Heir of Fire (38 page)

It had been ten years—­ten long years since she had heard her mother's voice. But she heard it then over the force of her weeping, as clear as if she knelt beside her.
Fireheart—­why do you cry?

“Because I am lost,” she whispered onto the earth. “And I do not know the way.”

It was what she had never been able to tell Nehemia—­that for ten years, she had been unsure how to
fi
nd the way home, because there was no home le
ft
.

Storm winds and ice crackled against her skin before she registered Rowan sitting down beside her, legs out, palms braced behind him in the moss. She raised her head, but didn't bother to wipe her face as she stared across the glittering lake.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.” Swallowing a few times, she yanked a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose, her head clearing with each breath.

Th
ey sat in silence, no sound but the quiet lapping of the lake on the mossy bank and the wind in the leaves.
Th
en— “Good. Because ­we're going.”

Bastard. She called him as much, and then asked, “Going
where
?”

He smiled grimly. “I think I've started to
fi
gure you out, Aelin Galathynius.”

•

“What in every burning ring of hell,” Celaena panted, gazing at the cave mouth nestled into the base of the craggy mountain, “are we doing ­here?”

It had been a
fi
ve-­mile hike. Uphill. With hardly anything in her stomach.

Th
e trees butted against the gray stones,
fl
owing up the slope for a ways and then fading into lichen-­covered rock that eventually turned into the snow-­capped peak that marked the barrier between Wendlyn and Doranelle beyond. For some reason, this hulking giant made the hair on her neck stand up. And it had nothing to do with the frozen wind.

Rowan strode into the gaping maw of the cave mouth, his pale-gray cloak
fl
apping behind him. “Hurry up.”

Pulling her own cloak tighter around her, she staggered a
ft
er him.
Th
is was a bad sign. A horrible sign, actually, because what­ever was in that cave . . .

She walked into the dark, following Rowan by the light on his hair, letting her eyes adjust.
Th
e ground was rocky, the stones small and worn smooth. And littered with rusted weapons, armor, and—­clothes. No skeletons. Gods, it was so cold that she could see her breath, see—

“Tell me I'm hallucinating.”

Rowan had stopped at the edge of an enormous frozen lake, stretching into the gloom. Sitting on a blanket in its center, the chains around his wrists anchored under the ice, was Luca.

Luca's chains clanked as he raised a hand in greeting. “I thought you'd never show. I'm
freezing
,” he called, and tucked his hands back under his arms.
Th
e sound echoed throughout the chamber.

Th
e thick sheet of ice covering the lake was so clear that she could see the water beneath—­pale stones on the bottom, what looked to be old roots from trees long dead, and no sign of life whatsoever. An occasional sword or dagger or lance poked up from the stones. “What is this place?”

“Go get him,” was Rowan's answer.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Rowan gave her a smile that suggested he was, in fact, insane. She stepped toward the ice, but he blocked her path with a muscled arm. “In your other form.”

Luca's head was angled, as if trying to hear. “He ­doesn't know what I am,” she murmured.

“You've been living in a fortress of demi-­Fae, you know. He won't care.”

Th
at was the least of her concerns, anyway. “How dare you drag him into this?”

“You dragged him in yourself when you insulted him—­and Emrys.
Th
e least you can do is retrieve him.” He blew out a breath toward the lake, and the ice thawed by the shore, then hardened. Holy gods. He'd frozen the ­whole damn lake. He was
that
powerful?

“I hope you brought snacks!” Luca said. “I'm starving. Hurry up, Elentiya. Rowan said you had to do this as part of your training, and . . .” He prattled on and on.

“What is the gods-­damned point of this? Just punishment for acting like an ass?”

“You can control your power in human form—­keep it dormant. But the moment you switch, the moment you get agitated or angry or afraid, the moment you remember how much your power scares you, your magic rises up to protect you. It ­doesn't understand that
you
are the source of those feelings, not some external threat. When there
is
an outside threat, when you forget to fear your power long enough, you have control. Or
some
control.” He pointed again to the sheet of ice between her and Luca. “So free him.”

If she lost control, if her
fi
re got out of her . . . well,
fi
re and ice certainly went well together, didn't they? “What happens to Luca if I fail?”

“He'll be very cold and very wet. And possibly die.” From the smile on his face, she knew he was enough of a sadist to let the boy go under with her.

“Were the chains really necessary? He'll go right to the bottom.” A stupid, bleating kind of panic was starting to
fi
ll her veins.

When she held out her hand for the key to Luca's chains, Rowan shook his head. “Control is your key. And focus. Cross the lake, then
fi
gure out how to free him without drowning the both of you.”

“Don't give me a lesson like you're some mystical-­nonsense master!
Th
is is the
stupidest
thing I have ever had to—”

“Hurry,” Rowan said with a wol
fi
sh grin, and the ice gave a collective groan. As if it was melting.
Th
ough some small voice in her head told her he ­wouldn't let the boy drown, she ­couldn't trust him, not a
ft
er last night.

She took one step closer to the ice. “You are a
bastard
.” When Luca was safely home, she would start
fi
nding ways to make Rowan's life a living hell. She punched through her inner veil, the pain barely registering as her features shi
ft
ed.

“I was waiting to see your Fae form!” Luca said. “We ­were all taking bets on when—” And on and on.

She scowled at Rowan, his tattoo even more detailed now that she was seeing it with Fae eyes. “It gives me comfort to know that people like you have a special place in hell waiting for them.”

“Tell me something I don't already know.”

She gave him a particularly vulgar gesture as she stepped onto the ice.

As she took each tentative step—­small ones at
fi
rst—­she could see the lake bottom sloping away into darkness, swallowing the spread of lost weapons. Luca had
fi
nally shut up.

It was only when she stepped past the visible edge of the rocky shelf and hovered over the dark depths that her breath hitched. She slid her foot, and the ice groaned.

Groaned, and
cracked
, spiderwebbing under her foot. She froze, gaping like a fool as the cracks spread wider and wider, and then—­she kept moving.
Th
ere was another crack beneath her boots. Did the ice move? “
Stop it
,” she hissed at Rowan, but didn't dare look behind her.

Her magic shuddered awake, and she went still as death.
No
.

But there it was,
fi
lling up the spaces in her.

Th
e ice emitted a deep groan that could only mean something cold and wet was coming her way really damn soon, and she took another step, if only because the way back seemed like it would shatter. She was sweating now—­the magic, the
fi
re was warming her from the inside out.

“Elentiya?” Luca asked, and she held out a hand toward him—­a silent gesture to shut his stupid mouth as she closed her eyes and
breathed
, imagining the cold air around them
fi
lling her lungs, freezing over the well of power. Magic—­it was
magic
. In Adarlan it was a death trap.

She clenched her hands into
fi
sts. ­Here it was
not
a death trap. In this land, she could have it, could wear what­ever form she wished.

Th
e ice stopped groaning, but it had clouded and thinned around her. She started sliding her feet, keeping as balanced and
fl
uid as she could, humming a melody—­a bit of a symphony that used to calm her. She let the beat anchor her, dull the edge of her panic.

Th
e magic simmered to embers, pulsing with each breath.
I am safe
, she told it.
Relatively safe
. If Rowan was right, and it was just a reaction to protect her from some enemy . . .

Fire was the reason she'd been banned from the Library of Orynth when she was eight, a
ft
er accidentally incinerating an entire bookcase of ancient manuscripts when she grew irritated with the Master Scholar lecturing her about decorum. It had been a beautiful, horrible relief to wake up one day not too many months a
ft
er that and know magic was gone.
Th
at she could hold a book—­hold what she adored most—­and not worry about turning it to ash if she became upset or tired or excited.

Celaena Sardothien, gloriously mortal Celaena, never had to worry about accidentally scorching a playmate, or having a nightmare that might incinerate her bedroom. Or burning all of Orynth to the ground. Celaena had been everything Aelin ­wasn't. She had embraced that life, even if Celaena's accomplishments ­were death and torture and pain.

“Elentiya?” She'd been staring at the ice. Her magic
fl
ickered again.

Burning a city to the ground.
Th
at was the fear she overheard Melisande's emissary hiss at her parents and uncle. She'd been told he had come to see about an alliance, but she later understood he'd really come to gather information on
her
. Melisande had a young queen on its throne, and she wanted to assess the threat she might face from the heir of Terrasen one day. Wanted to know if Aelin Galathynius would become a weapon of war.

Th
e ice fogged over, and a
crack
splintered through the air.
Th
e magic was pulsing its way out of her, snapping its jaws at every breath she took.

“
You
are in control now,” Rowan said from the shore. “
You
are its master.”

She was halfway there. She took one more step toward Luca, and the ice cracked further. His chains rustled—­impatience, or fear?

She had never been in control. Even as Celaena, control had been an illusion. Other masters had held her reins.

“You are the keeper of your own fate,” Rowan said so
ft
ly from the shore, as if he knew exactly what was
fl
owing through her head.

She hummed some more, the music wending its way from her memory. And somehow . . . somehow the
fl
ame grew quiet. Celaena took a step forward, then another.
Th
e power smoldering in her veins would never go away; she was far more likely to hurt someone if she didn't master it.

She scowled over her shoulder at Rowan, who was now striding along the shore, examining some of the fallen blades.
Th
ere was a hint of triumph in his usually hollow eyes, but he turned away and approached a small crevice in the cave wall, feeling for something inside. She kept walking, the watery abyss deepening. She had mastered her mortal body as an assassin. Mastering her immortal power was just another task.

Luca's eyes ­were wide as she came at last within touching distance. “You have nothing to hide, you know. We all knew you could shi
ft
, anyway,” he said. “And if it makes you feel any better, Sten's animal form is a pig. He won't even shi
ft
for shame.”

She would have laughed—­actually felt her insides tighten to bark out the sound that had been buried for months, but then she remembered the chains around his wrists.
Th
e magic had quieted down, but now . . . melt through them, or melt the ice where they ­were anchored and let him drag the chains back? If she went for the ice, she could easily send them right to the bottom of this ancient lake. And if she went for the chains . . . Well, she could lose control and send them to the bottom, but she could also wind up burning him. At best, branding him where the manacles ­were. At worst, melting his bones. Better to risk the ice.

“Erm,” Luca said. “I'll forgive every awful thing you said earlier if we can go eat something right now. It smells awful in ­here.” His senses had to be sharper than hers—­the cave had only a faint hint of rust, mold, and rotting things.

“Just hold still and stop talking,” she said, more sharply than she'd intended. But he shut up as she eased to the spot where Rowan had frozen the chains. As carefully as she could, she knelt, spreading her weight out evenly.

She slid one palm against the ice, eyeing the chain's path to the hanging length swaying in the water beneath.

Swaying—there must be a current. Which meant Rowan had to be constantly sealing the ice . . .
Th
e cold bit into her palm, and she eyed Luca on the fur blanket before she turned back to the anchor. If the ice broke, she'd have to grab him. Rowan was out of his damned mind.

She took several long breaths, letting the magic calm and cool and gutter.
Th
en, hand pressed
fl
at against the ice, she crooked an inner
fi
nger at her power and pulled out a tiny, burning thread. It
fl
owed down her arm, snaked around her wrist, and then settled in her palm, her skin warming, the ice . . .
glowing
a bright red. Luca yelped as the ice splintered around them.