Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty Nine

Aelin

The next day had dawned hazy and bright, the early-morning mist cloaking our return into Rhifthold. Not that the cover stopped us from shooting tense glances skyward as we hurried across the foothills.

It was a testament to the ferocity of the witches that I actually heaved a sigh of relief when we finally passed through the looming alabaster walls of the dreadful city. Even if I'd never admit it.

It didn't negate the fact that the Wing Leader was a fearsome opponent. She fought spectacularly, as did her coven. Had I been anyone else, I would have been obliterated. Born and bred for battles as they so clearly were, the one thing I couldn't get out of my head was the way the golden-haired witch screamed Manon's name ... the only thing hinting that they might be more than the monsters they appeared to be.

After all, it had been the pure, unfettered torment in that sound that had sent me racing across the crumbling tower to save the witch. Taking out someone who clearly meant the word to someone else didn't seem fair, even for me. And that was far too shitty a death for someone who fought as well as she did. A warrior of her caliber deserved to die fighting, on her feet, not pinned and half unconscious.

Still, I had no desire to face them all again until I had my magic back. They tried to hurt my mates, and I relished the thought of burning them all to a crisp if they dared to try that again. They wouldn't stand a chance.

It was almost a shame.

But now wasn't the time to lament my lack of adequate sparring partners. I had more important things to focus on.

The dingy streets were still shrouded with fog when we reached the crossroads where we would part ways with Chaol. He turned towards us, the slices on his neck from the witch's iron nails still raw and angry. Hopefully he'd learned his lesson about running off by himself with reckless, half-cocked plans.

He didn't do it half as well as I did, anyway.

I still didn't know what the hell the idiot had been thinking. But if there was a bright side to the whole, ill-fated adventure - other than my thrilling fight with the white-haired witch - it was that the captain had finally pulled his head out of his ass, if even just a little.

- - -

I crouched before the sputtering spigot, the water running over me tinged blue with witch blood as I washed away the evidence of the battle. Pulling my face out from under the stream of water, I was met with Chaol's strained voice.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I rubbed at my face, dipping under it once more to ensure I had rid myself of the copious amount of sweat, dust and grime that coated it.

Chaol went on, "I just wanted to save him, or, if he was past saving, to end it for him. But I acted rashly. I was a fool, and if it weren't for you ... I'd be dead." He swallowed roughly. "You were right. All this time, you were right, and I was wrong. You stopped a demon today, but you're no monster. If anyone there today was a monster, it's me and ... I'm sorry."

I released the lever and pivoted to look up at him. He fidgeted under my scrutiny, but his eyes shone with genuine remorse.

"I saved my enemy's life today," I said conversationally.

I uncoiled to my feet, wiping the last of the water from my face. And though he stood taller than me, I stared him down. This man, who had been my jailer, my friend, my lover, and my enemy - he looked broken, shattered. As if the ground he stood upon was cracked and shattering, and it was a matter of time before he plunged into a ravine of his own making.