Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

It is the strength of this that matters, her mother had said, long ago. Wherever you go, Aelin, no matter how far, this will lead you home. No matter where she was. No matter how far. Even if it took her beyond all known worlds.

This will lead you home.

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.

An ordinary gift. A Fire-Bringer no more. But Aelin all the same.

“What does it mean,” Gavriel mused, the first rays of sun beginning to gild his golden hair, “for them to be gone? Is there a hell-realm whose throne now sits vacant?”

“Never underestimate the power of guilt when it comes to Aelin Galathynius,”

He’d think about his father later. Never. His nameless father, who had come for him in the end.

“Well, when you do, expect me to be in the skies above you. I’d hate for the battle to be dull.” Only the fierce-eyed rukhin would have the nerve to call marching on a hundred thousand soldiers dull.

There wasn’t anything else to discuss. Within a few days, they’d all be a grand feast for the crows.

Rowan had taken the time last night to reacquaint her with certain parts of that body. And his own. Had spent a long while doing so, too.

“Someone very wise recently told me that Terrasen is not merely a place, but an ideal. A home for all those who wander, for those who need somewhere to welcome them with open arms.” He inclined his head to Lysandra. “I formally recognize Caraverre and its lands, and you as its lady.”

“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.”

“I should like to face my enemies knowing that the heart of my lands, of this kingdom, will beat on in the chest of Evangeline. That no matter the gathering shadow, Terrasen will always live in someone who understands its very essence without needing to be taught. Who embodies its very best qualities.” He gestured to Lysandra. “If that is agreeable to you.”

Where he’d make his last stand. Where he’d meet his end, defending the place he’d loved most. It was the least he could do, with all the warriors who had fallen thanks to him, to his choices. To fall himself for Terrasen. A death worthy of a song. An end worthy of being told around a fire.

So Aedion leaned in, and kissed Lysandra, kissed the woman who should have been his wife, his mate, one last time. “I love you.” Sorrow filled her beautiful face. “And I you.” She gestured to the western gate, to the soldiers waiting for its final cleaving. “Until the end?”

“I will find you again,” he promised her. “In whatever life comes after this.” Lysandra nodded. “In every lifetime.”

Lorcan glanced at the castle, where he knew Elide was watching. He said his silent farewell, sending what remained of his heart on the wind to the woman who had saved him in every way that mattered.

He’d come to hope. Had found there was something better out there. Someone better. And he’d go down swinging to defend all of it.

I wiped it away from existence. Yet he only remembered it once. Only once. The first time he beheld you.

But life, Chaol realized—life was just beginning.

“Darrow called me ‘Your Majesty,’ ” she said after a minute. Aedion slid his red-rimmed eyes to her. But a spark lit them—just a bit. “Should we be worried?” Aelin’s mouth curved. “I thought the same damn thing.”

“Live, Elide,” was all the witch said to her before striding out of the hall once more. “Live.”

“It’s just … I’m Lady of Perranth. If you marry me, you will take my family name.” He blinked. Elide laughed again. “Lord Lorcan Lochan?”

“I will marry you, Elide Lochan. And proudly call myself Lord Lorcan Lochan, even when the whole kingdom laughs to hear it.” He kissed her, gently and lovingly. “And when we are wed,” he whispered, “I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.”

“You never stop teaching, do you?” Hafiza’s mouth cracked into a grin. “This is life, Yrene. We never stop learning. Even at my age.”

A bridge between their two peoples, as Manon had become. A light—as the Thirteen had exploded with light, not darkness, in their final moments.

“I am thinking about how very grateful I am. That we made it. That I found you. And how, even with all that work to be done, I will not mind a moment of it because you are with me.”