Their Fireheart

Chapter Five

Cassian

I cursed when my wing clipped a tree branch as I banked right. I ground my teeth in irritation, but continued my path towards Velaris, dipping and curving through the towering trees of the mountains on my second training flight of the day.

It had taken a solid three weeks after the healers had knit together the delicate bones, nerves and tendons of my wings for them to declare me strong enough for flight.

Three long, dreadful weeks where I was land-locked and useless. Unable to do anything other than rest and mourn the absence of my mate. With my wings healing, I couldn't even attempt to distract myself with my duties as general - Rowan had to step in for me.

I had experienced some dark times in my long life, but those three weeks may have been the worst of them all. The healer's hadn't been positive that they'd be able to fix my wings, and even if they could, they couldn't promise that they would ever be the same. I spent a few morbid days confronting the possibility that I would never fly again.

Add in the fact that not only did I not have my little mate nursing me back to health, but that I knew she had left purposefully? Yeah, my mind had not been a fun place to be.

I'd gone through spiral after spiral of anger, fear, grief and depression. Mad at Aelin for leaving us. Terrified I'd never see her again. Blaming myself for not being stronger, not being more powerful, not being a better warrior - because there had to be a reason why she hadn't even considered taking us with her.

There were a few days where I was perilously close to ending it just so I could find her again in whatever lay beyond.

Even through the haze of my grief, I hadn't missed my brothers sitting near me any chance they could - Az's shadows lingering when they couldn't - my own nonchalant suicide watch.

But now, with my wings once again functional - although I was still building back up my muscle memory and agility, clearly - all of those gut wrenching emotions I'd cycled through had solidified into one thing: iron-clad resolve.

We were going to find Aelin.

And I would personally rip the world to shreds before I allowed a single hair on her head to be harmed, even by her own hand. Especially by her own hand.

Fuck the gods.

Fuck them and their plans, their expectations. They could rot for all I cared.

I knew my brothers felt the same way. Following Rhys's demand that Amren figure out a way for us to get to her, Az had thrown himself headfirst into research alongside the disgraced second, utterly consumed with getting her back, with discovering another way to reforge the realms. We all pretended to ignore his side project of finding a particularly brutal way to destroy the Mortal Queens, per Aelin's direction. 

Rowan, when he wasn't picking up my slack, joined the two of them in their research by sharing valuable knowledge of his home realm, or helped prep the rest of us on what we'd face in Eirlea.

The fact that none of us had even blinked at the thought that our magic might become inaccessible was proof that we'd allow nothing to stop us from reclaiming our mate. Aelin was the only thing that mattered. If I had to tear my own wings - the ones I'd been so desperate not to lose - from my back in exchange for reuniting with my mate, I'd do it in a heartbeat. No hesitation.

Rhysand had thrown himself into preparing the Night Court for his departure, setting up contingency after contingency and ensuring Mor and Amren would be ready to take over at the drop of a hat. He'd been so obsessed, he'd forgotten to inform the other High Lords about what happened in Hybern - not telling them the threat had been handled until a letter arrived from Helion weeks later, requesting an update on Illyrian troop movements.