Rising Flames | Throne of Glass

55

Lysandra blinked, and a girl was standing there. She looked young, no less than fifteen and no older than nineteen.

Sleek ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes were the most piercing caramel flecked with amber.

The girl's shoulders were pulled inwards, her head drooped, as if she were used to hiding.

Curiosity lit a spark in Lysandra's chest, and her previous conversation with Sam had been banished entirely at the sight of the shifter. Aside from knowing that her father and uncle were shifters, she had never met anyone else with this ability. And to think there had been one so close to her all this time, all this time they had been friends...

'Your name is Emmeline?'

'No,' the girl said, a pink immediately rising to her cheeks as if she'd been caught doing an immoral act.

'I believe I knew you as Emmeline Caeli. What is your true your name?'

The girl grinned a little, her eyes lighting up with the act. 'I'm sorry. Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Dixon Ennar.'

'Dixon...? Oh, gods,' Lysandra swore. She fanned herself with a hand despite the fact it was blazing cold, smiling in disbelief. 'Did you happen to lose an older sister?'

She didn't mean it to slip out so casually.

Dixon paled. 'Yes. Yes, I did.'

Lysandra blew out a breath. 'Shit.'

Dixon didn't blink at the curse. She asked, 'May I ask your family name?'

Lysandra let out a throaty chuckle. 'You wouldn't believe me. I can hardly believe it myself.'

Dixon stared at her, caramel eyes wide.

'Tell me, unless this is just a ridiculous dream, that this is not coincidence. I was thrown out onto the streets as a child. You are missing an older sister. Rare as it is, we both have the ability to shift. And - tell me, unless it's truly absurd, we're related.' Lysandra laughed dryly. 'How else would you explain that my last name is Ennar?'

~

Within the camp, there was a distinct line between the human and the Fae. No one wasn't aware of it.

But the days went on as usual, albeit with a little more hostility from the soldiers.

Aelin continued to train with Rowan, eat lunch with Aedion (his men were a cheerful bunch, really), and sit quietly in the assemblies. Being detached from the royal life from the age of eight, and reformed as an assassin, she hadn't much experience in the area of warfare, as expected. Yet her strategy lessons with Arobynn had payed off, for she grasped the general gist of the meetings.

By the end of the third meeting, she had become bored with them. From the reports, Adarlan had made no signs of advancing, but rumour had it that their numbers were slowly increasing.

It was also a little sore to say, but Aelin had to admit that she was a little lonely. Aedion had taken on a great responsibility - and so she rarely had the time to converse with him aside from during mealtimes. Rowan, Connall and Endymion, dear Endymion of whom Aelin couldn't ever thank enough, were greatly involved in the strategising. Sam thankfully hadn't been too melodramatic since his outburst, but greetings and contact became simple a curt bow.

Well, there was Lysandra, but Aelin didn't know where to find her - and if she did know, if she could be bothered to find her. As for Enya, Aelin could possibly say she saw her sister too much (they also shared a tent).

Aelin had gotten drunk with Ansel on the first night and cried a dam together, but she could now say they were both much happier now.

As for the last woman, Nesryn Faliq, she could apparently have matched Rowan in terms of stoniness, and Aelin couldn't bear that.

There was one thing that had her curiosity perk, though - and it was the tent situated a few yards across from Aelin's. It was guarded inconspicuously all the time, and from what she could tell, there were only two occupants.

And so, in an unnecessarily terribly dramatic narrative, one harsh winter's morning with the frost biting from every direction, Aelin fought through the blizzard (the weather was, in reality, completely fine), wrapping her cloak tighter around her body and raising a heavy, crystal-crusted sleeve to block the wind. She took step after step, dragging her feet atop the frozen ground, feeling her muscles tire after every one (she was, in reality, too lazy to walk) for what seemed like miles (it was no further than twelve Rowans lying down).

Scoffing at her own ridiculousness, Aelin paused outside the tent, and called, 'Anyone in there?'

There was a long pause - and she waited until she was positive her feet were frozen and she could no longer feel them - before a male voice replied, 'Who is it?'

It was a strangely familiar voice.

'Who are you?'

'Can I come in?'

'Stop answering my questions with questions.'

'Give it up, Chaol,' a second voice said. It had the lightness of Yulemas bells, and was awfully smooth. 'Let the woman in.'

Aelin only knew one Chaol.

She lifted the flap and marched right in. And beheld Chaol Westfall and Dorian Havilliard, sitting together on the bed, a small pile of books between them.

'Oh, good,' Aelin said. 'You're bored, too?'

Chaol responded with a grunt.

Dorian cocked his head, his blue eyes twinkling. 'Would you rather me say it's a surprise to meet you again, or introduce myself as if we've never met before?'

'I'll go with the latter,' Aelin said.

'I'm Dorian Havilliard. This is my...'

'Partner,' Chaol affirmed.

'I'm not judging,' Aelin remarked, surveying the close proximity between them.

'That's Chaol Westfall.'

'I'm Aelin Galathynius.'

Dorian huffed out a laugh, a wisp of silvery smoke escaping his lips into the cold air as he did. 'The long lost queen whom my father is so keen on destroying.'

'Why are you here, and not there?'

Dorian let out a louder laugh, trailing off sheepishly. 'It was... unplanned. I just felt like it.'

Days of feeling nothing had left an empty pit inside Aelin, and now a single comment had sparked it to fill. Her fingers grew hotter. 'What.' Aelin stared. 'We're on the brink of war, and you just felt like running away because you wanted to experience some adventure. Don't tell me you're that narcissistic-'

'His father doesn't care.'

Aelin's fire was brought to an abrupt halt.

'Dorian leaving hasn't affected the king's plans at all. It's just one less obstacle for the king. That's what he'd be thinking.' Chaol continued, 'And what about you? It was okay to run away just because you didn't feel like acting responsible-'

'Cut it out, you two.' Dorian's sigh pierced through Chaol's words. 'Aelin, do you like books? Yes? Well, have you read this one? You have? Great! Chaol's refused to read it because of the explicit scenes, but I keep telling him he should broaden his perspective. What do you think of Lison's works? He's definitely my favourite author...'