Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

One shift, one change into a wyvern’s form, and she’d destroy the ilken. But she remained in Aelin’s body. Held that sword, her only weapon, upraised. Terrasen was her home. And Aelin her queen. She’d die to keep this army together. To keep the lines from breaking. To rally their soldiers one last time.

“The Vanora hearth shall fly north.” Another witch squared her shoulders. “So shall the Silian.” And so it went. Until the leaders of all seven of the Great Hearths stood gathered there.

“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.” For a heartbeat, she blinked at him.

“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.”

Manon only looked to Aedion, that smile lingering. “Long ago, the Crochans fought beside Terrasen, to honor the great debt we owed the Fae King Brannon for granting us a homeland. For centuries, we were your closest allies and friends.” That crown of stars blazed bright upon her head. “We heard your call for aid.” Lysandra began weeping. “And we have come to answer it.” “How many,” Aedion breathed, scanning the skies, the mountains. “How many?” Pride and awe filled the Witch-Queen’s face, and even her golden eyes were lined with silver as she pointed toward the Staghorns. “See for yourself.” And then, breaking from between the peaks, they appeared. Red cloaks flowing on the wind, they filled the northern skies. So many he could not count them, nor the swords and bows and weapons they bore upon their backs, their brooms flying straight and unwavering. Thousands.

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

“I knew you’d do it,” Dorian said, voice raw. “I knew you’d find a way. For all of it.”

“I have always wanted a sister,” Dorian said, and leaned to kiss Yrene on either cheek. “Welcome to Adarlan, Lady.” Yrene’s smile turned softer—deeper, and she laid a hand on her abdomen. “Then you shall be pleased to hear that you’ll soon be an uncle.” Dorian whirled to him. Chaol nodded, unable to find the words to convey what flooded his heart.

Aedion slid his arm from Lysandra’s shoulder, and took the sword in his hands. “Serving this kingdom has been the great honor of my life.”

Darrow smiled slightly. “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.”

So Aedion leaned in, and kissed Lysandra, kissed the woman who should have been his wife, his mate, one last time. “I love you.”