Hellfire

Morgan

Morgan stared at the mortal men who cursed at her name, a name born into the world long before their earliest ancestors. She met the eyes of all of them, staring at the ones who turned their heads away until they were forced to meet her unflinching gaze.

Look at me, she willed them, allowing some of that unearthly power to rise to the surface. Finally, she looked at Darrow.

"Weylan Darrow," she said sweetly, tilting her head and giving him the slightest of smiles. If possible, he blanched further. Oh, she had him shaking in his boots. Her dark smile grew.

"You remember me, don't you?" she crooned. She felt Aelin's gaze snap to her. She had not known then, that she had met Darrow once. He had been small, but already ruthless and cunning. And stupid. He and his brothers had bet on who would venture into Oakwald, that dense, dark, unholy forest. Darrow, the youngest, and eager to prove his cackling siblings wrong, had marched right in. Straight into her. She had sensed his underlying crookedness, however far deep it was. And smiled at him.

She gave him that same smile, little more than a baring of teeth edged with cruelty and unforgiving death. The man, whose hair was now gray, looked close to vomiting on the table. Oh, he remembered.

"You two seem... acquainted," drawled Aedion, lounging in his chair with that same arrogance as his cousin now did, again sitting beside him, grinning like a fiend at Darrow's expression.

"He was very young, and untrained, and ventured into Oakwald unaccompanied when the forest still hummed and growled. And found me." Darrow seemed to be shrinking as far away from her as he possibly could. "Now, Darrow, it seems your crookedness has finally won out. My, my, what would your beloved say?"

Darrow's face went even whiter in rage. "You keep your damn mouth shut about Orlon," he growled through gritted teeth. Morgan paused. She paused at the way he said his name. She had never met Aelin's uncle, the former King of Terrasen. Only heard the rumors, the stories. A small part of her wondered if his death had driven Darrow off whatever frail edge had kept him above what was roiling beneath. If maybe he would have become a better man, had the demon-king stayed away. Her smile dropped.

"As you wish, Darrow." The man gave a long, slow blink. "However," she continued, swinging her pack off of her shoulder. She reached inside, grabbing the sacred object covered with black silk and slowly pulling it out. She stalked over to the window on the right wall, and carefully placed it on the deep windowsill, the black fabric seeming to suck in the light from behind it.

"This is-"

The door slammed open, and everyone, including herself, whirled towards the sound, many hands reaching for swords.

The guard panted, clinging to the doorknob to keep himself upright. "Southern-Southern Continent," he breathed. Aelin went still.

"The khagan's son is here, with giant rutting birds, and boats. So many boats," the guard babbled. Morgan glanced to Aelin, and found tears sliding down her cheeks.

"There-There is a woman. With the prince. She says her name is Nesryn Faliq." Aelin stood, eyes shining, tears dripping from her face.

"Bring us to her."