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And behind them, Aelin continued as well. So Rowan followed her, as he would follow her until his last breath, and beyond it.
Aelin. She was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, and she was Queen of Terrasen.
“I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you.” He gave her a slash of a smile. “Did you really believe this would stop me?”
You do not yield.
Silently, Rowan grasped her own hand and eased on the emerald ring. “To whatever end,” he whispered. Silver lined her eyes. “To whatever end.” A reminder—and a vow, more sacred than the wedding oaths they’d sworn on that ship. To walk this path together, back from the darkness of the iron coffin. To face what waited in Terrasen, ancient promises to the gods be damned.
“I hope you found peace, my brother. And in the Afterworld, I hope you find her again.”
Yet the songs would mention this—that the Lion fell before the western gate of Orynth, defending the city and his son. If they survived today, if they somehow lived, the bards would sing of it.
For this moment. For this purpose. So she whispered it to herself, one last time. The story. Her story.
Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …
The queen had come home at last. The queen had come to hold the gate.
Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius. And she would not be afraid.
She had made it home. It was enough.
She would not be ashamed to see those she had loved with her heart of wildfire.
“I learned to share,” Aelin purred. “After all this time.”
“A risky thing for you to do, then—to enter this city. My city, I suppose. To see who’s waiting for you.
Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.” She unleashed herself upon them.
Home. This was to be his home. Already was, if Aelin were with him. He would defend it.
“We swore an oath to our queen and this court,” he snarled, sizing up the soldiers pouring over the walls. “We will not break it.”
The final sacrifice of Aelin Galathynius for Terrasen.
“You are my joy,”
“Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow. Yrene let that kiss sink into her skin, a mark of protection, of love that she’d carry with her into hell and beyond it.
He said his silent farewell, sending what remained of his heart on the wind to the woman who had saved him in every way that mattered.
He’d come to hope. Had found there was something better out there. Someone better. And he’d go down swinging to defend all of it.
The keys were gone. And so was the Fire-Bringer.
“Symbols have power,”
A beacon, a challenge to the dark king who battled Aelin Galathynius below.
Goldryn burned steady.
You do not yield.
I name you Elentiya, “Spirit That Could Not Be Broken.”
Spirit that could not be broken. You do not yield.
She would endure it again, if asked. She would do it. Every brutal hour and bit of agony. And it would hurt, and she would scream, but she’d face it. Survive against it. Arobynn had not broken her. Neither had Endovier. She would not allow this waste of existence to do so now.
She did not want it to be over. Any of it.
Hers was not a story of darkness. This would not be the story. She would fold it into herself, this place, this fear, but it would not be the whole story. It would not be her story.
“How,” Maeve asked again. “How did you not break?” “Because I am not afraid,” Aelin said.
Even if it took her last breaths, she’d go down swinging for this.
Two women, in the end, who had bought them all this moment. This one shot at a future. For them, Yrene was not afraid. For the child she carried, she was not afraid. For the world she and Chaol would build for that child, she was not afraid at all.
You have no power over me,
The power of creation and destruction. That’s what lay within her. Life-Giver. World-Maker.
Two mothers, whose love for their daughters and hope for a better world was greater than any power Erawan might wield.
The pain of parting because of how wonderful it had been.
A crown of flame, twin to her own, appeared atop his head. As one, they looked to Maeve.
Aelin blinked four times. I am here, I am with you.
Aelin looked to Rowan, their crowns of flame still burning, undimmed. Took his hand. Heart thundering through every bone in her body, Aelin took a step toward the gate. Toward Orynth. Toward home.
The only thing she would ever kneel before. Her crown. Her throne. Her kingdom.
“Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.”
And when Aelin lifted her head to survey the cheering crowd, when she smiled, Queen of Terrasen and the Faerie Queen of the West, she burned bright as a star.
the roar from the gathered crowds was loud enough to rattle the stars.
A new world. A better world.
“Together,” Dorian breathed, shaking. “We’ll rebuild this world together.”
“Will you work to rebuild this kingdom, this world, with me tomorrow?” “Tomorrow, and every day after that.” For every day of the thousand blessed years they were granted together. And beyond.
