Arya craned her neck up, gauging the height of the bell tower from where she stood. Damn how tall this was. She glanced at her feet, noting the worn, lace boots she wore. The semi-wedge heels now stuck out of their soles like a sore thumb. Climbing whatever stairs present inside the tower would hurt.

Still, she didn't have any time to waste. She glanced at the vague direction of the Civil Hall and squared her shoulders. Let her get this whole thing over with. Grottway could strike any time and she had to be prepared for whatever trick he had played then and would be playing in this lifetime.

She gritted her teeth and strode around the tower's base. Door. There has to be a door here somewhere.

A mess of thin planks nailed against the crumbling stone walls greeted her the moment she rounded a corner to see the last face. The street opposite it offered no clue as to who did the nailing. Fancy cafes and packed dress shops with dolled up mannequins peeking through the polished glass facades lined the whole alley. This late in the afternoon, the shoppers have mostly retired to their houses, leaving Arya to be quite alone in her strange adventure.

She licked her lips. Looked like she didn't have much of a choice, then. With a step back, she transferred most of her weight on one foot. Then, she lifted her other leg and swung. Her heel caught the flat side of the lowest plank, emitting a loud, banging sound echoing into the semi-empty alley. She lowered her leg and swiveled, searching for someone who gave a hoot about what she was doing. No one was even within five steps from her.

So, she repeated the same thing. Again and again until the lowest plank gave out and snapped. She took hold of one of the halves and pulled. Splinters dug into her skin but the plank popped free. It met the ground with a dusty thud. She worked on breaking and pulling for the next few minutes, praying to whatever god for the Maltarci to never show up and charge her with desecration of cultural heritage sites.

Then again, nobody seemed to care about this bell tower for it to be vandalized with planks and nails. Or maybe Arya was just deluding herself into thinking that.

As soon as she had punched a large enough hole into the planks, she squeezed past them only to come across a wooden door. Except it wasn't a door anymore. Rot has eaten most of it, leaving only the barest shape of a rectangular slab hanging from rusty hinges. The smell of molds, damp sewer water, and dust had never invaded Arya's senses this much before.

She pressed her nose to the crook of her arm, letting the long sleeves of the rumpled dress shirt she threw on before she left the flat muffle most of her breaths. A set of wooden stairs curved up, bracing the walls of the tower as it led towards a single landing where one could touch the bell. A single rope dangled from the lofty piece of brass down to where the stairs first started.

Her boots stirred a thick layer of dust everywhere she stepped. Cobwebs formed a twisted veil, stringing down in every cranny and nook she set her eyes on. The image of spiders dropping from the ceiling and crawling all over her hair and skin made her throat constrict. And she was supposed to start dreaming in this place? Gods, no.

The wooden steps creaked when she tested putting half of her weight against it. She glanced up, noting how many more of these steps she would go through. A lot. There's a lot. Dear Ouine, help her.

The creaks and squeaks followed her wake as she raced up the stairs. Tread on a chance spot and these could cave under her weight and send her falling into her death. Splattered on the floor of a dusty tower. Not a good way to go.

She climbed and climbed, her heart thundering in her chest both because of the fear of her own demise and because it's damn well hard to climb this number of steps. When she reached the topmost landing, sweat dripped down the side of her face and soaked her back. Her breaths came in huge pants, accompanying her as she stumbled into a corner.

The bell was there, alright. It swayed ever so gently with whatever breeze hit it. Years had introduced rust and a lack of luster in its surface that Arya couldn't even see her own distorted reflection. Just a quick tug and its clasp might give way and the bell would plunge to the ground.

Arched windows decorated each of the four walls, making sure Arya didn't miss seeing Aldermere from all four cardinal directions. She collapsed against the nestling embrace of the tower's corner and rested her head against the cold wall. It was still the month leading to winter and the wind blew colder here than it did below. Gods, she should have brought a coat or something.

Arya sighed and tucked her legs closer to her chest. She didn't come here to ogle at the landscape of the city. She has a dream to finish unraveling, a mystery to solve, and a man to save. So, she closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders. She focused on the silent and almost nonexistent hum of the wind blowing through the room. The sound of nothingness, the lull of the slowly-setting sun. She focused on breathing, calming her tense muscles down.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The girl's back was to Arya, her feathered wings as beautiful as always. She appeared to be doing something, but the dream only showed Arya a blurred table and room. It wasn't important, the dream seemed to be saying.

A door opened to their right and a soldier strode in. He was dressed in the elaborate metal suit, even though his stomach was bulging from underneath the breastplate. He said something to the girl. She nodded and peeled off the table.

Arya followed them through the lavish corridors and finally into somewhere behind the palace. The girl trudged after the soldiers, a hand fiddling with the necklace the prince gave her. They could both feel something was wrong but couldn't cry out for help. Servants passed them by, giving the girl nods and smiles.

The soldier led the girl out of the palace through a backdoor she had never seen before. Then, just before she could react, a hand swiped at the back of her head. The dream should have stopped there and Arya should be finding herself back in the bell tower, inhaling centuries' worth of dust and molds, but it didn't.

Instead, it shifted to when the girl was already curled inside a cart. Arya watched the girl's face contort with fear, no doubt being reminded of the past horrors she had endured while aboard one of these. Whoever that soldier was, he must have been one of the men the court member had paid. He might have disguised as a soldier, infiltrated the palace, and isolated the girl.

And now...

Now, they could do whatever they wanted to do with her. Arya pondered on that. Why would they take someone of the girl's status as the prince's wife like this? Wasn't it too risky? Were they so desperate to deter whatever charter it was about the fae for them to stoop so low?

The girl was fumbling for something around her neck. Arya caught a small glint of the necklace. She watched as the girl snapped it off her throat with a powerful yank, leaving a red lash against her otherwise pristine skin. Then, with a painstaking crawl so as to not make a noise, she reached the cart's window, stuck her hand through the small slit made by the stiff panes, and released the necklace. It fluttered off Arya's periphery, towards somewhere important.

A message. The girl was sending a message to someone. She wanted someone to find her.

And she wasn't done. Her fingers reached for her wing. Arya flinched when the girl wrapped her hands around a fistful of feathers and pulled. The girl's face crumpled into a painful wheeze but she also had to keep it down or else her captors would realize she was attempting something. Then, ever so often, throughout the journey, she would slip a feather or two out of the window.

Suddenly, the cart's door opened. Light flooded the girl's face as well as Arya's vision. The next thing Arya knew, she was looking at the bell hanging from the tower's stone ceiling. Outside, night had fallen, leaving her at the mercy of darkness on her way home.