Their Fireheart

Chapter One

Which is why I was in this loathsome place. The criminals of the city always had their finger on the pulse of various ongoings - they had to, to stay alive. And if I happened to discover any news about the Crown Prince and the Captain of the Guard, well - that would be a bonus.

It wasn't a mere coincidence that, on my second night scoping out the city, I'd spotted Tern - one of Arobynn's favorite assassins - at the Shadow Market. And followed him here, to where Arobynn was set to take a meeting. Likely with someone very, very important. Or dangerous. Either way, it made an impression.

I took another sip of ale as I surveyed the room. Skipping over the writhing bodies, the gaunt-faced, hollow-eyed women, the guards and voyeurs and flesh mongers, to focus on the space adjacent to the alcoves, where a row of wooden booths were tucked into the wall. On the furthest booth, where a gleam of polished leather booths stretched out beneath the table. A second pair, worn and muddy, were braced on the floor across from the first, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

Whoever Arobynn was meeting, he was stupid enough to have his personal guard stay visible. A beacon altering the vultures that something rather important was happening in that last booth.

I inspected the guard - a slender, hooded young woman armed with nearly enough blades to rival my own arsenal. She leaned on a nearby pillar, the ends of her silky, shoulder-length dark hair shining in the light as she carefully monitored the pleasure hall. Despite her lack of uniform or house colors or sigils, she was too obvious in her movements to be anything but a guard.

It was apparent she wasn't used to these kinds of venues. My past self may have gotten swept into the intrigue of a client outside this world demanding a meeting with the King of Assassins at the Vault of all places - but my current self had too much to worry about.

Whoever the client was, whatever the meeting was about - it didn't matter. Their time was up.

Setting down my ale, I pushed off the bar, slipping through the crowd towards the far booth. I noted each face I passed, each table of revelers and criminals and minor nobility. The client's personal guard tracked me, a gloved hand slipping to the unremarkable blade at her hip.

I was half-tempted to smirk at the woman, would have, actually, if I hadn't been so focussed on Arobynn. On setting the first of many plans into motion.

After my ... conversation with Maeve, I'd traveled to the harbor in Wendlyn as quickly as I could to secure a vessel. Once at sea, I'd given myself a day to rest and to mourn my actions, to miss my mates. With the bonds solidified, even stretched thin as they were, their absence haunted me like a phantom limb. In fact, it still felt that way, even if I refused to allow myself to focus on it.

The second day at sea, I'd begun planning. Prior to returning to Erilea, I'd already had a general course of action thought out, but the long days at sea had allowed me to strategize each step and calculation. By the time we'd docked in Rifthold, my strategy was exact, precise, with back up plan after back up lying in wait if something were to veer off course.

That plan had only shifted slightly when I'd hit that unseen marker just off the coast and all my magic vanished. I'd made the choice to remain in my fae form so I'd still have that immortal grace and strength. It was worth it, even with all the contingencies I'd had to create to keep my fae features hidden. But - the shock of being unable to access my magic, my well of fire and the slithering darkness creeping around the edges that I'd yet to explore - it was a new sort of emptiness. And so the timeline had been adjusted.

To destroy the towers the King of Rifthold had erected over a decade ago. The ones that emanated a pulsing power, cousin to the one caged around my neck. The construction of which predated the fall of Terrasen.