Their Fireheart

Chapter Nineteen

Aelin

It felt as though I'd been on this roof for an eternity, even though I knew it had been just under an hour.

After I'd grown tired of dealing with fae male egos, I'd wandered back to the warehouse with Azriel and Cassian trailing behind me. Back among the dusty crates of the warehouse, I'd been doing an admirable job of ignoring their lectures on how I needed to tell them the next time I decided to go on my late-night adventures when Rhysand had appeared - without my silver-haired mate in tow.

At my questioning glance, he'd grimaced, and murmured something about how Rowan likely needed some time to cool off after the confrontation with Lorcan and the others.

Unease had immediately skittered up my spine, and I'd insisted on waiting for his return. The rest of my mates tried to wait with me, but something I couldn't quite name had me convincing them to head to bed without me.

Their obvious reluctance was rather insulting, it seemed as though they didn't trust me not to sneak off to do something stupid - which on second thought, was actually quite fair.

After I'd finally persuaded them to leave me to my own devices, I'd headed up to the roof. Considering how Rowan liked to process his emotions by soaring in his hawk form, I had a sneaking suspicion he'd taken to the rooftops of Rifthold.

So now, here I was, pacing the shimmering tiles, spiraling further and further into my traitorous thoughts. Every time I tried to pull myself free, Rowan's voice from the alley echoed through my mind. He hadn't even tried to conceal his unfettered rage, and his tone ... I'd never heard anyone sound so savagely wrathful.

And while I knew, of course I knew, that a good deal of that wrath was on my behalf, I couldn't help but wonder ...

Was some of it directed towards me?

I knew he loved me, that he would destroy the world for me, but at the same time - I'm sure he never imagined that world would include his former blood-sworn brothers.

The whole gods-damned reason I'd freed them from Maeve in the first place was because I knew how highly he regarded them. Sure, he hadn't been great at showing it, but from the way he'd talked about them in Mistward, the fact that serving alongside them had brought him back from the brink of oblivion after the death of Lyria ...

I knew he cared for them, even if only in the barest way that he could at the time. And I -

I'd ripped him from them. Ripped him from the males he'd served alongside for centuries, and tonight - tonight I'd forced him to attack them. On my behalf. Because of me.

And the longer Rowan took to return, the more I convinced myself that - even though there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he loved me, fiercely and brutally - there was a part of him that resented me too. At least tonight.

I'd given up my pacing, and was hunched over on the lone bench, wallowing in my misery and guilt, when I heard the faint scuffing of footsteps, the cool night breeze carrying the familiar scent of pine and snow.

I turned my head just as Rowan appeared, leaping down from a neighboring rooftop. Exhaling in relief, I took in his broad torso, those powerful shoulders, his -

I flinched when I reached the emptiness in his eyes.

Gathering the tattered shreds of my courage, I patted the bench next to me. "Come here."

He stood there, for so long that I thought he was just going to walk away, before he finally padded towards me, not meeting my gaze as he slumped down beside me. Instead, his blank gaze was fixed to the stars above us, vacant in a way that made me doubt he was really seeing them.