Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty Six

Aelin

Mor winnowed me into the Illyrian war-camp, deep in the northern mountains. The air was frigid and the wind biting, spring apparently no more than a whisper in the region. My mates appeared seconds after, flanking us.

I glowed with pleasure even just thinking that. I had finally told all of them, and miraculously not a single one of them turned me away. They wanted me, they all loved me.

I allowed myself to bask in that joy, purposefully ignoring the voice that whispered that they would have been better off never knowing, since I would not be on this plane for much longer. One step at a time, I had much to accomplish before the inevitable, and besides, they had each other now. They would be fine.

They would have to be fine.

For now, I would allow myself this spec of happiness, these brief moments of love and contentment. The Gods knew I hadn't had many of them in my short life. These males, my mates, were everything.

Yesterday, once Rhysand and Rowan had returned from capturing Velaris in the Veritas orb, it had only taken them a few moments to comprehend what had occurred while they were gone. Rhysand had immediately jumped on his brothers, clapping them harshly on their backs in congratulations and kissing me thoroughly while his eyes shined with glee. His unadulterated joy settled deep in my chest, especially after how distraught he had been earlier in the day.

Rowan had only nodded at the both of them solemnly, welcoming them to our mate circle with a simple statement, "Hurt her and I'll end you." I'd rolled my eyes at his ridiculous statement, but my heart secretly warmed at his easy acceptance of my two new mates, as well as his automatic defense of me.

That night, the five of us had dined separately from Mor and Amren, and the easy affection and clear joy emanating from all of us would be a bright spot for me for the rest of my life, however long it was.

Sadly, war didn't care about our happiness, and refused to wait for us to settle into our newly bonded mate circle. So now we were here, in the Illyrian mountains, to check on the training of warriors and ensure the armies would be ready to move against Hybern as soon as we needed them. Amren remained in Velaris, as both a line of defense and to continue working on the first half of the Book - compiling all relevant tomes that would help us translate the Wyrd marks once we managed to procure the other half.

Built near the top of a forested mountain, the Illyrian camp was all bare rock and mud, interspersed with crude, easy to pack tents around a large fire pit. A dozen or so permanent buildings were scattered near the tree line, smoke puffing from their chimneys.

Winged males filled the camp, soaring past on their way to other camps or engaging in training exercises in a rocky area on the opposite end of camp that served as training and sparring rings. Racks of weapons were left out completely exposed to the elements, and males of all ages trained in the chalk-painted rings that bordered a sheer cliff face.

The males were stoic as they trained, no complaints or shouts of pain. Instructors barked orders, harsh and unyielding. The atmosphere reminded me painfully of my time at the Assassin's Guild, albeit with less luxurious surroundings. There was no warmth here, no joy. Only battle, and the pains and consequences of failure.

I grit my teeth. This was where Rhys, Az and Cass had grown up - where Cassian and Azriel had the fallacy of their worthlessness as low-borns hammered into them. It was so cold that even bundled in fur-lined leather, Mor shivered next to me. I couldn't imagine a child growing up here. As brutal as the latter half of my childhood had been, at least I had had those first years understanding how it felt to be safe, cared for and loved. The thought of my mates in this brutal, unforgiving environment was making me irrationally furious.