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Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of fire, beloved of Mala Light-Bringer, and rightful Queen of Terrasen,
when he found her half-dead on the banks of the Florine. He’d allowed
“When you shatter the chains of this world and forge the next, remember that art is as vital as food to a kingdom. Without it, a kingdom is nothing, and will be forgotten by time. I have amassed enough money in my miserable life to not need any more—so you will understand me clearly when I say that wherever you set your throne, no matter how long it takes, I will come to you, and I will bring music and dancing.”
She was the heir of fire. She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was Aelin Fireheart, and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph.
Behind them, across the hall, the dancers shattered their roses on the floor, and Aedion grinned at his queen as the entire world went to hell.
Even if there was another scent entwined with hers. Staggeringly powerful and ancient and—male. Interesting.
ROWAN!!!!
Stones were eternal—flowers were not.
Rowan was the most powerful full-blooded Fae male alive. And his scent was all over her. Yet she had no gods-damned idea. “Rowan Whitethorn is a legend.
Aedion turned to the captain. “You want to pick a fight, you come to me, not her.”
“Take off your hood,”
But he hadn’t remembered just how stunning she was until she’d taken off her hood earlier, and it had struck him stupid.
“Lorcan makes a move against you, and he dies.”
“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster,” he said with a grin broad enough to show off his elongated canines.
“Is there a specific color you’d like me to wear? If I’m going to scandalize you, I should at least do it in something you like.” “You’re a menace.”
That gods-damned nightgown. Shit. He was in such deep, unending shit.
Whatever this new weapon was, whatever the three High Witches came up with … The humans wouldn’t stand a chance.
“And,” Rowan added, “if you ever speak to her again the way you did last night, I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it down your throat. Understand?”
“I don’t know whether to throttle you or clap you on the back.” “I think there’s a long line of people who feel the same way.”
“You look like—” “A queen?” “The fire-breathing bitch-queen those bastards claim you are.”
“I kept thinking about how you might never know that I missed you with only an ocean between us. But if it was death separating us … I would find you. I don’t care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always.”
But perhaps the monsters needed to look out for each other every now and then.
“What if we go on,” he said, “only to more pain and despair? What if we go on, only to find a horrible end waiting for us?” Aelin looked northward, as if she could see all the way to Terrasen. “Then it is not the end.”
She said softly, “You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.”
WITCH KILLER— THE HUMAN IS STILL INSIDE HIM
Then she smiled with every last shred of courage, of desperation, of hope for the glimmer of that glorious future. “Let’s go rattle the stars.”
And, bellowing his grief, his rage, his pain, he snapped the collar from his neck.
They joined hands. So the world ended. And the next one began.
Then the king looked to where she was on her knees, gaping at him. “Have you come to save me at last, Aelin Galathynius?”
She wondered if he had noticed when she’d slipped the real Eye of Elena into his pocket as she’d fled the throne room.
He walked out of the cell, taking the demon prince—her betrothed—with him.
“How long has it been since you destroyed the demon inside that collar, Kaltain?” A low, broken laugh. “A while.”
Punish them all. She burned the cradles. She burned the monsters within. She burned the men and their demon princes. And then she burned the witches, who looked at her with gratitude in their eyes and embraced the dark flame.
“I save the world,” Aelin said, her voice like gravel, “and yet I wake up to you being pissy.”
“Next time we need to save the world, we do it together.” She smiled faintly. “Deal.”
“You make me want to live, too, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “Not exist—but live.” He cupped her cheek, and took a steadying breath—as if he’d thought about every word these past three days, over and over again. “I spent centuries wandering the world, from empires to kingdoms to wastelands, never settling, never stopping—not for one moment. I was always looking toward the horizon, always wondering what waited across the next ocean, over the next mountain. But I think … I think that whole time, all those centuries, I was just looking for you.”
She gazed at the closed bedroom door, as if she could still see the prince and queen inside. “That,” she said, more to herself than to him. “That is what I am going to find one day.”
“It was like dying a little every day. It was like being alive, too. It was joy so complete it was pain. It destroyed me and unmade me and forged me. I hated it, because I knew I couldn’t escape it, and knew it would forever change me. And that witchling … I loved her, too. I loved her in a way I cannot describe—other than to tell you that it was the most powerful thing I’ve ever felt, greater than rage, than lust, than magic.”
And the smell—of pine and snow … How had she never realized that Rowan’s scent was of Terrasen, of home?
Rowan came close enough to graze her shoulder and murmured, “I feel as if I’ve been looking for this place my entire life.”
