleeds all over my newly polished floor. "

Tamlins face is irate as he answers, "I need your healer, Beron, and then we can talk war."

I look up and my eyes meet Berons. He stands beside three young faes, each one with his orange hair, tanned skin, and heartless eyes. Jurian is across from them, his face taut. Beron rolls his dark eyes and lets out a sigh, "Very well." He turns to one of his sons, "Brontes, fetch the healer. Be fast - the girl looks on the cusp of death."

At his words, my vision swoops again. Tamlin catches me. I hear urgent shouting and heavy footsteps as they approach me. A soft voice calls out instructions as something cold presses against my wing. Another hand tips back my head and pour a vial of a foul liquid down my throat.

I barely feel a thing as hands tug the arrow out of my wing. My eyes flutter shut and darkness meets me.

***

I wake up in a bed that isn't mine. Although I wouldn't complain if it was. The room is beautiful and intricate - cut out of the stone itself so that each wall is rounded and smooth. The decor is all mahogany and deep maroons, sultry, dripping in Autumn Court aura. A large gap has been left on the far side of the room, allowing visitors to see the beauty of the court - cobblestone paths covered in orange and yellow leaves leading up to brick and stone homes. And behind the homes, large, sprawling redwood forests, so auburn that they appear to be burning.