Their Fireheart

Part One Epilogue

Rhysand

I slammed into the floor of the House of Wind, and Amren was instantly there, hands on Cassian's wings, swearing at the damage. Then at the hole in Azriel's chest.

Even her healing couldn't fix both completely. No, we'd need a real healer for each of them, and fast, because if Cassian lost those wings ... he would be as good as dead. Most Illyrians would prefer it. And if he lost both his mate and his wings - I shuddered to think of it.

But Amren's magic would at least ensure they would live. And once she'd staunched the worst of the bleeding, I couldn't focus on anything but the gaping space where Aelin should have been. Not on my brother's, not while she was gone.

All I could see was the tears streaming down her face, the wall of fire she'd erected to keep us out, to keep us away from her -

The utter confusion and horror when she kept me out - because I hadn't known, hadn't guessed, hadn't even dreamed of what she'd obviously planned to do.

And now, the only person who would have known - who could have known -

Was here.

"Where is she?" I demanded, snarling at Amren. She had to know, someone had to know, had to know.

Where is she where is she where is she

"Get the Book out of here," I said, dumping the pieces onto the ground. I hated the touch of them, their madness and despair and joy. Their reminder of what Aelin had done. Flashes of memory on repeat in my mind. The shield of flames - the tears streaming down her cheeks, the fact she wasn't here. Amren ignored the order.

"Where is she?" I said again, as Amren pressed a hand to Cassian's ravaged back.

Mor appeared with Rowan in tow - panting, haggard. He collapsed on the ground beside her as she dropped to the floor beside Azriel, her blood-caked hands shaking as she ripped the arrow free of his chest, blood showering the carpet. She shoved her fingers over the wound, light flaring as her power knit bone and flesh and vein together.

"Where is she?" I snapped one last time.

Amren, my long-loyal second, stared at me with remorseful eyes. "She's gone," she whispered. "She is no longer in Prythian."

It was all I could do not to mist her on sight.

She was gone, she was gone, she was gone.

I couldn't bring myself to speak, my throat spasming at her words, chest caving in. At the questions and grief that threatened to overwhelm me. So Amren spoke again, "She took them didn't she? The Cauldron, the King of Hybern - they're gone.

Mor was still shaking as she murmured, "We could do nothing as we watched. He had us by the balls. And then she stopped us from interfering."

None of us said anything about Amren's other words. That Aelin wasn't in Prythian.

I thought I might be dying - thought my chest would cleave in two as those quicksilver eyes shot back to mine. "Rhysand."

I couldn't even ask how, or why. It was temporary, it had to be temporary. She would come back. She had to have a plan to come back.

Everything would be fine, everything was salvageable. As long as she came back.

"Go get her," I hissed at Amren. "Right now."

"No," she said softly, and I had never hated a word more.

"No?" I snarled, "my mate is in our enemy's hands."