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Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …
“I crawled …” His throat bobbed. “I crawled after Aelin.”
And tell him thank you—for walking that dark path with me back to the light. It had been his honor. From the very beginning, it had been his honor, the greatest of his immortal life. An immortal life they would share together—somehow. He’d allow no other alternative. Rowan silently swore it to the stars. He could have sworn the Lord of the North flickered in response.
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.
“Nox Owen.” The messenger bowed at the waist. “From Perranth.”
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.
She learned that there were indeed other worlds. Not the dark, blasted realm in which they lived, but worlds beyond that, living atop one another and never realizing it.
They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.
Rowan smirked. “That for once, you are the one who gets knocked on your ass by a surprise.”
Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.
A beacon glowing bright in the shadows of the mountains, in the shadows of the forces that awaited them, Aelin lit the way north.
“Live, Manon.”
I was audibly sobbing. 😭
“Bring our people home, Manon.”
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 far away, across the snow-covered mountains, on a barren plain before the ruins of a once-great city, a flower began to bloom.
She passed through a world where a great city had been built along the curve of a river, the buildings impossibly tall and glimmering with lights.
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.
The Lord of the North reared up, jutting Goldryn higher into the sky, and Aelin unleashed a flash of fire through the ruby—the signal the army behind her had awaited. For Terrasen. All of it, for Terrasen.
Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.” She unleashed herself upon them.
The only thing she would ever kneel before. Her crown. Her throne. Her kingdom.
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.
For across every mountain, spread beneath the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming.
