Their Fireheart

Chapter Forty Five

Aelin

My heart thundered in my chest as we were forced to obey the king.

The ash bold was coated in a blood poison that he claimed flowed where he willed it. If we fought, the poison would shoot to his heart. And with our magic locked down, without the ability for them to winnow away ...

Cassian and Rhys had hauled Azriel between them, standing near the fall wall of the dungeon where Hybern had commanded them. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his lax figure, the sallow quality of his skin. His blood splattered on the floor beneath him, every ruby-red drop stoking the growing wildfire of my rage.

Mor was shaking next to them - unable to tear her eyes away from the arrow protruding from Azriel's chest. Rowan stood at her side, fists clenched as he fixed his eyes on me. His perfectly calm face belied the rage that I knew was bubbling beneath the surface.

Hybern had hauled me onto the dais, standing next to me as he tried to decipher the marks on the lip of the Cauldron.

None of us had dared strike against him as he'd manhandled me next to the ancient artifact. We knew he wasn't bluffing. It'd take one move, one flinch, for Azriel to die. And I refused to allow that to happen.

The guards were out now, having swarmed into the room after Hybern had fired the bolt. They were both High Fae and creatures - too similar to the monstrous opposing force that had been sent to decimate Velaris. Some resembled the Attor. Some worse. They smiled, taking us in like we were their next meal. Their eyes were dead - empty.

I stood on the dais, on display, blood still trickling down my wrist from my earlier wound. I refused to look at the king, eyes tracking each shallow breath Azriel made. I'd have to be quick - as long as they could get past the wards they could leave, they could heal him - save him.

"Now that we understand where we stand, I want to make one thing clear. I'll let him live, but in exchange for his life, I will need something in return," Hybern crooned, grasping my elbow harshly.

I tilted my head to stare at him, forcing a bravado I did not feel as my mind raced towards a solution, a way to free them. Wyrdmarks danced in my mind, crystalizing into something I could use.

Rhys, Rowan, Mor and Cassian were sharp-eyed. Together, even Azriel, despite being sagging and heavy-lidded, all of them scanned the gathered soldiers, sizing up our best odds of escape.

"If it's my life, you'll have to get in line," I drawled at the monster before me.

"Oh, I have no interest in killing you," he laughed, "not yet."

He stalked around the Cauldron, circling me. I fidgeted as his gaze fixed on the ancient metal, toe dragging across the rough stone. If only my wound would bleed a little more - a little faster.

"Aelin Galathynius," he mused. "So much talk about Aelin Galathynius, even across the realms. The Queen Who Was Promised."

He approached, eyes tracking over my form. My court was tense - taut. I wanted to cry as Azriel, even as wounded as he was, subtly moved a bloody, scarred hand closer to his blades. His blood pooled around his boots.

The King jerked his chin up, pointing a thick finger at me. Invisible hands cut the tethers to my sword belts. Illyrian swords clanked to the ground. Daggers slid free of their sheaths.

"So many weapons," Hybern contemplated as I was disarmed with brutal efficiency. Even blades hidden beneath my clothes found their way out - slicing as they went. Blood bloomed and I had to repress a feral grin.

Rhysand and Cassian hissed in protest. Azriel narrowed his eyes below a heavy brow. Rowan made no sound, eyes tracking each wound as they appeared - adding them to the tally for his retribution.