Their Fireheart

Chapter Twenty-One

Cassian

The fury boiling my blood was nothing new - the simmering rage that ignited in my veins every time Aelin was threatened all too familiar - but that awful, foreign blankness in her voice that had threatened to turn my limbs into blocks of ice was agonizingly fresh.

The sound of it embedded under my skin like shards of glass, making it difficult to breathe.

All because of a deceivingly innocuous dinner invitation.

In my too-short time knowing my little mate, I'd seen her face down opponents that would have anyone else quaking in their boots. She'd boldly challenged them all, from the most powerful fae in Prythian, the fucking Weaver of the Wood, a host of Illyrian warriors, to a cauldron-damned valg king. Never once had I scented a flicker of fear, or seen a shadow of a doubt cross her stunning fate.

Never once had she hesitated or faltered.

But for some reason, this invitation had rattled her, had her shutting down in more ways than when she was planning on abandoning us in Prythian.

And I didn't like it. I really didn't fucking like it.

The initial mention of Arobynn had been enough to have me ready to rage. What little I knew of the man, of what Aelin had endured under his so-called tutelage, had already resulted in him becoming the unwitting star in a copious number of my daydreams. I'd already concocted a myriad of ways I could take him apart piece by piece, force him to feel even a fraction of the pain he'd inflicted on my precious mate over the years.

And still, all of those blood-soaked imaginings paled in comparison to the sheer violence I wanted to inflict upon him as soon as Aelin had spoken. Even now, the memory of her flat, lifeless voice sent a set of razor-tipped talons clawing up my spine - as soon as she had spoken, I knew something was seriously wrong. And everything I knew, everything I was, was awash with helpless, impotent anguish with the knowledge there was nothing I could do in that moment to fix it.

And it had only gotten worse from there.

When she'd risen from the table and refused to look at any of us, even as she continued to speak in that cold, measured tone - not allowing any of us a glimpse at what it was she was really feeling - something in my chest cracked.

And I swore, then and there, that Arobynn would pay, that he would answer for all he had done. He would experience every single horror he'd subjected my mate to tenfold. No matter what.

The room pulsed with loaded silence for a long moment after the apartment door closed behind the two females, and I knew I wasn't the only one who'd had to bite their tongue to contain the demand that Aelin not leave our sight.

Rowan's teeth flashed when he snarled, "I'm going to flay the skin clean off his worthless carcass."

The rest of us growled in agreement, even Aedion - who'd paled at Rowan's fervent declaration.

My jaw cracked in protest at how hard I was grinding my teeth, but I didn't dare move a muscle - my stillness the only thing keeping me from hunting Arobynn down this very second. But as satisfying as ripping him apart would be, I refused to steal Aelin's well-deserved retribution out from under her.

Through clenched teeth, I hissed, "What did he do to her?"

My mind raced with the possibilities, because there had to be more to the story than what she'd told us. I'd known for a long time that Arobynn wasn't a good man - there was no other reason someone would force a ten-year old child to become a killer - but if all he had been was a heartless, brutal master who'd instructed her in the art of death, Aelin wouldn't have reacted the way she did.