Hellfire

Morgan

Clever. The old snake was clever, she'd give her that. Her own magic shielded her from being recognized by Maeve's, but only for a short while. She'd have to work through the spider's web of spells quickly. She felt her own magic testing the magic, searching for weak points. None. Alright then. She spread her hands, iron nails disappearing back into her skin. Slowly, her magic eased out of her, dark tendrils snaking around the room. Her power was equal to Maeve's, she reminded herself. Perhaps even stronger. She could do this. She had the lives of three males and countless others on her shoulders, betting on her life and the life of the young queen. She must get her out. There was no room for error.

"Are you here to get me out?" a voice croaked. Morgan's eyes flew open. She felt the males behind her shift, the sharp, golden - haired one stiffening especially. He knew the Fire Queen personally then; he knew how much was at stake more than the other two. Stunning blue eyes found hers through a slit in that iron box. Morgan felt her rage build as her magic collided with that iron. Unlike others, it didn't recoil. It writhed with hate, hate she had built after being locked in a very similar coffin, many, many years ago. Her magic exploded, sweeping away any trace of Maeve's web of tricks. She stalked towards that pillar of iron, golden eyes never leaving the blue ones. "Yes. I'm here to bring you home, Aelin." Hope flared in those beautiful, infamous eyes, along with caution. And worry. "Did Rowan-" The Queen's breath caught, and Morgan could hear the sob she was spooling back into herself. "Don't worry," Morgan soothed, as her magic tested the iron for any way to fracture it. "He's searching for you still. I just got here first." Aelin's eyes softened a fraction. Relief. "So he's not dead then." A quiet - almost question. "You would feel it if he was, Your Majesty," Morgan breathed. Aelin nodded. Footsteps began to sound above them. Morgan grimaced. "Time's up. We need to get out of here."

Her magic pushed with all its might on the iron coffin, forcing parts of it to buckle. Aelin's eyes widened. "Your magic isn't affected by iron?" Morgan just shook her head. "No time," she breathed, cursing every god she knew. Finally, she tugged on the door, and it swung open. The stench of blood and vomit hit her first, then of rotting flesh. Morgan fought her gag. The iron had probably stopped her natural healing process. Aelin still had the iron mask latched over her face. Morgan shattered it in one blink as the overwhelming amount of rage and despair leaking from the blood caking the iron hit her. Aelin stumbled and Morgan caught her, getting a full view of her ruined back. She cursed quietly, her magic wrapping around her midsection as a makeshift bandage. The sharp one stepped into the room, eyes going wide as he took in the extent of her injuries. He swore under his breath, his twin joining him. Vaughn followed them inside and shut the door behind them, possibly giving them a few extra seconds. "How is she still alive?" Vaughn uttered. "Her body probably shut down, slowing her heartbeat as it tried to shield her from her injuries. Her magic would have vanished, but some kernel of it must have stayed, or she wouldn't be conscious," Morgan explained. So strong, this queen, even at such a young age. The sharp twin - Fenrys - she reminded herself, suddenly stiffened. Vaughn's head whipped towards him. Morgan knew without even asking. Maeve had finally realized what was happening beneath her silken bedchamber. Without a word, she handed Aelin to Vaughn and unsheathed her iron nails. In a heartbeat, she slashed both twin's left forearm and willed her magic to do its work. The tension in Fenrys's body slowly uncoiled as his blood dripped to the floor, Connall following suit. Fenrys looked up at her as his wound began to close, relief and gratitude dancing in his onyx eyes. Honestly, these males were unfairly pretty, even on the verge of tears.

"How are we getting out of here?" Vaughn inquired, cradling Aelin against his chest.

"You aren't," answered an icy voice. Morgan spun, iron fangs snapping down, as Maeve stepped into the room, death in her dark eyes. "Hello, Grandmother," Morgan purred. "Care to dance?"