Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

A princess who was to live for a thousand years. Longer. That had been her gift. It was now her curse.

Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom

Even when the dark queen presided over the hunter’s ministrations, the princess thought of him. Held on to his memory as if it were a rock in the raging river.

All hope of preventing that horrible fate now lay with Dorian Havilliard and Manon Blackbeak.

There was nothing kind in the prince’s face. Nothing warm. Only cold-blooded predator. Hell-bent on finding the queen who held his heart.

She would never let go of it—the rage. Even when she sank into that burning sea within her, even when she sang to the darkness and flame, the rage guided her.

All he had was an unmarked grave for a healer no one would remember, a broken empire, and a shattered castle.

For it would take an army to keep Whitethorn from reaching his mate.

“I crawled …” His throat bobbed. “I crawled after Aelin.”

Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, consort, husband, and mate of the Queen of Terrasen, knew he was dreaming. He knew it, because he could see her.

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.

If he died, Yrene went as well. To funnel her healing power into him so he might walk when her magic was not too drained, their very lives had been entwined.

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.

The blade plunged down. Not into Fenrys. But Connall’s own heart.

He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t coming to get her. She should be glad. Should be relieved. She was relieved. And yet … and yet …

Had Aelin been here, one breath from her and the five thousand troops they’d exhausted themselves killing today would have been ash on the wind.

“Just as you blindly obeyed our queen, you’ll now obey me?” “I obey no man,” she snarled.

She shrewdly looked him over. As if weighing the man within. “It was real, Aedion,” she said. “All of it. I don’t care if you believe me or not. But it was real for me.”

Perhaps it had all been for nothing. The Queen Who Was Promised. Promised to die, to surrender herself to fulfill an ancient princess’s debt. To save this world.

Fireheart, why do you cry?

And from far away, deep within her, Aelin whispered toward that ray of memory, Because I am lost. And I do not know the way.

But you must be brave a little while longer, my Fireheart. She leaned into her mother’s touch. You must be brave a little while longer, and remember … Her mother placed a phantom hand over Aelin’s heart. It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.

Evalin’s face didn’t falter. You are my daughter. You were born of two mighty bloodlines. That strength flows through you. Lives in you.

You do not yield.

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

It filled him with sound, with fire and light. As if it screamed, again and again, I am alive, I am alive, I am alive.

There was no answer. Nothing but humming darkness and the Lord of the North glistening above, pointing the way north. To her.

He wondered if the Thirteen could ever see it—that hint of self-loathing that sometimes flickered across her face.

Only with her did he not need to explain. Only with her did he not need to be a king, or anything but what he was. Only with her would there be no judgment for what he’d done, who he’d failed, what he might still have to do.

And when they were a few days away from the outer limits of the city, they had laid their trap for Maeve. What he knew the queen might not be able to resist coming to retrieve herself: Wyrdstone collars.

“She brought an army to keep us out?” Elide asked. Lorcan glanced at Rowan, his dark eyes full of warning. “Or to keep Aelin in.”

They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

When Karsyn was gone, Asterin remained staring at Abraxos and Narene, scratching her hair. “You really think they’re mated?” Abraxos lifted his head from where it rested atop Narene’s back and looked toward them, as if to say, It took you long enough to figure it out.

Gods above, she was beautiful. He wondered when it would stop feeling like a betrayal to think so.

This wasn’t just a breaking of her body. But a breaking of her—of the fire she’d come to love. To destroy the part of her that sang.

Let it kill him, wreck him. He would not serve. Not another heartbeat. He would not obey. He would not obey. And slowly, Fenrys got to his feet.

He’d reached the first of the hollows that flowed to the camp edge, the dips narrow and steep, when Aelin Galathynius appeared. Lorcan didn’t expect the sob in his throat as she raced between the tents, as he beheld the iron mask and the chains on her, hands still bound.

Aelin didn’t falter as they wilted to the ground. She charged past, aiming straight for the field and hills. To where Lorcan ran for her. He signaled again. To me, to me. Whether Aelin recognized it, or him, she still raced his way.

Aelin vanished into the first dip, and Lorcan’s magic flared over and over. To her, to Whitethorn.

Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror. His Fireheart.

The queen’s gauntlets drew blood where they scraped into her neck, her jaw, as she heaved against the mask. “Take it off!” The plea turned into a scream. “Take it off!” Over and over, the queen screamed it. “Take it off, take it off, take it off!”

Rowan’s eyes flickered, panic and heartbreak and longing shining there. “I will. But you have to be still, Fireheart. Just for a few moments.”

“I am your mate,” Rowan whispered, as if it was the answer she sought. And the love in his eyes, in the way his voice broke, his bloodied hand trembling

They had taken her scars. Maeve had taken them all away.

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.

His eyes opened, meeting hers as if he’d known where to find her even in sleep.

A shudder went through Rowan, and his head dipped slightly. “Are you …” He seemed to grapple with the right word. “Can I hold you?”

But he’d work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Escape wasn’t my intention.

Aelin’s throat bobbed as she whispered, “I’m so tired, Rowan.” His heart strained again. “I know, Fireheart.”