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She’d make this time count. In every way possible.
Fool. He was an ancient, stupid fool.
This was the sort of court he’d be joining—this whirlwind of … Lorcan didn’t know what the word was for it. He doubted any of his five centuries had prepared him for it, though.
Asterin suddenly found the snow to be in need of her careful attention.
She’d sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.
“But I will tell you this.” Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. “There is a better world out there. And I have seen it.”
So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit. Not a child of war. But of peace.
Rowan wriggled his fingers in silent reminder. Shall we? Aelin scowled and took his hand, letting him haul her to her feet. So pushy. Rowan slid an arm around her shoulders. That’s the most polite thing you’ve ever said about me.
Eretia
So Aedion drew the Sword of Orynth, hefted his shield, and joined the Bane’s steady beat.
Conveying all the defiance and rage in his heart, he clashed the ancient sword against the dented, round metal. Rhoe’s shield.
Even Darrow had not recognized it. Worn and simple, the shield had gone unnoticed at Aedion’s side, a reminder of what he’d lost.
What he’d defend to his final breath.
Terrasen was her home. And Aelin her queen.
He took it back. He took it all back.
So Aelin asked casually, flashing the royals a grin, “Where did you all plan on going after this?” Princess Hasar, as shrewd as Aelin’s mate, returned her smile—a razor-sharp thing of little beauty. “Doubtless, you’re about to begin some scheme to convince us to go to Terrasen.” The room tensed, but Aelin snorted. “Begin? Who says I’m not already in the thick of it?” “Gods help us,” Chaol muttered. Rowan echoed the sentiment.
A thread in a tapestry.
Like pulling a thread in a tapestry, and seeing just how far and wide it went.
Aelin held the princess’s stare. Smiled slightly. And said nothing. Nesryn shifted on her feet, as if well aware what that silence could mean.
Gavriel, ever the gallant knight, sketched a bow. Lorcan, the bastard, just crossed his arms. Yet Rowan smiled at Borte. “Indeed we are.”
Doing herself a favor, Aelin indeed sat, Rowan taking up his place behind her, both of his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. His thumb ran along the nape of her neck, then drifted over the mating
marks again scarring one side thanks to the seawater they’d used to seal them. But as her muscles soothed beneath that loving touch, her soul with it,
Aelin leaned back into her chair, her head resting against the solid wall of Rowan’s body.
Then Hasar hissed, “We’ll make the bitch pay for that, too, won’t we?” Aelin met the princess’s dark stare. “Yes, we will.”
As if Maeve had snuffed out that flame. Made her fear it. Hate it.
She sat up, but remained on his lap, staring into his face with a rawness that destroyed him.
Aelin found Fenrys by a quiet fire, gazing into the crackling flames. She sat on the log beside him, raw and open and trembling, but … the salt of her tears had washed away some of it. Steadied her. Rowan had steadied her, and still did, as he kept watch from the shadows beyond the fire.
of how even Aelin, who seemed so tall as she swaggered through the world, was dwarfed by the creatures.
Aedion almost ripped out his throat at that
word, Princess—“then we will have little choice but to sign her execution order.” “I’d like to see you try.” “I’d like to see you stop us.” Aedion smirked. “Oh, it’s not me who you’d be dealing with. Good luck to any man who tries to harm a shifter that powerful.”
“Is it bad if I want to join you? And bring snacks?”
Aelin turned onto her side, nestling closer into Rowan’s solid warmth, Elena’s muffled screams still ringing in her ears. No, she would not be helpless again.
Manon angled Wind-Cleaver upward, her heart a steady, raging beat. She would not greet the Darkness’s embrace today. But they would.
Manon cracked her jaw, and iron teeth descended. A flex of her fingers had her iron nails unsheathing. “Not just a Crochan Queen this time.”
A mistake that would cost them what they had come to protect. A mistake that would cost them this war. And their lives.
She was not a broken-spirited Wing Leader unsure of her place in the world. She was not ashamed of the truth before her. She was not afraid.
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.
Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.
No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen’s sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch’s fallen head. He had never seen a crown like it. A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine stars had been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band. The crown’s light danced over Manon’s face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair. Even the mountain wind stopped. Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon’s hair as the crown glowed bright, the white
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to the side, silver strands brushing across her face. And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference. In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches. The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.
Manon was glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.
And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.
Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced the crone’s face. “No,” she said, “it does not.” Manon didn’t move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon’s head. Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow. “What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches.”
“Queen of Witches,” Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice. As one people.
say.” It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he’d fallen in love with her.
Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay. She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she’d already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, “You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table.” Another kiss to her neck. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit,” Aelin said, surveying the trove. “He’s kept all the gold and fun things down here.” Indeed, his mate’s idea of fun things was the same as Rowan’s: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.
Aelin snickered. “Let’s consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid.” She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle—the Lord of the Silver Lake. “So, we’ll take what we’re owed for today’s battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself.” Gods, he loved her.
“You must charge a great deal for your services,” Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt. “I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don’t I?” Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.
He
