Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5)

by Sarah J. Maas

“I think Maeve likes to collect pretty men.” Aedion snorted. “Why not? She has to deal with them for eternity. They might as well be pleasant to look at.” She laughed again, and the sound loosed a weight from his shoulders.

And her gaze snagged on a small name along the western coast. Briarcliff.

She rubbed her temple, staring at that speck on the map. Considering the life debt owed to her.

Her gaze dragged down—south. To the Red Desert. Where another life debt, many life debts, waited for her to claim them. Aelin realized they had asked her

“You are the heir of the Mycenian people,” Aelin said. “And I have come to claim the debt you owe my bloodline on that account, too.” Rolfe did not move, did not blink.

The tendril of power she’d gathered rippled away in an invisible line. The world shuddered in its wake. A city bell chimed once, twice, in its force. Even the waters in the bay shivered as it swept past and out into the archipelago. When Aelin opened her eyes, the mortality had returned.

“Milady has to release bits of her power daily or it can consume her.” Despite herself, despite what she’d done, she decided she wanted Rowan to call her milady at least once every day.

The shifter had told Aedion by now—of why they had truly gone to Ilium. Not only to see Brannon, not only to save its people … but for this. She and the shifter had hatched the plan during the long night watches together on the road, considering all pitfalls and benefits.

Rolfe’s face went pale. Aelin watched as black—darker than the ink that had been etched there—spread across his fingers, to his palms. Black such as only the Valg could bring. Oh, there was no doubt now that the map worked.

Pine-green eyes held her own. Show them why you’re my blood-sworn, she silently told him. A hint of a wicked smile. Rowan turned to them. “Let’s go.”

“Sam is dead,” she said, “because men like you and Arobynn have power. But Arobynn’s reign is now over.” She smiled at the darkening horizon. “Seems like yours might end rather soon as well.”

Aelin was insane, Dorian realized. Brilliant and wicked, but insane. And perhaps the greatest, most unremorseful liar he’d ever encountered.

And as the Pirate Lord and Queen of Terrasen shook hands and she grinned at Rolfe, Dorian realized he … perhaps he could do with a bit more wickedness and insanity, too.

This war would not be won on smiles and manners. It would be won by a woman willing to gamble with an entire island full of people to get what she needed to save them all. A woman whose friends were equally willing to play along, to rip their souls to shreds if it meant saving the greater population.

They had not come ten years ago. She wanted them to know she had not forgotten it.

Aelin said quietly, “Do you know what I need you to do?” Lysandra’s moss-green eyes were bright as she nodded. Aelin did not allow herself to embrace the shifter. Did not allow herself to so much as touch her friend’s hand. Not with Rolfe watching. Not with the citizens of this town watching, the lost Mycenians among them. So Aelin merely said, “Good hunting.”

Lysandra dove, and she let them see the long, powerful body that broke the surface bit by bit as she plunged down, her jade scales gleaming like jewels in the blinding midday sun. See the legend straight from their prophecies: the Mycenians would only return when the sea dragons did. And so Aelin had ensured that one appeared right in their gods-damned harbor.

Some of Rolfe’s men were murmuring, “A dragon—a dragon to defend our own ship … The legends of our fathers …”

Aedion’s heart stopped dead. “It’s a sea dragon,” he managed to say. Well, at least he now knew what secret form Lysandra had been working on. And why Aelin had insisted on getting inside Brannon’s temple. Not just to see the king, not just to reclaim the city for the Mycenians and Terrasen, but … for Lysandra to study the life-size, detailed carvings of those sea dragons. To become a living myth.

The two of them … Oh, those crafty, scheming devils. A queen of legends indeed.

He leaned in to brush a kiss to her mouth. And as his lips met hers, he joined their bleeding palms. Magic jolted through her, ancient and wicked and cunning, and she arched against him, knees buckling as his cataclysmic power roared into her.

But Aelin tunneled down, down, down into her power, felt him doing the same with his, felt every ounce of ice and wind and lightning go slamming from him into her. And when it reached her, the core of his power yielded to her own, melted and became embers and wildfire. Became the molten heart of the earth, shaping the world and birthing new lands.

The drop?!

Aelin had begun this descent three days ago. She’d expected it to stop after the first day. To hit that bottom she’d sensed once before. She had not. And now … now with Rowan’s power joining hers …

She was a stone plunked into the sea of her power—their power. Down and down and down There—there was the bottom. The ash-lined bottom, the pit of a dormant crater.

“Aelin,” Rowan said again, trying to tug on that bond between them. But there was nothing. Only the gaping maw of some immortal, ancient beast. A beast that had opened an eye, a beast that spoke in the tongue of a thousand worlds.

Ice flooded his veins. She was wearing the Wyrdkey.

Just as she ripped her hand from his. Just as her power and the Wyrdkey between her breasts merged.

As Aelin opened her eyes, he realized it wasn’t thunder—but the sound of a door slamming open.

And her eyes … Turquoise burned bright … around a core of silver. No hint of gold to be found.

The creature that stared out through Aelin’s eyes furled her fingers into a fist. Light leaked through her clenched fingers. Cold white light. Tendrils flickered—silver flame …

For what gazed at the dark fleet assembled, what had filled his beloved’s body … He knew. Some primal, intrinsic part of him knew. “Deanna,” Rowan whispered.

“Every key has a lock. Tell the Queen Who Was Promised to retrieve it soon, for all the allies in the world shall make no difference if she does not wield the Lock, if she does not put those keys back with it. Tell her flame and iron, together bound, merge into silver to learn what must be found. A mere step is all it shall take.” Then she looked away again.

Rowan realized what the power in her hand was. Realized that the flame she would unleash would be so cold it burned, realized it was the cold of the stars, the cold of stolen light. Not wildfire—but moonfire.

Rowan. And as his face became clear, his tattoo stark in the sun, as that fist full of unimaginable power now opened toward his heart— There was no force in any world that could keep her contained.

And Aelin Galathynius remembered her own name as she shattered through the cage that goddess had shoved her into, as she grabbed that goddess by the damned throat and hurled her out, out, out through that gaping hole where she had infiltrated her, and sealed it— Aelin snapped into her body, her power.

Fire like ice, fire stolen fro...

Deanna. She didn’t know how, didn’t know why— The Queen Who Was Promised.

Later. Later, she’d deal with that rutting goddess who had thought to use her like some temple priestess. Later, she’d contemplate how she’d shred through every world to find Deanna and make her pay.

Adult sea-wyverns. The first two … they hadn’t been full-grown.

The sea-wyverns that, Rolfe had claimed, would go to the ends of the earth to slaughter whoever killed their offspring. Only being in the heart of the continent might save you—but even then, waterways would never be safe. And Lysandra had just killed two.

… it had been a trap. The offspring had been the bait.

“But you know what I told them? I said that they didn’t stand a chance in hell.” Aedion lowered his voice, holding her pained, exhausted stare. “Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I’ll be generous and let you pick when, even if it’s ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.”

He shrugged. “Princess Lysandra Ashryver sounds nice, doesn’t it?” And then the dragon huffed. In amusement. Exhaustion, but … amusement.

And the Lion wondered if he himself would ever be mentioned in those whispered stories—if his son would ever allow the world to know who had sired him. Or even care.

Every key has a lock, Deanna had said, a little reminder of Brannon’s order. Using her voice. And had called her that title … that title that struck some chord of horror and understanding in her, so deep she was still working out what it meant. The Queen Who Was Promised.

“Magic is a living thing. When you are that deep in it, remembering yourself, your purpose, is an effort. That my queen did so before it was too late is a feat in itself.”

“I have her sister on my side.” He angled his head, studying her fire, her face. “Perhaps that’s why Mala appeared to me that morning, why she gave me her blessing.”

“Because I’m the only one arrogant and insane enough to ask Mala Fire-Bringer to let me stay with the woman I love.”

“Perhaps you’re just the only one arrogant and insane enough to love me.”

But you and I will learn to manage your power together. You do not face this alone; you do not decide that you are unlovable because you have powers that can save and destroy. If you start to resent that power …” He shook his head. “I do not think we will win this war if you start down that road.”