Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

here, today … Aelin had given them no order, no command other than the very first they’d sworn to obey: to protect Terrasen. So they would. And together, they would do so, cadre once more. They would fight for this kingdom—their new court. Their new home.

Cadre, yet more than that. Brothers—the warriors fighting at his side were his brothers. Had stayed with him through all of it. And would continue to do so now.

the ghost leopard tearing through the droves of Morath soldiers, spurts of flame accompanying her as a golden-armored warrior raced at her side.

Turning it. Away from Orynth, from the castle. Precisely as Aelin had told him Sam Cortland had done in Skull’s Bay, the catapult’s mechanisms allowed her to rotate its base. Rowan wondered if the young assassin was smiling now—smiling to see her heaving the catapult into position.

Wide-eyed, the three Fae warriors blinked. “That’s where Aelin is,” was all Fenrys said.

Blocking the way. A barricade before the western gate. Intentionally so, Aedion realized as a golden-haired warrior leaped from the wyvern’s saddle, the dead Ironteeth witch still dangling there, throat gushing blue blood down the leathery sides. The warrior ran toward them, a sword in one hand, the other drawing a dagger. Ran toward Aedion, his tawny eyes scanning him from head to toe. His father.

Together. As father and son. As the two warriors they were. Gavriel—his father. He had come. And looking at those tawny eyes, Aedion knew it was not for Aelin, or for Terrasen, that his father had done it.

Aedion could have sworn something like joy and pride filled Gavriel’s eyes. Joy and pride and sorrow, heavy and old.

Gavriel smiled at him. “Close the gate, Aedion,” was all his father said. And then Gavriel stepped beyond the gates. That golden shield spreading thin.

Stopped seeing everything but the fallen warrior, who gazed toward the darkening sky with sightless eyes. His tattooed throat ripped out. His sword still gripped in his hand. Gavriel. His father.

The emotion damage this book has cause me

Yet Rowan lowered his head. “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.

Gavriel had also been family. Even when he had not realized it.

Rowan looked at his fallen friend. His closest friend. Who had gone with him into so many wars and dangers. Who had deserved this new home as much as any of them. Rowan closed Gavriel’s unseeing eyes. “I will see you in the Afterworld.”

the deepening blues of descending night, amid the snow beginning to fall, Aelin Galathynius had appeared before the sealed southern gate. Had appeared before Erawan and Maeve. Her unbound hair billowed in the wind like a golden banner, a last ray of light with the dying of the day. Silence fell. Even the screaming stopped as all turned toward the gate.

The cry went down the castle battlements, through the city, along the walls. 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.

“I’ve spent the past year of my life—ten years, if you consider it another way—building to this moment.” She clicked her tongue. “Forgive me if I want to savor it. To talk with my great enemy for longer than a moment.”

“There are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.” Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.”

The final sacrifice of Aelin Galathynius for Terrasen.

I name you Elentiya, “Spirit That Could Not Be Broken.”

Spirit that could not be broken. You do not yield.

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. “Your fear of Erawan and his brothers drove you, destroyed you. If there was ever anything worthwhile to destroy.” Maeve hissed, and Aelin chuckled. “And then there was your fear of Brannon. Of me. Look what it brought about.” She gestured to the room around them, the world beyond it. “This is all you’ll have left of Doranelle. This illusion.”

And then they began screaming. Rowan began screaming.

Istg

Erawan didn’t seem to know where to look. Not as Dorian sent out a punch of his healing light that knocked him off balance. Not as Lysandra leaped upon the dark king, pinning him to the stones. Not as Elide, Damaris in her hands, plunged the blade deep through Erawan’s gut, and between the stones below.

HELL YES ELIDE

She didn’t feel the sting of her palm cutting open. Barely felt the pressure of the callused hand that linked with hers. But when Dorian Havilliard’s raw magic barreled into her, Yrene gasped. Gasped and turned into starlight, into warmth and strength and joy.

Dorian. His father’s name.

Not fast enough at all as Fenrys vanished from where he knelt, and reappeared—right behind Maeve. Goldryn burned bright as he plunged it through her back. Into the dark heart within.

Fireheart, her mother had called her. Not for her power. The name had never once been about her power.

Aelin knew for certain then. Where Erawan had gone. Who had brought him down at last.

So Aelin wrenched her sword free of the pile of ashes that had been Maeve. She lifted it high to the night sky, to the stars, and let her cry of victory fill the world. Let the name she shouted ring out, the soldiers on the field, in the city, taking up the call until all of Orynth was singing with it. Until it reached the shining stars of the Lord of the North gleaming above them, no longer needed to guide her way home. Yrene. Yrene. Yrene.

But Chaol just gaped at her as it hit him what, exactly, had happened. Why that surge of power had happened. What this remarkable woman before him had done. For they were calling her name. The army, the people of Orynth were calling her name.

Yet the woman he held, the child growing within her … Erawan might have been over, his threat and army with it. And Maeve with it, too. But life, Chaol realized—life was just beginning.

No, Aelin only looked at her people, smiling broadly and freely, as she entered Orynth, and they began to cheer, welcoming her home at long last.

Darrow smiled—just a bit. “So it is.” He bowed his head. Then his body. “Welcome,” he said, then added as he rose, “Your Majesty.” But Aelin looked to Evangeline, the girl still beaming. Win me back my kingdom, Evangeline.

The entire hall grew silent as she hurtled for Aedion, and flung herself onto him so hard they rocked back a step. Home at last; home together.

“Live, Elide,” was all the witch said to her before striding out of the hall once more. “Live.”

“It’s just … I’m Lady of Perranth. If you marry me, you will take my family name.” He blinked. Elide laughed again. “Lord Lorcan Lochan?”

will marry you, Elide Lochan. And proudly call myself Lord Lorcan Lochan, even when the whole kingdom laughs to hear it.” He kissed her, gently and lovingly. “And when we are wed,” he whispered, “I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.”

“This is life, Yrene. We never stop learning. Even at my age.”

A bridge between their two peoples, as Manon had become. A light—as the Thirteen had exploded with light, not darkness, in their final moments.

“When iron melts,” Petrah murmured, her blue eyes swimming with tears. The Thirteen had melted that tower. Melted the Ironteeth within it. And themselves. “When flowers spring from fields of blood,” Bronwen went on. Manon’s knees buckled as she stared out at that battlefield. Where countless flowers had been laid atop the blood and ruins where the Thirteen had met their end. Glennis finished, “Let the land be witness.”

Silence fell, and Manon whispered, her voice shaking as she held that small, impossibly precious flower in her palm, “And return home.” Glennis bowed her head. “And so the curse is broken. And so we shall go home together—as one people.”

“And what will not boring us entail, then?” Aedion asked. “Rebuilding,” Elide said. “Lots of rebuilding.” “Trade negotiations,” Lysandra said. “Training a new generation in magic,” Aelin went on. Again, the males blinked at them. Aelin angled her head, blinking right back at them. “Don’t you lot have anything worthwhile to contribute?” She clicked her tongue. “Three of you are ancient as hell, you know. I’d have expected better from cranky old bastards.”

“I saw you from a distance—once.” Galan’s Ashryver eyes sparked. “I’m going to assume it was during your former profession and thank you for not killing me.”

“Thank you for coming when I asked. Thank you on behalf of Terrasen. I am in your debt.” “We were in your debt,” Ansel countered. “I wasn’t,” Rolfe muttered. Aelin flashed him a grin. “We’re going to have fun, you and I.” She surveyed her allies, worn and battle-weary, but still standing. All of them still standing. “I think we’re going to have a great deal of fun.”

In silence, the two queens stared toward the decimated field. Toward the future beyond it.

Thankfully, Lorcan looked as uncomfortable as he did, clad in black. If you wore anything else, Aelin had tutted to Lorcan, the world would turn on its head. So burial-black it is. Lorcan had rolled his eyes. But Rowan had glimpsed Elide’s face when he’d spotted her and Lysandra in the hall off the throne room moments before. Had seen the love and desire when she beheld Lorcan in his new clothes. And wondered how soon this hall would be hosting a wedding. A glance at Aedion, clad in Terrasen green as well, and Rowan smiled slightly. Two weddings, likely before the summer. Though neither Lysandra nor Aedion had mentioned it.

Rowan only inclined his chin back to the young man. And then inclined it toward his cousins, Enda and Sellene, seated near the aisle, the latter of whom had needed a good few hours of sitting in silence when Rowan had told her that she was now Queen of Doranelle. The Fae Queen of the East.