They took back the temple in twenty minutes.
It was only ten before they had control of it, the soldiers either dead or, if they’d surrendered, hauled to the town dungeon by the men and women who had joined the fight. The other ten minutes were spent scouring the place for any ambushers. But they found only their trappings and refuse, and the sight of the temple in such disrepair, the sacred walls carved with the names of Adarlanian brutes, the ancient urns of never-ending fire extinguished or used for chamber pots…
Aelin had let them all see when she sent a razing fire through the place, gobbling up any trace of those soldiers, removing years of dirt and dust and gull droppings to reveal the glorious, ancient carvings beneath, etched into every pillar and step and wall.
The temple complex comprised three buildings around a massive courtyard: the archives, the residence for the long-dead priestesses, and the temple proper, where the ancient Rock was held. It was in the archives, the most defensible area by far, that she left Aedion and Lysandra to find anything suitable for bedding, a wall of flame now encompassing the entire site.
Aedion’s eyes still shone with the thrill of battle when she claimed she wanted a moment alone by the Rock. He’d fought beautifully—and she’d made sure to leave some men alive for him to take down. She was not the only symbol here tonight, not the only one watched.
And as for the shifter who had ripped into those soldiers with such feral savagery … Aelin left her again in falcon form, perched on a rotting beam in the cavernous archives, staring at the enormous rendering of a sea dragon carved into the floor, at last revealed by that razing fire. One of many similar carvings throughout, the heritage of a people long since exiled.
From every space inside the temple, the crashing of waves on the shore far below whispered or roared. There was nothing to absorb the sound, to soften it. Great, sprawling rooms and courtyards where there should have been altars and statues and gardens of reflection were wholly empty, the smoke of her fire still lingering.
Good. Fire could destroy—but also cleanse.
She crept across the darkened temple-complex grounds to where the innermost, holiest of sanctuaries sprawled to the lip of the sea. Golden light leaked onto the rocky ground before the inner sanctum’s steps—light from the now-eternally-burning vats of flame to honor Brannon’s gift.
Still clothed in black, Aelin was little more than a shadow as she dimmed those fires to sleepy, murmuring embers and entered the heart of the temple.
A great sea wall had been built to push back the wrath of storms from the stone itself, but even then, the space was damp, the air thick with brine.
Aelin cleared the massive antechamber and strode between the two fat pillars that framed the inner sanctuary. At its far end, open to the wrath of the sea beyond, arose the massive black Rock.
It was smooth as glass, no doubt from the reverent hands that had touched it over the millennia, and perhaps as big as a farmer’s market wagon. It jutted upward, overhanging the sea, and starlight bounced off its pocked surface as Aelin extinguished every flame but the sole white candle fluttering in the center of the Rock.
The temple carvings revealed no Wyrdmarks or further messages from the Little Folk. Just swirls and stags.
She’d have to do this the old-fashioned way, then.
Aelin mounted the small stairs that allowed pilgrims to gaze upon the sacred Rock—then stepped onto it.
15
The sea seemed to pause.
Aelin tugged the Wyrdkey from her jacket, letting it rest between her breasts as she took a seat on the overhanging lip of the stone and peered out into the night-veiled sea.
And waited.
The sliver of crescent moon was beginning to descend when a deep male voice said behind her, “You look younger than I thought.”
Aelin stared at the sea, even as her stomach tightened. “But just as good-looking, right?”
She did not hear any footsteps, but the voice was definitely closer as he said, “At least my daughter was right about your humility.”
“Funny, she never implied you had a sense of humor.”
A whisper of wind to her right, then long, muscled legs beneath ancient armor appeared beside hers, sandaled feet dangling into the surf. She finally dared to turn her head, finding that armor continued to a powerful male body and a broad-boned, handsome face. He might have fooled anyone into thinking he was flesh and blood—were it not for the pale glimmer of blue light along his edges.
Aelin bowed her head slightly to Brannon.
A half smile was his only acknowledgment, his red-gold hair shifting in the moonlight. “A brutal but efficient battle,” he said.
She shrugged. “I was told to come to this temple. I found it occupied. So I unoccupied it. You’re welcome.”
His lips twitched toward a smile. “I cannot stay long.”
“But you’re going to manage to cram in as many cryptic warnings as you can, right?”
Brannon’s brows rose, his brandy-colored eyes crinkling with amusement. “I had my friends send you a message to come for a reason, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure of it.” She wouldn’t have risked reclaiming the temple otherwise. “But first tell me about Maeve.” She’d had enough of waiting until they dumped their message into her lap. She had her own gods-damned questions.
Brannon’s mouth tightened. “Specify what you need to know.”
“Can she be killed?”
The king’s head whipped toward her. “She is old, Heir of Terrasen. She was old when I was a child. Her plans are far-reaching—”
“I know, I know. But will she die if I shove a blade into her heart? Cut off her head?”
A pause. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
Brannon shook his head. “I don’t know. All Fae may be killed, yet she has outlived even our extended life spans, and her power … no one really understands her power.”
“But you journeyed with her to get the keys back—”
“I do not know. But she long feared my flame. And yours.”
“She’s not Valg, is she?”
A low laugh. “No. As cold as one, but no.” Brannon’s edges began to blur a bit.
But he saw the question in her eyes and nodded for her to go on.
Aelin swallowed, her jaw clenching a bit as she forced out a breath. “Does the power ever get easier to handle?”
Brannon’s gaze softened a fraction. “Yes and no. How it impacts your relationships with those around you becomes harder than managing the power—yet is tied to it as well. Magic is no easy gift in any form, yet fire … We burn not just within our magic, but also in our very souls. For better or worse.” His attention flicked to Goldryn, peeking over her shoulder, and he laughed in quiet surprise. “Is the beast in the cave dead?”
“No, but he told me that he misses you and you should pay him a visit. He’s lonely out there.”
Brannon chuckled again. “We would have had fun together, you and I.”
“I’m starting to wish they’d sent you to deal with me instead of your daughter. The sense of humor must skip a generation.”
Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say. For that sense of humor instantly faded from that beautiful tan face, those brandy eyes going cold and hard. Brannon gripped her hand, but his fingers went through hers—right down to the stone itself. “The Lock, Heir of Terrasen. I summoned you here for it. In the Stone Marshes, there lies a sunken city—the Lock is hidden there. It is needed to bind the keys back into the broken Wyrdgate. It is the only way to get them back into that gate and seal it permanently. My daughter begs you—”
“What Lock—”
“Find the Lock.”
“Where in the Stone Marshes? It’s not exactly a small—”
Brannon was gone.
Aelin scowled and shoved the Amulet of Orynth back into her shirt. “Of course there’s a gods-damned lock,” she muttered.
She groaned a bit as she eased to her
feet, and frowned at the night-dark sea crashing mere yards away. At the ancient queen across it, readying her armada.
Aelin stuck out her tongue.
“Well, if Maeve wasn’t already poised to attack, that’ll certainly set her off,” Aedion drawled from the shadows of a nearby pillar.
Aelin stiffened, hissing.
Her cousin grinned at her, his teeth moon white. “You think I didn’t know you had something else up your sleeve for why we took back this temple? Or that this spring in Rifthold taught me nothing about your tendency to be planning a few things at once?”
She rolled her eyes, stepping off the sacred stone and stomping down the stairs. “I assume you heard everything.”
“Brannon even winked at me before he vanished.”
She clenched her jaw.
Aedion leaned his shoulder against the carved pillar. “A Lock, eh? And when, precisely, were you going to inform us about this new shift in direction?”
She stalked up to him. “When I rutting felt like it, that’s when. And it’s not a shift in direction—not yet. Allies remain our goal, not cryptic commands from dead royals.”
Aedion just smiled. A ripple in the murky shadows of the temple snagged her attention, and Aelin heaved a sigh. “You two are honestly insufferable.”