Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty Six

Not women. Witches.

They were all young and beautiful, with hair and skin of every shade and color. But it only took me a second to understand who Rowan was referring to. Otherworldly stunning, her hair looked like a veil of shimmering moonlight, her burnished gold eyes cold and calculating.

She was easily the most beautiful person I had ever seen - and the most horrible.

Lithe and long-limbed, she moved with a swagger that only an immortal could achieve, her red cloak snapping behind her, revealing riding leathers that clung to every curve of her muscular frame. A living weapon - in every sense of the word.

Prowling through the camp, the witch inspected the wyverns and gave lowly spoken orders that were carried away by the wind before they reached us. The other twelve witches hung off her every word, tracking her most minute movements as though she were the axis of their world. Two of them followed behind her especially closely. Lieutenants.

The wide bough we were perched on suddenly seemed as fragile as a twig, trembling beneath my feet. Or maybe that was me.

Without an aerial legion of our own, any army that Terrasen might raise would immediately be annihilated. Along with the friends and family around me.

And even without the enormous beasts, something about the way the thirteen witches in the clearing moved together had me doubting how we would fare on solid ground. They were a tight-knit, brutal unit - and not the sort that took prisoners.

Rowan put a hand on my waist, as if he could scent my pooling dread rise with every beat of my heart.

"You took down one of their Matrons," he said, his words barely louder than a rustling leaf. "You can take down her inferiors."

I had, and with only my human form, not a lick of magic in sight. But that was one witch. Not thousands of them. And not with wyverns.

Still, I knew that was a problem for another day. Our only priority was to get Chaol out of here before he did something even more monumentally stupid. So instead of losing myself to my despair, or considering if the wyvern's curving talons were actually as long as my forearm, I focused on scouring the surrounding wood, looking for any sign of our errant ally.

"Horses approaching from the north," Rowan murmured.

The harsh, staccato beat of flapping wings caught my attention. "And more wings from the west. Let's go."

Rowan cupped his hands to his mouth and signaled with a bird's call, so lifelike that some of the forest's feathered occupants chirped back. I'd have to remember to tease him for it later.

For now, it was enough to have our group scaling back down to the base of the large oak trees. Centering myself during the descent, I mentally prepared myself for what we were about to witness.

I could only assume it must be the Matron flying in. The white-haired witch didn't look nearly ancient enough to be the coven's leader - despite her obvious authority. The horses would be the king. And Dorian.

My heart stuttered painfully in my chest at the thought. No matter what occurred, I had to remember that now was not the time to help him. Not yet.

But soon. So, so soon.

Aedion looked ready to start ripping out witches' throats when we reached the ground and slunk through the forest again, heading for the clearing. Azriel's gaze was sharp, the spymaster already calculating, weighing how best to proceed. Cassian kept an arrow nocked in his bow as we slipped through the brush, his and Rhysand's faces grave - ready for anything.