Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
The Heir of Fire was encased in iron and ash.
Locked in the dark, she burrowed down, down, down. Not into her magic, but into herself, into that being that was forged and refined in an unforgiving world. After scratching away with the little strength she had, bit by bit, she poked through the first layer of stony armor and buried herself within. The pain faded away--the raw flesh on her back was a memory, not a living torment that brutalized her. It remained like a signal, flaring in the corner of her mind to keep her aware, to remind her not to lose sight of her reality--for if she dug too deep, she might not find her way back out again.
She dropped down into that ashy chamber, barren and dead, massive and hollow. She could hear her breaths echoing in the dark recesses, steady as her slumbering heartbeat that thudded below her feet.
There was another layer yet.
She wanted to curl up and stop here. It was enough that she hurt less now. This was far enough to hide. But she knew that the wicked eternal being who held her captive now would be able to find her here. She had too many secrets to hide to risk being plucked out like a rabbit trying to burrow away from a fox. So she steeled herself and started scratching away at the ashen floor, the smoldering shell that warmed her feet. She had no magic here, even though this was where she had once kept it. She had to rely only on her own strength, her own will, to take her farther down.
She wasn’t sure how long she was scratching, scratching, digging. But soon she had opened up a tiny hole, and she wriggled one leg down inside, working the hole open until it was large enough for her slender frame to drop through.
Then she fell.
The breath was stolen from her lungs as she plunged down into open air, hair whipping up over her head like a golden flag. The world had become bright, so bright, as though she had climbed into the heart of a forge. It wasn’t until she heard the drumbeat that she realized she had done exactly that--only the forge was her, and the drumbeat was her own heart.
She did not crash onto the golden floor, but alighted softly, as though her lover’s gentle wind had broken her fall. The light had been blinding at first, but she adjusted to the burning brightness of it and looked up to see the hole she had made close over her head. She let out a long breath. She was safe for now. She knew this was a temporary hiding place, but if it could preserve her until she had a chance of fighting back, that was all she needed.
She gazed at the column of fire that thudded and writhed with her heartbeat. In the crackling of the flames, she could hear voices--names. Her names.
Celaena. Lillian. Elentiya.
Aelin.
Then, like a sigh, the most precious name of all: Fireheart.
Aelin tipped her head back and managed to smile at the peace that flowed over her as her true heart of fire breathed that name over her, caressing her skin with her mate’s voice. Then, swallowing over the profound thirst that gripped her throat, she plunged her arm into the column of fire and seized the cord she knew lay hidden deep inside.
And she pulled.
The screech of a hawk echoed in the chamber and Aelin began to cry. She gripped the cord as long as she could bear before she snatched her arm out of the fire and took three steps back, sinking onto the golden floor and staring into the light.
She stiffened as footsteps sounded on the floor behind her. She whirled around, but her small strength failed her and she crumpled. Her eyes fell on golden shoes and an ivory hem, and as she dragged her gaze up she crumbled even more, her tears coming with greater force.
“Why are you crying, Elentiya?”
“Nehemia,” Aelin croaked. “Are you really here?”
“I am where you have always kept me,” the princess of Eyllwe replied. “Deep in your heart of fire.” Her golden jewelry tinkled as she sank down to sit across from Aelin.
Aelin trembled and struggled to meet Nehemia’s eyes. “Have I come too far? Is there any going back?” Suddenly the thought of going back to the surface seemed like far too difficult a task. In this state, Aelin wasn’t sure she could accomplish it. “Have I failed at last?”
“You can go back,” Nehemia said. “Your fate is not yet as mine was. But you cannot go back as you are now.”
Aelin sucked in a trembling breath and nodded.
“This is not a refuge,” Nehemia continued. “This is a trying ground. Here you will have the borrowed time you wanted. Then, when you finally return, you can be the queen they need.”
“I wish it had been me,” Aelin whispered, the tear burning hot trails down her face. “You would have been better for them.”
“You know why it couldn’t be me.”
Aelin nodded, but then she paused. “Why endeavor to become a queen? I am destined to die. I . . . I have already ensured Terrasen’s future. They don’t need me.”
Nehemia shook her head. “Then you truly are a fool, Elentiya.”
Aelin’s head snapped up and she finally met her old friend’s eyes. “I have always been a fool. A foolish child pretending to be queen. A foolish child who should have died on that riverbank and paid the gods their price. If Elena hadn’t interfered . . . if she hadn’t saved me . . . then you would still be alive.”
“Still alive, perhaps, but still under Adarlan’s thumb. The gods care only for their own ends. They would leave Erilea behind in Erawan’s clutches without any qualms. Elena has made many mistakes. She has cost us both a great deal. But though she has written the past, she cannot write the future. And if I know anyone clever enough to defy the gods, Elentiya, it is you.”
The corner of Aelin’s mouth quirked up. “Defy the gods . . . I rather like the sound of that. If it can be done.”
“It can be done,” Nehemia said, “but not as you are now.”
“I am too weak,” Aelin sighed, her shoulders slumped. “Maeve has me, and she may still get what she wants.”
Nehemia shook her head. “That is not what I meant.”
Aelin raised her eyebrows.
“You have denied parts of yourself, Elentiya. You have done this before, with intention, but now it is simply out of misguided effort.”
“I don’t understand,” Aelin said, her voice tight.
Nehemia stood and gestured to the column of fire. “There is a reason your heart beats with all of your names. Because they are all a part of you. You cannot shed them like skins or fine dresses--they must all be a part of you, at all times. You are Aelin. You are Celaena. You are Elentiya. The Nameless One with many names. If you are to defy the gods . . . you must be all.”
Aelin gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, but she slowly rose to stand beside Nehemia. “But how?” she demanded. “I . . . I spent so long killing Celaena. I . . . I am not proud of who she was.”
“You might not be,” Nehemia said, “but I am. And so is he.”
Footsteps sounded behind them.
Despite the fire that surrounded and filled her, Aelin’s blood ran cold. “Please, no,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t look back.”
Nehemia’s face hardened. “You can, and you will. I told you this was a trying ground. What made you think it would be easy?”
“Please,” Aelin said again, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Turn around, Aelin,” Nehemia ordered.
Aelin didn’t move.
The figure behind them took three more steps. There was a shifting of fabric as though the person was stuffing their hands in their pockets. Then came his voice.
“And here I thought you’d enjoy telling me to shove off again.”
A broken sob burst from Aelin’s throat and she whirled around before she could convince herself not to. Then, with hot tears still clinging to her lashes, she opened her eyes, fixing her gaze onto the warm, dark brown eyes staring back at her.
Her voice was small when she finally managed to speak.
“Hello, Sam.”