Heir of Fire and Ice

Lost

Aelin had spent the past hours looking for Elentiya, to no avail. She was exhausted, hungry and terrified for Elentiya. The entirety of Orynth was now looking, even the children, though they treated it as a game. They had looked into the Staghorns and Oakwald, Rowan circling ahead. They had visited all Elentiya's favourite spots, but she had had just disappeared. Nobody had said it, but they all knew Maeve could have taken her back. 

There wasn't really anything else they could do right now, though, except go back to Orynth. For the time being, anyway. They were in no state to fight Maeve. Worry gnawed at her though, and a voice - possibly her own, told her: You weren't fast enough to save Sam and Nehemia. You weren't brave enough to help Lady Marion. Who are you to think that you're good enough now? Her dead building up. Maeve. The battlefield. The intense relief to realize that all of her friends had survived. The shame of relief when so many others had died. She realised Aedion was talking, and tuned back in.

"Get some rest - you're exhausted. I'll look after things until Rowan gets back." She would have argued had her legs not been on the verge of collapse. He even looked surprised when she nodded, and moved towards her bedroom.

She wasn't ready. She hadn't anticipated it would come so soon, and she needed more time. She needed to at least say goodbye to Rowan. Her carranam. Her husband. Her mate. She wasn't ready - not yet. She tried pleading with the cruel, faceless gods, who only ever turned away. This couldn't happen. Impassive, cruel beings. But... no. That made no sense. If they did not care, they would not have made the deal with Elena. She was The Queen Who Had  Been Promised. She was important. They had been watching her. So she pleaded harder, bringing her sorrow out to them. She told them what she had suffered, begged, just for five more minutes with her beloved Rowan. Finally, when her voice had long been reduced to a whisper, when she could not fight anymore, even for him, she dropped to the floor.

Light - pure light. Fire. The heat did not burn her, nor the women who was surely a goddess that stood before her. Mala. She had no distinguishable age - she just was. Her hair and eyes were pure flame, and her battle armor was, too. Yet - despite this, she was motherly, smiled kindly upon Aelin.

"Hello, Child."

"I'm not a child." Stupid, she was so stupid. Mala might be able to help.

"To yourself, perhaps not. Your soul is not that of a child. You would think that age would not matter, as we have infinite time, but it still does."  Why - what was going on?

"You have been brought here to replace the keys into the lock. We have watched intently as you journey through life, and have all marveled at your strength. You have suffered so much - too much, I argued. It has made us wonder if we were perhaps too kind to Elena." 

"But she's your daughter!" Mala just smiled sadly.

"Perhaps, but you are still my descendant. Sometimes you have to make a choice. It might be a cruel or unfair choice. It could be the wrong choice. I have made mine.

"Nameless is my price. You have paid it. With your suffering, your loss. Originally, it was to be your life. But now, you have paid it with the deaths of others. To replace the keys, as you use your magic, think of all that you have lost. Channel it. Use it to hone your magic. Are you ready?" Hearing the unspoken threat, Aelin nodded. Taking out the three wyrdkeys, she let them lay in her palm. She reached out, with her magic, sensing where they would go back. Back in their rightful place. And so she began.

The fire was endless. There was no beginning, no finish. Just the fire. It washed over her, and she let all her grief out as well. Everything that she had locked away, pushed down re submerged. She let it, made it shape her. She was fire, and she was these people, these memories. It went on and on, never ending, till at last, it reached the end. There was no more to pour out. What now - would it take her? But no, instead, it formed all of her demons. Everything she had done as Celeana, the people she had left. The people she had hurt. It was her - the version she hated. The selfish, fearful person. She was not her anymore, so she looked on without fear.