Their Fireheart

Chapter Eight

Aelin

After I'd trashed the Vaults, the fact that a new hub of sin and debauchery had immediately sprung up came as absolutely zero surprise. The owners hadn't even tried to pretend it wasn't a complete imitation of the original - not with the oh so imaginative name of the Pits.

One key difference, however, was that they didn't even attempt to provide a tavern-like atmosphere. Instead, the Pits was an underground chamber hewn of rough stone, and drinks were included in the cover charge. If you were brave enough to drink, you had to venture to the row of casks in the back and serve yourself.

Oh, and good luck dodging a dagger to the ribs among the close-packed barrels.

Still, there were only so many differences a place like this could really have.

The floors were slick with ale and piss and worse, the entire space reeking and deafeningly loud. The wild cheers from the fighting pits echoed off the rock walls as onlookers bet on the brawls within.

My blood heated at the thought of joining one. It had been too long since I'd last had a good one on one fight.

Chaol stood beside me in the muck, cloaked and masked, shifting on his feet. "This is a terrible idea," he murmured.

"Says you," I scoff, tucking a loose strand of freshly dyed red hair behind my ear. At his grumbled protestation, I continue, "You're the one who couldn't find the Valg nests, despite traipsing through the sewers every night. I've provided you with some lovely commanders and minions just begging for you to track them home."

Chaol sliced a glare my way, growling, "Still a terrible idea."

I ignored him, staring at where Arobynn stood across the sandy pit in which two men were fighting, so bloodied up I couldn't tell who was in worse shape.

"He summoned me for a reason. Keep your eyes open."

It was the most we'd said to each other in days, things still strained between us. Chaol had been thankful when I'd explained how I knew Dorian could be saved for about one minute before he turned on me, raging that I hadn't tried hard enough to take Dorian with me. As if Aedion and I hadn't barely escaped with our lives as it was.

But I had more important things to worry about. Plus, we were - reluctantly - on the same side, at least for now. At least until we freed Dorian from the confines of the glass castle.

So unfortunately for him, he'd gotten roped into my plans for the evening.

Looking around the Pits, Arobynn's intentions for summoning me to this vile cesspit were painfully transparent. Valg guards flocked to the depravity of the fights - not to arrest and torture, but to watch, to participate. More of them than should be possible were interspersed among the crowd, smiling and cold - fueled by the blood and rage.

It had been three days since his rescue, but Aedion was still injured enough to be bedridden. One of Chaol's most trusted rebels was watching the apartment, but I knew it would look odd not to have someone at my back tonight, so I'd asked Nesryn and Chaol.

I'd tracked them down at a covert rebel meeting, to no one's delight beside my own. Still, they'd grudgingly joined me.

I didn't miss the way Arobynn's eyes sparkled with pleasure when he noticed my companions, which was perfect. I'd let him draw his own, incorrect assumptions. I sent them off to case the perimeter, knowing he'd want a moment alone with me.

His red hair slid into my peripheral vision long moments after I'd sensed his approach. In lieu of a greeting, he drawled, "Any plans to wreck this establishment, too?"