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neck, “I spotted a pool about a quarter mile back. You could heat it—for both of us.” She ran her nails down the back of his hands, up his forearms. “I’d boil all the fish and frogs inside it. I doubt it’d be very pleasant then.” “At least we’d have breakfast prepared.”
“I will tell my people,” Aelin said quietly but not weakly, “the entire truth. I will show them the scars on my back from Endovier, the scars on my body from my years as Celaena Sardothien, and I will tell them that the new King of Adarlan is not a monster. I will tell them that we have one enemy: the bastard down in Morath. And Dorian Havilliard is the only chance for survival—and future peace between our two kingdoms.”
“For now, I have no plans to lose this war because some old bastard has learned he likes playing king.”
“When you find me again, we will have that night. I don’t care where, or who is around.” He pressed a kiss to her neck and said onto her rain-slick skin, “You are my Fireheart.”
“You are a member of my court. And as such, you answer to me. You are wise, and brave, and a joy—but we are headed into dark, horrible places where even I fear to tread.”
“I promise you that no matter how far I go, no matter the cost, when you call for my aid, I will come. I promise you on my blood, on my family’s name, that I will not turn my back on Terrasen as you have turned your back on me. I promise you, Darrow, that when the day comes and you crawl for my help, I will put my kingdom before my pride and not kill you for this. I think the true punishment will be seeing me on the throne for the rest of your miserable life.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Darrow demanded. So Murtaugh had not filled him in on her plan to go to the Dead Islands. Interesting. She looked over her shoulder. “To call in old debts and promises. To raise an army of assassins and thieves and exiles and commoners. To finish what was started long, long ago.”
Barely breathing, she watched him for as long as she dared, and when Aelin mounted her horse, she wondered if her companions could tell that it was not rain gleaming on her face as she tugged on her black hood. Wondered if they, too, had spied the Lord of the North standing watch deep in the forest, the white stag’s immortal glow muted in the rain, come to bid Aelin Galathynius farewell.
He knew her face before he remembered her name. Knew the white hair, like moonlight on water, that spilled over her dark, scalelike armor; knew the burnt-gold eyes. Knew that impossibly beautiful face, full of cold bloodlust and wicked cunning. “Get up,” Manon Blackbeak snarled.
Impossible. No one could get through those shields. Not even Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn.
Not wind like Whitethorn’s, and not light and flame like Whitethorn’s bitch-queen. Not even raw magic like the new King of Adarlan. No, Lorcan’s magic was that of will—of death and thought and destruction. There was no name for it.
“Because I am from Terrasen and believed my queen dead. And now she is alive, and fighting, so I will fight with her. So that no other girls will be taken from their homes and brought to Morath and forgotten.”
“Come on,” she said to Lysandra and Aedion, heading for the door. “We’d better eat before we raise hell.”
“You need to eat to keep up your strength,” Rowan went on. “Your magic feeds on your energy—feeds on you. The more rested you are, the greater the strength. More important, the greater the control. Your power is both part of you and its own entity. If left to its own devices, it will consume you, wield you like a tool.” A flash of teeth as Rowan smiled. “A certain person we know likes to siphon off her power, use it on frivolous things to keep its edge dull.” Dorian could feel Rowan’s stare pin him like a physical blow. “The choice is yours how much you allow it into your life, how to use
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His magic had felt the bond between Aelin and Rowan—the bond that went deeper than blood, than their magic, and he’d assumed it was just that they were mates, and hadn’t announced it to anyone. But if Rowan already had a mate, and had lost her…
“It’s the calm before the storm, Aedion.”
“Good thing I know how to make women purr.”
“The Wolf of the North.” The sneer deepened. “And the fire-breathing bitch herself.”
“New court, new traditions, you said. Even for you. Starting with fewer schemes and secrets that take years off my life every time you do a grand reveal.
A reminder that she might be the heir of fire … but Erawan was King of the Darkness.
The sunlight gilded the balcony as Asterin whispered, so softly that only Manon could hear, “Bring my body back to the cabin.” Something in Manon’s chest broke—broke so violently that she wondered if it was possible for no one to have heard it.
And Manon understood in that moment that there were forces greater than obedience, and discipline, and brutality. Understood that she had not been born soulless; she had not been born without a heart.
Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother.
“You are a Crochan. The last of their royal bloodline with the death of your sister at your own hand. You are a Crochan Queen.”
His wife. Gods above. He was over five hundred years old—and this … this girl, young woman, she-devil, whatever she was, had just bluffed and lied her way into a job. A sword-thrower indeed.
“Ten years ago, we did nothing to stop this. If Maeve had sent a force, we might have kept it from growing so out of control. Our brethren were hunted and killed and tortured. Maeve let it happen for spite, because Aelin’s mother would not yield to her wishes. So yes—my Fireheart is one flame in the sea of darkness. But she is willing to fight, Fenrys. She is willing to take on Erawan, take on Maeve and the gods themselves, if it means peace can be had.”
Aelin Galathynius, her hands laced behind her head, grinned at them all and said, “I like this office far better than your other one, Rolfe.”
“You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her.”
“Allow me to introduce to you, Captain Rolfe, the incomparable, the beautiful, and the absolutely and all-around flawless Queen of Terrasen.”
“The world,” Aelin said, “will be saved and remade by the dreamers, Rolfe.”
“Rowan’s always looking for an excuse to show off. Dramatic rescues give him purpose and fulfillment in his dull, immortal life.”
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.
Rowan said smoothly, “Milady has to release bits of her power daily or it can consume her.” Despite herself, despite what she’d done, she decided she wanted Rowan to call her milady at least once every day.
“Welcome to Her Majesty’s army, Privateer
Aelin was insane, Dorian realized. Brilliant and wicked, but insane. And perhaps the greatest, most unremorseful liar he’d ever encountered.
And as the Pirate Lord and Queen of Terrasen shook hands and she grinned at Rolfe, Dorian realized he … perhaps he could do with a bit more wickedness and insanity, too.
And why Aelin had insisted on getting inside Brannon’s temple. Not just to see the king, not just to reclaim the city for the Mycenians and Terrasen, but … for Lysandra to study the life-size, detailed carvings of those sea dragons. To become a living myth. The two of them … Oh, those crafty, scheming devils. A queen of legends indeed.
Cold white light. Tendrils flickered—silver flame…
And Rowan realized what the power in her hand was. Realized that the flame she would unleash would be so cold it burned, realized it was the cold of the stars, the cold of stolen light. Not wildfire—but moonfire.
“One day. I am going to marry you. I’ll be generous and let you pick when, even if it’s ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.”
“Because I’m the only one arrogant and insane enough to ask Mala Fire-Bringer to let me stay with the woman I love.”
“Something tells me,” he said, his breath skittering along her skin, “you might not mind if we were discovered. If someone saw how thoroughly I plan to worship you.”
“I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”
Rowan had been bred and honed for battle, and every inch of him was pure-blooded warrior.
“You are mine,” Rowan breathed, and she felt the claiming in her bones, her soul. “I am yours,” she answered. “And you love me.” Such hope and quiet joy in his eyes, beneath all that fierceness. “To whatever end.” For
“Enjoy your ride?”
But even as the queen stood undimming before the shadows of the world … a lick of cold traced the contours of Dorian’s heart. And he wondered if Aelin was somehow watching the archipelago, and the seas, and the skies, as if she might never see them again.
“Marion was my mother’s name. She died defending Aelin Galathynius from her assassin. My mother bought Aelin time to run—to get away so she could one day return to save us all.
