Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

Hellas damn him, he’d had to resort to giving his cut-up shirt to Whitethorn and Gavriel to hand to her for her cycle. He’d threatened to skin them alive if they’d said it was his, and Elide, with her human sense of smell, hadn’t scented him on the fabric.

“I crawled …” His throat bobbed. “I crawled after Aelin.”

She didn’t tell the Healer on High that she wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she’d be a help—not yet. Hadn’t whispered a word of that doubt to anyone, even Chaol. Yrene’s hand drifted across her abdomen and lingered.

Fireheart, why do you cry?

Because I am lost. And I do not know the way.

It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.

You do not yield. Then she was gone, like dew under the morning sun. But the words lingered. Blossomed within Aelin, bright as a kindled ember. You do not yield.

The top of the lid had been warped. A great hump now protruded, the metal stretched thin. As if it had come so very close to breaking entirely.

Glennis grinned, that aged face lighting. “I struck first.” She drew another arrow. Such lightness, even in the face of an ambush. “I wish you were my great-grandmother,” Dorian muttered, and readied his next blow.

They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.

“I am your mate,” Rowan whispered, as if it was the answer she sought. And the love in his eyes, in the way his voice broke, his bloodied hand trembling … Elide’s throat tightened.

Aelin spoke a third time, teeth flashing as she gave Fenrys her first order. Live.

“I didn’t break,” she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

“I gave you the blood oath to save your life,” she said. “But if you do not want it, Fenrys, I … we can find some way to free you—” “I want it,” Fenrys said, no trace of his usual swaggering humor. He glanced to Rowan, and bowed his head. “It is my honor to serve this court. And serve you,” he added to Aelin.

Two golden rings lay there.

“Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too.”

Together we’ll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo. Together.

“Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius.”

“They’re barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company.” Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. “And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth.”

So Lorcan said softly, “I meant every word.” His heart thundered, so wildly it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it. “And I will until the day I fade into the Afterworld.” Lorcan didn’t breathe as Elide gently reached out her hand. And interlaced their fingers. “I love you,” she whispered.

“Then it will be the scar I treasure most.”

“Fly, fly, fly!” they shouted. “To the queen! To war!”

A king—he could be a king to Adarlan in these last days that remained for him. Wipe away the stain and rot of what it had become. So it might start anew. Become who it wished to be.

“The kingsflame,” she breathed, unable to stop herself as she approached.

“Please. I am begging you. I am begging you, Lysandra, to go.” Her chin lifted. “You are not asking our other allies to run.” “Because I am not in love with our other allies.”

“We came,” Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could hear, “to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what she promised us.” Darrow said quietly, “And what was that?” Manon smiled then. “A better world.” Darrow took a step back. As if disbelieving what stood before him, in defiance of the legion that swept toward their city.

The Crochans had returned at last.

“We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”

“The final stand of the Crochans.” As if the words themselves were a signal, Bronwen lifted the horn of Telyn Vanora to her lips and blew.

“Let’s make this a fight worthy of a song,” Aedion said.

These hands had slaughtered their way across kingdoms. Bore the faint scars to prove it. And yet he held her foot as if it were a small bird, as if it were something … holy.

So Lorcan did.

“Live, Manon.”

And it was not darkness, but light—light, bright and pure as the sun on snow, that erupted from Asterin. Light, as Asterin made the Yielding.

As she and the Thirteen Yielded completely, and blew themselves and the witch tower to smithereens.

“Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood—let the land be witness, and return home.”

And as Chaol Westfall dismounted and ran the last few feet toward Dorian, the King of Adarlan wept.

Right into a world she had seen only once. Had accidentally opened a portal into one night in a stone castle. Distant, baying howls cracked from the bleak gray expanse.

She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing at those very stars. Fae.

A weak hand landed on his back, running over the tattoo he’d inked. As if tracing the symbols he’d hidden there, in a desperate, wild hope. “I came back,” she rasped.

So she kissed him again. And lingered by his mouth as she whispered, “He was a good man. A brave and noble man. So are you.” She kissed him a third time. “And when this war is over, however it may end, I will still be here, with you. Whether in this life or the next, Aedion.”

“Tomorrow, Aedion,” she breathed.

“That’s what Terrasen has always meant to me, you know,” Evangeline went on, speaking more to herself. “As soon as Aelin freed Lysandra, and offered to let us join her court, Terrasen has always meant home. A place where … where the sort of people who hurt us don’t get to live. Where anyone, regardless of who they are and where they came from and what their rank is can dwell in peace. Where we can have a garden in the spring, and swim in the rivers in the summer. I’ve never had such a thing before. A home, I mean. And I would have liked for Caraverre, for Terrasen, to have been mine.” She chewed on her lip. “So I would choose to fight. Until the very end. For my home, new as it is. I choose to fight.”

“I will find you again,” he promised her. “In whatever life comes after this.” Lysandra nodded. “In every lifetime.”

He knew that touch. Would know it if he were blind.

Manon said quietly, “You will not find them. In this sky, or any other.”

“There was a kingdom—to the east. Long ago. They believed in such things.” Pride glowed in his eyes, brighter than the dawn. “It was a place of peace and learning. A beacon in a distant and violent part of the world. Once the Library of Orynth is rebuilt, we’ll ask the scholars to find what they can about it.”

“Rise,” Darrow said, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.” She swallowed a sob. And slowly, her breathing steady despite the heartbeat that threatened to leap out of her chest, Aelin rose. Darrow’s gray eyes were bright. “Long may she reign.”

Aelin didn’t fight hers as she asked, lips wobbling, “Will you swear the blood oath to me?” Aedion just fell to his knees before her. Rowan silently handed her a dagger, but Aelin paused as she held it over her arm. “You fought for Terrasen when no one else would. Against all odds, beyond all hope, you fought for this kingdom. For me. For these people. Will you swear to continue to do so, for as long as you draw breath?” Aedion’s head bowed as he breathed, “Yes. In this life, and in all others, I will serve you. And Terrasen.”