Their Fireheart

Chapter Forty Four

A few yards ahead, Azriel was a swift shadow as we rapidly neared the landmass on the horizon.

Hybern.

Dark and cold as Maeve's eyes. As desolate and depraved as the dungeon beneath the Glass Castle's library. Sucking energy from the air around it as though the land itself was a parasite.

"This place makes the Illyrian war camps feel cozy," Cassian hissed.

I had to agree. A wall of bone-white cliffs arose, their tops flat and grassy, leading away to a terrain of sloping, barren hills. All of it emanates an overwhelming sense of nothingness.

"That's his castle ahead," Cassian said through clenched teeth, swerving.

Built into the cliff itself and perched above the sea was a lean, crumbling castle of white stone. Not the pure, sparkling white of marble, or elegant in any way but .. off-white. The color of bone. A few lights flickered in the windows and balconies - no patrol. We'd arrived during the guard shift, heading towards a small sea door at the bottom of the monstrosity.

Over my heart, the Book cackled, Home - we're going home.

And then I felt the dull, pulsing power. With every foot closer, I could feel the strength of the Cauldron. Ancient - cruel. No allegiance to any but absolute power.

I was silent as we swept closer towards the base of the cliffs. Mor was waiting on the sea door's platform, sword out, door open.

Azriel landed first, swiftly and silently, immediately sending shadows to scout the hall ahead. Mor waited for us as we landed - her eyes on Cassian. They didn't speak, but their glance was too long to be anything but casual. A promise heavy in the air. A promise I prayed I wouldn't make them break.

The passage ahead was dark and silent. Azriel appeared, bloody blade in hand. "Guards are down," his fierce eyes met mine. "Hurry."

Cassian turned to me, pulling me to him to capture my lips in a fierce kiss. His eyes were solemn as he said, "Let's do this Little Warrior. And then go home."

I could only nod jerkily as he turned, leading us into the dark passage. Inhaling a shaky breath, I followed, Mor at my back.

The Cauldron tugged me forward, trying with every breath to haul me into its dark embrace. Cassian and Azriel branched out at each of the passage's crossroads, returning with grim faces and bloodied blades. Every death brought a zing of satisfaction to my soul. One less enemy to contend with, to wreck and butcher my mates, to torment the people of Prythian.

We descended through a dark and ancient dungeon, the smell horrid and familiar. Mor kept at my side, constantly monitoring. The last line of defense. My heart fractured a little more when I realized what her orders were - that if Cassian and Azriel were hurt, she was to make sure I got out - by whatever means necessary.

Down another stairwell, down, down, down -

Each step an eternity as the Cauldron pulled at the Book, at my very life-force.

Long moments later, we emerged into a round chamber beneath the heart of the castle. In the center of the room, atop a small dais, sat the Cauldron.

Home, the Book of Breathings sighed. Home.

Underneath a pulsing ball of faelight, the Cauldron stole my breath from my lungs. It didn't glow, or gleam - no, there was no brightness to be found. Instead it took. It stole the light from its surroundings until it was the only thing you could see. Perhaps the size of a bathtub, it was forged of dark iron, three legs crafted like creeping branches covered in thorns. It was hideous - and alluring.