Heir of Fire (27 page)

He wanted to bash Murtaugh's teeth down his throat, if only because he was right. “Who ­else of Orlon's inner circle is still alive?”

Murtaugh named four. Ren quickly added, “We heard they ­were in hiding for years—­always moving around, like us.
Th
ey might not be easy to
fi
nd.”

Four.
Aedion's stomach dropped. “
Th
at's it?” He'd been in Terrasen, but he'd never looked for an exact body count, never wanted to know who made it through the bloodshed and slaughter, or who had sacri
fi
ced everything to get a child, a friend, a family member out. Of course he'd known deep down, but there had always been some fool's hope that most were still alive, still waiting to return.

“I'm sorry, Aedion,” Murtaugh said so
ft
ly. “Some minor lords escaped, and even managed to hold onto their lands and keep them thriving.” Aedion knew and hated most of them—self-serving pigs. Murtaugh went on. “Vernon Lochan survived, but only because he was already the king's puppet, and a
ft
er Cal was executed, Vernon seized his brother's mantle as Lord of Perranth. You know what happened to Lady Marion. But we never learned what happened to Elide.” Elide—­Lord Cal and Lady Marion's daughter and heir, almost a year younger than Aelin. If she ­were alive, she would be at least seventeen by now. “Lots of children vanished in the initial weeks,” Murtaugh
fi
nished. Aedion didn't want to think about those too-­small graves.

He had to look away for a moment, and even Ren stayed quiet. At last, Aedion said, “Send out feelers to Ravi and Sol, but hold o
ff
on the others. Ignore the minor lords for now. Small steps.”

To his surprise, Ren said, “Agreed.” For a heartbeat, their eyes met, and he knew that Ren felt what he o
ft
en did—­what he tried to keep buried.
Th
ey had survived, when so many had not. And no one ­else could understand what it was like to bear it, unless they had lost as much.

Ren had escaped at the cost of his parents' lives—­and had lost his home, his title, his friends, and his kingdom. He had hidden and trained and never lost sight of his cause.

Th
ey ­were not friends now; they never really had been. Ren's father hadn't particularly liked that Aedion, not Ren, was favored to take the blood oath to Aelin.
Th
e oath of pure submission—­the oath that would have sealed Aedion as her lifelong protector, the one person in whom she could have absolute trust. Everything he possessed, everything he was, should have belonged to her.

Yet the prize now was not just a blood oath but a kingdom—­a shot at vengeance and rebuilding their world. Aedion made to walk away, but looked back. Just two cloaked
fi
gures, one hunched, the other tall and armed.
Th
e
fi
rst shred of Aelin's court.
Th
e court he'd raise for her to shatter Adarlan's chains. He could keep playing the game—­for a little longer.

“When she returns,” Aedion said quietly, “what she will do to the King of Adarlan will make the slaughtering ten years ago look merciful.” And in his heart, Aedion hoped he spoke true.

25

A week passed without any further attempts to skin Celaena alive, so even though she made absolutely no progress with Rowan, she considered it to be a success. Rowan lived up to his word about her pulling double duty in the kitchens—­the only upside of which was that she was so exhausted when she tumbled into bed that she did not remember dreaming. Another bene
fi
t, she supposed, was that while she was scrubbing the eve­ning dishes, she could listen to Emrys's stories—­which Luca begged for every night, regardless of rain.

Despite what had happened with the skinwalkers, Celaena was no closer to mastering her shi
ft
. Even though Rowan had o
ff
ered his cloak that night beside the river, the next morning had brought them back to their usual vitriolic dislike.
Hatred
felt like a strong word, as she ­couldn't quite hate someone who had saved her, but
dislike
fi
t pretty damn well. She didn't particularly care what side of the hatred-­dislike line Rowan was on. But gaining his approval to enter Doranelle was undoubtedly a long, long way o
ff
.

Every day, he brought her to the temple ruins—­far enough away that if she did manage to shi
ft
and lost control of her magic in the pro­cess, she ­wouldn't incinerate anyone. Everything—
everything
—depended on that command: shi
ft
. But the memory of what the magic had felt like as it seared out of her, when it threatened to swallow her and the ­whole world, plagued her, waking and asleep. It was almost as bad as the endless sitting.

Now, a
ft
er two miserable hours of it, she groaned and stood, stalking around the ruins. It was unusually sunny that day, making the pale stones seem to glow. In fact, she could have sworn that the whispered prayers of long-­gone worshippers still resonated. Her magic had been
fl
ickering oddly in response—­strange, in her human form, where it was normally so bolted down.

As she studied the ruins, she braced her hands on her hips: anything to keep from ripping out her hair. “What was this place, anyway?” Only slabs of broken stone remained to show where the temple had stood. A few oblong stones—­pillars—were tossed about as if a hand had scattered them, and several stones grouped together indicated what had once been a road.

Rowan dogged her steps, a thundercloud closing in around her as she examined a cluster of white stones. “
Th
e Sun Goddess's temple.”

Mala, Lady of Light, Learning, and Fire. “You've been bringing me ­here because you think it might help with mastering my powers—­my shi
ft
ing?”

A vague nod. She put a hand on one of the massive stones. If she felt like admitting it, she could almost sense the echoes of the power that had dwelled ­here long ago, a delicious heat kissing its way up her neck, down her spine, as if some piece of that goddess were still curled up in the corner. It explained why today, in the sun, the temple felt di
ff
erent. Why her magic was jumpy. Mala, Sun Goddess and Light-­Bringer, was sister and eternal rival to Deanna, Keeper of the Moon.

“Mab was immortalized into godhood thanks to Maeve,” Celaena mused as she ran a hand down the jagged block. “But that was over
fi
ve hundred years ago. Mala had a sister in the moon long before Mab took her place.”

“Deanna
was
the original sister's name. But you humans gave her some of Mab's traits.
Th
e hunting, the hounds.”

“Perhaps Deanna and Mala ­weren't always rivals.”

“What are you getting at?”

She shrugged and kept running her hands along the stone, feeling, breathing, smelling. “Did you ever know Mab?”

Rowan was quiet for a long moment—­contemplating the usefulness of telling her, no doubt. “No,” he said at last. “I am old, but not that old.”

Fine—if he didn't want to give her an actual number . . . “Do you
feel
old?”

He gazed into the distance. “I am still considered young by the standards of my kind.”

It ­wasn't an answer. “You said that you once campaigned in a kingdom that no longer exists. You've been o
ff
to war several times, it seems, and seen the world.
Th
at would leave its mark. Age you on the inside.”

“Do
you
feel old?” His gaze was un
fl
inching. A child—­a girl, he'd called her.

She was a girl to him. Even when she became an old woman—­if she lived that long—­she'd still be a child in comparison to his life span. Her mission depended upon his seeing her otherwise, but she still said, “
Th
ese days, I am very glad to be a mortal, and to only have to endure this life once.
Th
ese days, I don't envy you at all.”

“And before?”

It was her turn to stare toward the horizon. “I used to wish I had a chance to see it all—­and hated that I never would.”

She could feel him forming a question, but she started moving again, examining the stones. As she dusted the block o
ff
, an image emerged of a stag with a glowing star between its antlers, so like the one in Terrasen. She'd heard Emrys tell the story of the sun stags, who held an immortal
fl
ame between their massive antlers and who had once been stolen from a temple in this land . . . “Is this where the stags ­were kept—­before this place was destroyed?”

“I don't know.
Th
is temple ­wasn't destroyed; it was abandoned when the Fae moved to Doranelle, and then ruined by time and weather.”

“Emrys's stories said destroyed, not abandoned.”

“Again, what are you getting at?”

But she didn't know, not yet, so she just shook her head and said, “
Th
e Fae on my continent—­in Terrasen . . . they ­weren't like you. At least, I don't remember them being that way.
Th
ere ­weren't many, but . . .” She swallowed hard. “
Th
e King of Adarlan hunted and killed them, so easily. Yet when I look at you, I don't understand how he did it.” Even with the Wyrdkeys, the Fae had been stronger, faster. More should have survived, even if some had been trapped in their animal forms when magic vanished.

She looked over her shoulder at him, one hand still pressed against the warm carving. A muscle
fl
ickered in Rowan's jaw before he said, “I've never been to your continent, but I heard that the Fae there ­were gentler—­less aggressive, very few trained in combat—­and they relied heavily on magic. Once magic was gone from your lands, many of them might not have known what to do against trained soldiers.”

“And yet Maeve ­wouldn't send aid.”

“
Th
e Fae of your continent long ago severed ties with Maeve.” He paused again. “But there ­were some in Doranelle who argued in favor of helping. My queen wound up o
ff
ering sanctuary to any who could make it ­here.”

She didn't want to know more—­didn't want to know how many had made it, and whether he had been one of the few who argued to save their western brethren. So she moved away from the carving of the mythical stag, instantly cold as she severed contact with the delightful heat living within the stone. Part of her could have sworn that ancient, strange power was sad to see her go.

Th
e next day, Celaena
fi
nished her breakfast shi
ft
in the kitchens achy and more drained than usual, as Luca hadn't been there to help, which meant she'd spent the morning chopping, washing, and then running the food upstairs.

Celaena passed a sentry she'd marked as Luca's friend and a frequent listener to Emrys's stories—­young, leanly muscled, with no evidence of Fae ears or grace. Bas, the leader of the fortress scouts. Luca prattled about him endlessly. Celaena gave him a small smile and nod. Bas blinked a few times, gave a tentative smile back, and sauntered on, probably to his watch on the wall. She frowned. She'd said a civilized hello to plenty of them by now, but . . . She was still puzzling over his reaction when she reached her room and shrugged on her jacket.

“You're already late,” Rowan said from the doorway.

“
Th
ere ­were extra dishes this morning,” she said, rebraiding her hair as she turned to where he lounged in the doorway. “Can I expect to do something useful with you today, or will it be more sitting and growling and glaring? Or will I just wind up chopping wood for hours on end?”

He merely started into the hall and she followed, still braiding her hair.
Th
ey passed another two sentries.
Th
is time, she looked them both in the eye and smiled her greeting. Again, that blink, and a shared look between them, and a returned grin. Had she really become so unpleasant that a mere smile was surprising? Gods—­when
had
she smiled last, at anyone or anything?

Th
ey ­were well away from the fortress, headed south and up into the mountains, when Rowan said, “
Th
ey've all been keeping their distance because of the scent you put out.”

“Excuse me?” She didn't want to know how he'd read her thoughts.

Rowan stalked through the trees, not even out of breath as he said, “
Th
ere are more males than females ­here—­and they're fairly isolated from the world. ­Haven't you wondered why they ­haven't approached you?”

“
Th
ey stayed away because I . . . smell?” She didn't think she would have cared enough to be embarrassed, but her face was burning.

“Your scent says that you don't want to be approached.
Th
e males smell it more than the females, and have been staying the hell away.
Th
ey don't want their faces clawed o
ff
.”

She had forgotten how primal the Fae ­were, with their scents and mating and territorial nature. Such a strange contrast to the civilized world beyond the wall of the mountains. “Good,” she wound up saying, though the idea of her having her emotions so easily identi
fi
able was unsettling. It made lying and pretending almost worthless. “I'm not interested in men . . . males.”

His tattoo was vivid in the dappled sunlight that streamed through the canopy as he stared pointedly at her ring. “What happens if you become queen? Will you refuse a potential alliance through marriage?”