Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty-One

Aelin

The midmorning light was streaming through the glass windows within the abandoned estate we had claimed for the meeting with the mortal Queens. Rhys, Azriel, Cassian and Mor had winnowed Rowan and me, leaving Amren to defend Velaris. The air was tense with anticipation, but we were all well prepared. I was dressed in a light gold gown of chiffon and silk, cut in the typical Night Court fashion, a delicate golden diadem sat on my brow, a not so subtle nod to my true station. Rhys was decked out in his typically luxurious High Lord attire while Azriel and Cassian wore formal versions of their Illyrian leathers. Looking over at them as we stalked through the forest, I couldn't help but be envious. As much as I adored finery, there was a level of comfort in being dressed for battle in situations like these. Although one could argue that finery was a kind of armor of its own.

Mor stood beside me, wearing a red gown similar to mine, while Rowan scouted from above in his hawk form. The Queens hadn't given us any indication of how they planned to arrive from the continent, so we had planned to give ourselves as much of a warning as possible. I felt oddly naked in my human form, without any weapon beside the deceivingly sharp hair pins artfully placed in the crown of my head.

The Queens had demanded no weapons be present at the meeting. Forgetting, of course, that we were weapons in our own right. More fool to them.

The meeting was set for 11 on the dot, and they had requested the exactly geographical location and schematics of the estate. As the clock chimed 11, I realized why exactly they had wanted all of that seemingly superfluous information.

A wind brushed through the room, and five figures appeared, each backed by two guards. It seemed that some humans could indeed retain magic in Prythian, because these Queens had winnowed.

I allowed my gaze to rake over the assembled royalty, taking in information quicker than they could track, even in my human form. The mortal Queens were mixture of age, height, appearance, and apparently attitude. The eldest of them looked sharp and cold, proud despite the clear signs of aging across her skin.

Two middle aged queens barely made an impact, clearly submissive to the eldest Queen. The remaining two were young, barely out of their teenage years. I was immediately distrustful of the first, her careful cunning practically oozed out of her pores as she surveying the room, paying much too careful attention to the fae males taking up the space. The second however, I locked gazes with. I felt that same reverberation in the air like I did in the murky alleyway behind a dusty tavern, deep in the red desert and standing on the edge of a wall, an arrow nocked an extra minute.

She had wild, golden curls that refused to be confined, and pure amber eyes. Her brown, freckled skin reminded me painfully of Nehemia, but the way she held herself, like a lion caged in human skin sent an entirely different painful memory through me. I quickly shook myself. I hadn't thought of my cousin in years and I couldn't afford to do it now.

The guards stoic faces carefully took in the surrounding room, determining any perceived threat to their charges. We all remained carefully still as Rhysand greeted them. He stepped forward casually, causing the queens to suck in a slight breathe, almost simultaneously. He bowed his head slightly and addressed the group of royals, "We are grateful you accepted our invitation to speak with us." They stiffened at his next words, ever so slightly, "Where is the sixth?"

The ancient queen, and apparent leader of this little gathering, mastered her slight hesitance and spoke, "She is unwell, and was not able to make the journey with us."

Such an interesting lie to start with.

Her sharp eyes turned to me, "You are the emissary."

Though her gaze shown with derision, I did not falter. "Aelin," I said simply, "At your service."