Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

One blink for yes. Two for no. Three for Are you all right? Four for I am here, I am with you. Five for This is real, you are awake.

You do not yield. You do not yield. You do not yield.

I will find you.

And with it, he snapped the blood oath completely.

Fenrys remained with Cairn. In the camp. Aelin pointed again, sobbing. Rowan turned from his mate. The rage in Rowan’s eyes could devour the world. And that rage was about to extract the sort of vengeance only a mated male could command.

“I am your mate,” Rowan whispered, as if it was the answer she sought.

Slowly, painfully, Fenrys cracked open an eye. Agony filled it—agony and yet something like relief, and joy, at the sight of her bare face. And exhaustion. Such exhaustion that Rowan knew death would be a welcome embrace, a kiss from Silba herself, goddess of gentle ends.

For Fenrys’s loyalty, for his sacrifice, there was no greater reward she could offer. To keep him from death, there was no other way to save him. Only this. Only the blood oath.

“Welcome to the court, pup,” he said, his voice thick.

“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?”

“I’m so tired, Rowan.” His heart strained again. “I know, Fireheart.”

Wishing she knew what Elide’s mother had looked like so she might show him Marion Lochan, too. The two women he had killed, directly or indirectly, and never thought twice about it. Two mothers, whose love for their daughters and hope for a better world was greater than any power Erawan might wield. Greater than any Wyrdkey.

So they would know, so Asterin would know, in the realm where she and her hunter and child walked hand in hand, that they had made it. That they were going home.

“So there it is,” Aelin said, nodding toward the dark stain on the balcony stones. “Where Erawan met his end at the hands of a healer.” She frowned. “I hope it will wash off.”

“If it doesn’t wash off, we’ll throw a rug over it.”

Aedion frowned at the dark stain on the stones. “We’re putting a rug over it,” Aelin told him.

And as the crown came down, as she braced her head, her neck, her heart, Aelin let her power shine. For those who had not made it, for those who had fought, for the world watching.

“Rise,” Darrow said, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.”

“Hail, Aelin! Queen of Terrasen! ”

“You said you wanted to swear it before the entire world,” she said so only he could hear. “Well, here you go.”

Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff. All the women who had fought by her side, or from afar. Who had bled and sacrificed and never given up hope that this day might come.

The two women who had held the fate of their world between them. Who had saved it.

wept as they held each other. “I love you both,” she whispered. “And no matter what may happen, no matter how far we may be, that will never change.” “We will see you again,” Chaol said, but even his voice was thick with tears. “Together,” Dorian breathed, shaking. “We’ll rebuild this world together.”

“To whatever end, Fireheart.”