Heir of Fire (46 page)

And he knew, deep down, that she had not blinked at his magic but rather understood that burden, and that fear. She had not walked away or wished him to be anything but what he was.
I'll come back for you
.

So he stared down his friend, even though he knew Chaol was hurting and adri
ft
, and said, “I've already made my decision about her. And when the time comes, regardless of whether you are ­here or in Anielle, I hope your choice is the same as mine.”

•

Aedion hated to admit it, but the captain's self-­control was impressive as they waited in the hidden apartment for Murtaugh to arrive. Ren, who ­couldn't keep his ass planted in a chair for more than a moment even with his still-healing wounds, paced around the great room. But Chaol sat beside the
fi
re, saying little but always watching, always listening.

To­night the captain seemed di
ff
erent. Warier, but tighter.
Th
anks to all those meetings where he'd carefully watched the captain's movements, every breath and blink, Aedion instantly noted the di
ff
erence. Had there been some news, some development?

Murtaugh was to return to­night, a
ft
er a few weeks near Skull's Bay. He had refused Ren's o
ff
er to go with him and told his grandson to rest. Which, though Ren tried to hide it, le
ft
the young lord anxious, ungrounded, and aggressive. Aedion was honestly surprised the apartment hadn't been torn to shreds. In his war camp, Aedion might have taken Ren into the sparring ring and let him
fi
ght it out. Or sent him on some mission of his own. Or at least made him chop wood for hours.

“So ­we're just going to wait all night,” Ren said at last, pausing before the dining table and looking at them both.

Th
e captain yielded nothing more than a vague nod, but Aedion crossed his arms and gave him a lazy grin. “You have something better to do, Ren? Are we interfering with a visit to one of your opium dens?” A low blow, but nothing that the captain hadn't already guessed about Ren. And if Ren showed any indication of that sort of habit, Aedion ­wouldn't let him within a hundred miles of Aelin.

Ren shook his head and said, “We're always waiting these days. Waiting for Aelin to send some sign, waiting for nothing. I bet my grandfather will have nothing, too. I'm surprised ­we're not all dead by now—­that those men didn't track me down.” He stared into the
fi
re, the light making his scar look even deeper. “I have someone who . . .” Ren trailed o
ff
, glancing at Chaol. “
Th
ey could
fi
nd out more about the king.”

“I don't trust your sources one bit—­especially not a
ft
er those men found you,” Chaol said. It had been one of Ren's informants—­caught and tortured—who had given his location away. And even though the information had been yielded under duress, it still didn't sit well with Aedion. He said as much, and Ren tensed, opening his mouth to snap something undoubtedly stupid and brash, but a three-­note whistle interrupted.

Th
e captain whistled back, and Ren was at the door, opening it to
fi
nd his grandfather there. Even with his back to them, Aedion could see the relief
fl
ooding Ren's body as they clasped forearms, weeks of waiting without word
fi
nally over. Murtaugh ­wasn't young by any means—­and as he threw back his hood, his face was pale and grim.

“
Th
ere's brandy on the bu
ff
et table,” Chaol said, and Aedion, yet again, had to admire the captain's keen eyes—­even if he would never tell him.
Th
e old man nodded his thanks, and didn't bother to remove his cloak as he knocked back a glass of it. “Grandfather.” Ren lingered by the door.

Murtaugh turned to Aedion. “Answer me truthfully, boy: do you know who General Narrok is?”

Aedion ­rose to his feet in a smooth movement. Ren took a few steps toward them, but Murtaugh held his ground as Aedion stalked to the bu
ff
et table and slowly, with deliberate care, poured himself a glass of brandy. “Call me boy again,” Aedion said with lethal calm, holding the old man's stare, “and you'll
fi
nd yourself back squatting in shanties and sewers.”

Th
e old man threw up his hands. “When you're my age, Aedion—”

“Don't waste your breath,” Aedion said, returning to his chair. “Narrok's been in the south—­last I heard, he was bringing the armada to the Dead Islands.” Pirate territory. “But that was months ago. ­We're kept on a need-­to-­know basis. I learned about the Dead Islands because some of the Pirate Lord's ships sailed north looking for trouble, and they informed us that they'd come to avoid Narrok's
fl
eet.”

Th
e pirates had scattered, actually.
Th
e Pirate Lord Rolfe had taken half of them south; some had gone east; and some had made the fatal mistake of sailing to Terrasen's north coast.

Murtaugh sagged against the bu
ff
et table. “Captain?”

“I'm afraid I know even less than Aedion,” Chaol said.

Murtaugh rubbed his eyes, and Ren pulled out a chair at the table for his grandfather.
Th
e old man slid into it with a small groan. It was a miracle the bag of bones was still breathing. Aedion shoved down a
fl
icker of regret. He'd been raised better than that—­he knew better than to act like an arrogant, hotheaded prick. Rhoe would have been ashamed of him for speaking to an elder in that manner. But Rhoe was dead—­all the warriors he'd loved and worshipped ­were ten years dead, and the world was worse for it. Aedion was worse for it.

Murtaugh sighed. “I
fl
ed ­here as quickly as I could. I have not rested for more than a few hours this past week. Narrok's
fl
eet is gone. Captain Rolfe is again Pirate Lord of Skull's Bay, though not more than that. His men do not venture into the eastern Dead Islands.”

Despite the hint of shame, Aedion ground his teeth when Murtaugh didn't immediately get to the point. “Why?” he demanded.

Th
e lines of Murtaugh's face deepened in the light of the
fi
re. “Because the men who go into the eastern islands do not come back. And on windy nights, even Rolfe swears he can hear . . . roaring, roaring from the islands; human, but not quite.

“
Th
e crew that hid in the islands during Narrok's occupation claim it's quieted down, as if he took the source of the sound with him. And Rolfe . . .” Murtaugh rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He told me that on the night they sailed back into the islands, they saw something standing on an outcropping of rocks, just on the border of the eastern islands. Looked like a pale man, but . . . not. Rolfe might be in love with himself, but he's not a liar. He said whatever—­whoever—it was felt
wrong
. Like there was a hole of silence around it, at odds with the roaring they usually hear. And that it just watched them sail past.
Th
e next day, when they returned to the same spot, it was gone.”

“
Th
ere have always been legends of strange creatures in the seas,” the captain said.

“Rolfe and his men swore that this was nothing from legend. It was
made
, they said.”

“How did they know?” Aedion asked, eyeing the captain, whose face was still bone-­white.

“It bore a black collar—­like a pet. It took a step toward them, as if to go into the sea and hunt them down, but it was yanked back by some invisible hand—­some hidden leash.”

Ren raised his scarred brow. “
Th
e Pirate Lord thinks there are
monsters
in the Dead Islands?”

“He thinks, and I also believe, that they ­were being made there. And Narrok took some of them with him.”

It was Chaol who asked, “Where did Narrok go?”

“To Wendlyn,” Murtaugh said. Aedion's heart, damn him, stopped. “Narrok took the
fl
eet to Wendlyn—­to launch a surprise attack.”

“
Th
at's impossible,” the captain said, shooting to his feet. “Why? Why now?”

“Because
someone
,” the old man said, sharper than Aedion had ever heard him, “convinced the king to send his Champion there to kill the royal family. What better time to try out these alleged monsters than when the country is in chaos?”

Chaol gripped the back of a chair. “She's not actually going to kill them—­she would never. It—­it was all a ruse,” he said. Aedion supposed that was all he would tell the Allsbrook men, and all they really needed to know right now. He ignored the wary glance Ren tossed him, no doubt to see how he would react to news of his Ashryver kin having targets on their backs. But they'd been dead to him for ten years already, from the moment they refused to send aid to Terrasen. Gods help them if he ever set foot in their kingdom. He wondered what Aelin thought of them—­if she thought Wendlyn might be convinced of an alliance now, especially with Adarlan launching a larger-­scale assault on their borders. Perhaps she would be content to let them all burn, as the people of Terrasen had burned. He ­wouldn't mind either way.

“It ­doesn't matter if they are assassinated or not,” Murtaugh said. “When these things arrive, I think the world will soon learn what our queen is up against.”

“Can we send a warning?” Ren demanded. “Can Rolfe get word to Wendlyn?”

“Rolfe will not get involved. I o
ff
ered him promises of gold, of land when our queen returns . . . nothing can sway him. He has his territory back, and he will not risk his men again.”

“
Th
en there has to be some blockade runner, some message we can smuggle,” Ren went on. Aedion debated informing Ren that Wendlyn hadn't bothered to help Terrasen, but decided he didn't particularly feel like getting into an ethical debate.

“I have sent a few that way,” Murtaugh said, “but I do not have much faith in them. And by the time they arrive, it may be too late.”

“So what do we do?” Ren pushed.

Murtaugh sipped his brandy. “We keep looking for ways to help ­here. Because I do not believe for one moment that His Majesty's newest surprises ­were located only in the Dead Islands.”

Th
at
was an interesting point. Aedion took a sip from the brandy, but set it down. Alcohol ­wouldn't help him sort through the jumble of forming plans. So Aedion half listened to the others as he slipped into the steady rhythm, the beat to which he calculated all his battles and campaigns.

•

Chaol watched Aedion pace in the apartment, Murtagh and Ren having le
ft
to see to their own agendas. Aedion said, “You want to tell me why you look like you're going to vomit?”

“You know everything I know, so it's easy to guess why,” Chaol said from his armchair, his jaw clenched. His
fi
ght with Dorian had le
ft
him in no hurry to get back to the castle, even if he needed the prince to test out his theories on that spell. Dorian had been right about Celaena—­about Chaol resenting her darkness and abilities and true identity, but . . . it hadn't changed how he felt.

“I still don't quite grasp your role in things, Captain,” Aedion said. “You're not
fi
ghting for Aelin or for Terrasen; for what, then?
Th
e greater good? Your prince? Whose side does that put you on? Are you a traitor—­a rebel?”

“No.” Chaol's blood chilled at the thought. “I'm on neither side. I only wish to help my friend before I leave for Anielle.”

Aedion's lip pulled back in a snarl. “Perhaps that's your problem. Perhaps not picking a side is what costs you. Perhaps you need to tell your father you're breaking your promise.”

“I will not turn my back on my kingdom or my prince,” Chaol snapped. “I will not
fi
ght in your army and slaughter my people. And I will not break my vow to my father.” His honor might very well be all he would have le
ft
at the end of this.

“What if your prince sides with us?”

“
Th
en I will
fi
ght alongside him, however I am able, even if it's from Anielle.”

“So you will
fi
ght alongside him, but not for what is right. Have you no free will, no wants of your own?”

“My wants are none of your concern.” And those wants . . . “Regardless of what Dorian decides, he would never sanction the killing of innocents.”

A sneer. “No taste for blood?”

Chaol ­wouldn't give him the satisfaction of rising to meet his temper. Instead he went for the throat and said, “I think your queen would condemn you if you spilled one drop of innocent blood. She would spit in your face.
Th
ere are good people in this kingdom, and they deserve to be considered in any course of action your side takes.”

Aedion's eyes
fl
icked to the scar on Chaol's cheek. “Just like how she condemned you for the death of her friend?” Aedion gave him a slow, vicious smile, and then, almost too fast to register, the general was in his face, arms braced on the wings of the chair.

Chaol wondered if Aedion would strike him, or kill him, as the general's features turned more lupine than he'd ever seen them, nose crinkled, teeth exposed. Aedion said, “When your men have died around you, when you have seen your women unforgivably hurt, when you have watched droves of orphaned children starve to death in the streets of your city,
then
you can talk to me about sparing innocent lives. Until then, the fact remains, Captain, that you have not picked a side because you are still a boy, and you are still afraid. Not of losing innocent lives, but of losing what­ever dream it is you're clinging to. Your prince has moved on, my queen has moved on. But
you
have not. And it will cost you in the end.”