Two days after Aelin's departure, it was all Aedion and Rowan could do to stay away from each other's throats.
The fights provided a distraction, and a welcome one too. A distraction from Aelin's absence, the gaping hole she'd left in her wake. No cinders chased her down the hall, no hearth fires flared when she entered a room, no curses echoed through the castle whenever Rowan knocked her flat on her ass during sparring training.
It was too quiet without her. Too empty.
Already, the two warriors were beating the pulp out of each other at every opportunity, terrifying the servants on several occasions. They sparred the night she left, sparred until even Rowan conceded that any more fighting that day would do them more harm than good.
Still, that didn't stop them from fighting the next morning. And noon. And evening. And the morning after that.
Aedion was in Rowan's bathing chamber, splashing water on his face and swearing loud enough for Rowan to hear him, even through the closed door. Rowan had broken his nose with a blow to the face that was far harder than he intended.
The warrior grunted in pain as he healed his shoulder. Aedion had managed to dislocate it, and though he had shoved the joint back into place, some muscle had been ripped. The healing left a deep ache behind.
Aedion, his face damp, walked in. He was shirtless, and countless bruises inflicted by Rowan's well-placed punches marred his chest, though they were already fading. His nose was a deep purple and nearly twice the size it normally was. Rowan gave him a predatory smile.
"Bastard," Aedion growled, dropping onto the bed beside Rowan. "Come on, then. Fix me up."
"I'll have to set it first," Rowan warned.
"Go ahead."
Rowan placed both hands on Aedion's huge nose and pushed. There was a sharp crack as the bone snapped into place, and Aedion swore.
"Son of a bitch," Aedion hissed, bringing a hand up to his face. The bruising was already diminishing, hurried along by Rowan's magic. Aedion's nose slowly reverted to an ordinary size.
"You heal unusually fast for a demi-fae," Rowan remarked, rolling his shoulder to check for any aches.
Aedion went very, very still.
"What do you mean?" He asked sharply.
Rowan shrugged, "It's been an hour at most, and your bruises are almost gone. Just an observation."
"But Gavriel... Gavriel doesn't have that kind of magic, does he?" Aedion asked, going suddenly pale. Rowan pretended not to notice how he flinched when he said his father's name.
"He can heal to a certain extent, like the rest of us. But no, his magic doesn't revolve entirely around healing."
Aedion sagged with relief, loosing a long breath.
"But Aelin's mother - your aunt - she had a water affinity, right?" Rowan asked.
"..Yes." Aedion replied hesitantly.
"It's possible that the magic bypassed your mother and entered your blood instead," Rowan mused, "Your Fae blood might have contributed to that." He turned his head to look at Aedion, and raised an eyebrow, "You look like Death is staring you in the face."
"D-Do I have... magic?" Aedion asked. All the colour had drained from his face. "None of your... games. Just tell me if I have magic."
"I don't know," Rowan conceded, surprised at the raw terror on Aedion's face, "But it's a definite possibility. If you do have magic, you'll need to learn to hone it-"
Aedion rose from the bed and strode out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
The next morning, Aedion didn't turn up in the garden for their usual session of brutal fighting.
Rowan was wise enough not to push it. Instead, he embedded daggers of ice in the surrounding trees, missing Aelin and hating himself for letting her go.
Aedion stared at his palms as if the answers to all his questions lay there.
Could these hands, these scarred, tanned hands... could they hold rippling water just as Aelin could hold roiling flame? Could they control healing just as Rowan commanded ice?
Could he have magic?
He had never shown any signs of magic during those early years before it fell. He'd never had... episodes like Aelin's. She had incinerated tapestries and burned books and turned tables and chairs to mere cinders whenever she was frightened or upset. Aedion had never had incidents like that.
But...
But Rhoe and his men had known that Gavriel was his father. They had known, and drilled control into his blood from the moment he could walk. Control, control, control. Control that volatile temper. Control that Fae territoriality. Control that deep-set urge to protect, and raze the world to the ground if need be.
And his mother had died to keep his heritage a secret from Maeve.
A bolt of terror rushed into him, pure and undiluted. Aelin had told him about the vision she'd shown Maeve - did that mean she was able to pry into other's minds? Had she rummaged through Gavriel's memories and found the ones about his mother who looked so strikingly similar to Aelin herself? Even if she suspected, Gavriel would have to confess if Maeve demanded it. The blood oath left no room for free will.
Breathing became difficult, and he buried his head in his hands, trying to calm himself. But it didn't work.
And now that Maeve had seen Aelin in the flesh... would she have made the connection?
And if she had... would she come to the same conclusion that Rowan had? Maeve wanted the wyrdkeys, that much was clear. And Aelin had one, hidden inside the amulet of Orynth. But if interrogated, Aedion would hold that secret until his last breath.
But maybe Maeve wasn't interested in interrogation. Maybe she wanted Aedion for ransom. Or perhaps she'd find some way to trick him into swearing himself to her. Aedion wasn't ready to put anything past that bitch.
It would be an act of war for Maeve to try and capture him.
But Aedion knew, deep in his bones, and Maeve wouldn't give a damn about war. The only thing she cared about was power, and the lengths she would go to to obtain it.