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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 sea of stars—that’s what the cave had become.
Rattle the stars. She’d promised to do that.
All was set. All was ready. Or as ready as they might ever be.
“The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn’t understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn’t be you with me. And I’d never trade that, trade this. Not for anything.”
Together we’ll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo. Together.
“I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not a weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible.”
Chaol’s focus went cold and calculating. His wife was in the keep behind him. Pregnant with their child. He would not fail her.
She held her ground. Did not yield one inch to the ilken, who advanced another step. For Terrasen, she would do this. For Aelin.
“The assassin from the market in Xandria.” Aelin arched a brow. “Hopefully, the horse I stole didn’t belong to you.”
Aelin had a feeling she’d need to sit down again. Chaol indeed patted the chair beside him, earning a chuckle from Yrene.
Wait i love their friendship
“I am so tired,” she wept. “I am so, so tired, Rowan.”
I forget sometimes shes only 20
Gavriel rubbed at his chest. “We’ve been to war. He’s been to war. Fought on battlefields as a child, gods be damned.” Rage flickered over Gavriel’s face. Not at what Aedion had done, but what he’d been made to do by fate and misfortune. What Gavriel had not been there to prevent. “But I still dread every day that passes and we hear nothing. Dread every messenger we see.”
A terror Rowan had never known, different from his fear for his mate, his queen. The fear of a father for his child.
“On that lovely parting note, we’re going to finish up our dinners. Enjoy your evening, we’ll see you on the battlements tomorrow, and please do rot in hell.”
God i love her
Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds. And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met. Stood a queen of two peoples.
“What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches.”
Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.
Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.
No, that magnificent horse trampled them, fearless and wicked, just as Chaol had predicted. A horse whose name meant butterfly—stomping all over Valg foot soldiers.
“I love you,” he whispered in Elide’s ear. “I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken.” Her tears flowed past him in the wind. “And I will be with you …” His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. “I will be with you always.”
He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he’d ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. “Yes.”
Aelin looped her arm through his. “I’m going to start a rumor about you, then. Something truly grotesque.” He groaned. “I dread the thought of what you might come up with.”
His senses might have been sharper, but he had never realized how daunting a set of stairs truly was without human legs.
Poor guy is putting in work
Dorian smiled and brought Morath’s towers crashing down.
“I lost my family ten years ago. Tomorrow I will fight for the new one I’ve made.” Not only for Terrasen and its court and people. But also for the two ladies in this room.
“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.”
Thirteen wyverns raced from the Staghorns, plunging toward the city walls.
YES MANON
“We have come this far,” Sorrel said, “because we are all prepared for what tomorrow will bring.” Indeed, the Thirteen nodded. Asterin said, “We are not afraid.”
So Manon said, looking them each in the eye, “I would rather fly with you than with ten thousand Ironteeth at my side.” She smiled slightly. “Tomorrow, we will show them why.”
“We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”
“Let’s make this a fight worthy of a song,” Aedion said.
The story of them. Rowan and Aelin. A story that had begun in rage and sorrow and become something entirely different.
Home. This, with him. This was home, as she had never had. For however long they might share it. And when Lorcan laid her out on the cot, his breathing as uneven as her own, when he paused, letting her decide what to do, where to take this, Elide kissed him again and whispered, “Show me everything.” So Lorcan did.
She’d gotten out. She’d survived. From Endovier—and Maeve.
Light flashed again. And then Dorian Havilliard stood there, his jacket and cape stained and worn.
It was not Asterin. It was not any of the Thirteen. But Petrah Blueblood. And behind the Heir to the Blueblood Witch-Clan, now slamming into Morath’s aerial legion from where they’d crept onto the battlefield from high above the clouds, were the Ironteeth.
Leaving Iskra and her bull to splatter on the earth.
Bye bitch
“Live, Manon.” Manon blinked. Asterin smiled wider, kissed Manon’s brow, and whispered again, “Live.”
Then little more than a scrap of hate and memory as Asterin exploded. 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.”
Elide asked softly, “What is your vote, Aelin?” Aelin tore her eyes from Rowan, and he felt the absence of that stare like a frozen wind as she said, “It doesn’t matter.”
Rowan kissed her. “I love you,” he whispered onto her mouth. “Come back to me.”
My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid.
Something in Rowan’s chest, intricate and essential, began to strain. Began to go taut. The mating bond. Rowan lurched forward a step, a hand on his chest. No. The mating bond writhed, as if in agony, as if in terror. He halted, Aelin’s name on his lips. Rowan fell to his knees as the three Wyrdkeys within Aelin’s arm dissolved into her blood. Like dew in the sun.
She had lied. His Fireheart had lied. And he would now watch her die.
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.
OH MY GOD
“I know that, too. But I should like to say one more thing, on this perhaps final night of ours.” He inclined his head to Evangeline. “I never fathered any offspring, nor did I adopt any. It would be an honor to name such a wise, brave young lady as my heir.”
Wow darrow has a heart
Filling the skies, stretching into the horizon, flew mighty, armored birds with riders. Ruks. And before them all, sword raised to the sky as that horn blew one last time, the ruby in the blade’s pommel smoldering like a small sun … Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.
Leaving Morath wide open for the golden army as it slammed into them with the force of a tidal wave.
