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He’d dropped the two Wyrdkeys into her awaiting palm, the Amulet of Orynth clinking faintly against her iron nails. Only a fool would bring them into one of Erawan’s strongholds. “They might not be your priority,” Dorian said, “but they remain vital to our success.” Manon’s eyes had narrowed as she pocketed the keys, utterly unfazed at holding in her jacket a power great enough to level kingdoms. “You think I’d toss them away like rubbish?” Asterin suddenly found the snow to be in need of her careful attention.
Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. “She does not lie.” UNCLEAN There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped. “How many of you,” Asterin called out, “have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?” The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking—shuddering. Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine’s eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin’s womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known.
“There is a better world out there,” she said again. “And I will fight for it.” She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. “Will you?” Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed. 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.
And Anneith didn’t speak, either. Not a whisper of guidance. It was better that way. To listen to herself. Better that Lorcan kept his distance, too.
don’t sleep well these days.” He cut her a sidelong glance. “I don’t suppose I’m the only one.” She picked at the blister on her right hand, hissing. “We could start a secret society—for people who don’t sleep well.”
“Fenrys … You know, I don’t actually know your family name.” Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen. “Moonbeam.” “It is not,” Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh. Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. “I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?”
Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. “They’re barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company.” Even Sartaq smiled at that. But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. “And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth.”
Aelin wiped her hands. “Well, that’s over and done with,” she announced, and strode to the desk and map. “Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?”
Borte whirled to Aelin. “Then you are Aelin Galathynius. You look just how Nesryn said.” Aelin grinned at Nesryn, the woman leaning against Sartaq’s side. “I hope you only said horrible things about me.” “Only the worst,” Nesryn said with dead flatness, though her mouth twitched.
He was five hundred years old. He should walk away—he shouldn’t be so damned bothered by any of this. And yet Lorcan snarled, “You’re jealous. That’s what truly eats away at you.” Elide barked a laugh that he’d never heard before, cruel and sharp. “Jealous? Jealous of what? That demon you served?” She squared her shoulders, a wave cresting before it smashed into the shore. “The only thing that I am jealous of, Lorcan, is that she is rid of you.”
“You didn’t tell me, I’m assuming, because you didn’t want me to worry.” Yrene bit her lip. “Something like that.” He snorted. “And when you were waddling around, belly near bursting?” Yrene whacked his arm. “I’m not going to waddle.” Chaol laughed, and tugged her into his arms. “You’ll waddle beautifully, was what I meant to say.”
Prince Rowan, however, said to the man, “You’ve defended and prepared your people admirably. We have no plans to take that from you.” “I don’t need the approval of Fae brutes,” the lord sneered. Aelin clapped Rowan on the shoulder. “Brute. I like that. Better than ‘buzzard,’ right?” Yrene had no idea what the queen was talking about, but she held in her laugh anyway. Aelin sketched a mocking bow to the Lord of Anielle. “On that lovely parting note, we’re going to finish up our dinners. Enjoy your evening, we’ll see you on the battlements tomorrow, and please do rot in hell.”
For long minutes, he’d only stared down at himself. At the delicate hands, the smaller wrists. Amazing, how much strength the tiny bones contained. A few subtle pats between his legs had told him enough about the changes there. And so he’d been here for the past two hours, learning how the female body moved and operated. Wholly different from learning how a raven flew—how it wrangled the wind. He’d thought he’d known everything about the female body. How to make a woman purr with pleasure. He was half-tempted to find a tent and learn firsthand what certain things felt like. Not an effective
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Dorian you dawg 😹
Dorian ran those invisible fingers down her neck, trailing them along her collarbones. “Tell me to stay,” he said, and the words had no warmth, no kindness. “Tell me to stay with you, if that’s what you want.” His invisible fingers grew talons and scraped over her skin. Manon’s throat bobbed. “But you won’t say that, will you, Manon?” Her breathing turned jagged. He continued to stroke her neck, her jaw, her throat, caressing skin he’d tasted over and over. “Do you know why?” When she didn’t answer, Dorian let one of those phantom talons dig in, just slightly. She swallowed, and it was not
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Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of attachment. It was preposterous. And it was, perhaps, true. But it was not her problem. Not right now.
Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower’s entrance. “To Lord Chaol! To the queen!” How far they both were from Rifthold. From the assassin and the captain.
Not that there was much Elide could do. Despite the generous gift of power that ran through the Lochan bloodline, she possessed no magic, no gifts beyond reading people and lying.
Farasha did not balk from the Morath soldiers who made it onto the battlements. From the ones who emerged from the second siege tower that docked down the wall, or those who made it up the ladders. No, that magnificent horse trampled them, fearless and wicked, just as Chaol had predicted. A horse whose name meant butterfly—stomping all over Valg foot soldiers.
Lorcan plowed his own path toward the advancing khagan lines, some Morath soldiers fleeing in his wake. Some falling before he reached them, his magic snapping their lives away. Soon now. They’d win the field soon, and the song in his blood would quiet. Part of him didn’t want it to end, even as his body began to scream to rest. Yet when the battle was done, what would remain? Nothing. Elide had made that clear enough. She loved him, but she hated herself for it.
her golden eyes settling on him again with that preternatural clarity and stillness. “I am sorry,” she said. “For how I spoke when I learned of your plans to go to Morath.” He was stunned enough that he just blinked. Stunned enough that humor was his only shield as he said, “Seems like that Crochan do-gooder behavior is rubbing off on you, Manon.” A half smile at that. “Mother help me if I ever become so dull.”
Aedion kept his position at the front line, ensuring no soldier lagged behind. Down the line, Prince Galan and a spotted, furry form did the same. Beside them, red hair waving in the wind, Ansel of Briarcliff held her sword pointed at their enemy. Tears slid down her freckled cheeks. The heads of her men lay scattered in the snow around her.
“Later, then,” she breathed, limping to the door. Lorcan sent a flicker of his power to wrap around her ankle. The limp vanished. A hand on the knob, she gave him a small, grateful nod. “I missed that.” He heard the unspoken words as she disappeared into the busy hall. I missed you. Lorcan allowed himself a rare smile.
“You’re starting to like the notoriety.” Rowan arched a brow. “You think that everywhere I’ve gone for the past three hundred years, whispers haven’t followed me?” She rolled her eyes, but he chuckled. “This is far better than Cold-hearted bastard or I heard he killed someone with a table leg.” “You did kill someone with a table leg.” Rowan’s smirk grew. “And you are a cold-hearted bastard,” she threw in. Rowan snorted. “I never said those whispers were lies.” Aelin looped her arm through his. “I’m going to start a rumor about you, then. Something truly grotesque.” He groaned. “I dread the
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This final push north, homeward … She smiled grimly at the looming mountains, at the army stretching away behind them. And just because she could, just because they were headed to Terrasen at last, Aelin unleashed a flicker of her power. Some of the standard-bearers behind them murmured in surprise, but Rowan only smiled. Smiled with that fierce hope, that brutal determination that flared in her own heart, as she began to burn. She let the flame encompass her, a golden glow that she knew could be spied even from the farthest lines of the army, from the city and keep they left behind. A beacon
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It would have been madness to bring the two keys here. So he had buried them in the shale rock, not even daring to mark the spot. He could only pray it was far enough away to avoid Erawan’s detection.
Big D… what the hell were you thinking?!
Dorian allowed himself one long breath before he squeezed beneath the shut door. And into Morath itself.
From here, he’d need to cross the entire level, take another staircase up, another hall, and then, if he was lucky, Erawan’s tower would be there. Manon had never gained access to it. Never known what waited up there. Only that it was guarded by Valg at all hours. A good enough place to begin his hunt.
Why have you not thought about it being warded? Surely you don’t think he’d leave his tower in any type of vulnerability??
As the door shut behind Maeve, she leaned into the iron-studded wood and sighed. “Do you plan to hide in that pathetic form all day?” Dorian lunged for the gap between the door and the floor, but her black-booted foot slammed down upon his tail. Pain speared through his bones, but her foot remained in place. His magic surged, lashing, but a dark wind wrapped talons around it, choking. Stifling. The Fae Queen smiled down at him. “You are not a very skilled spy, King of Adarlan.”
Dorian… wtf
The screams and snarling had quieted, at least. As if even Morath’s dungeon-masters maintained ordinary hours of working. He might have found the idea darkly funny, if he didn’t know what manner of thing was being broken and bred here.
There was another reason the wild men had allied with them, beyond the territory they stood to gain. Witches had hunted their kind this spring—entire clans and camps left in bloody ribbons. Many had been reduced to cinders, and the few survivors had whispered of a dark-haired woman with unholy power. Chaol was willing to bet it had been Kaltain, but had not told the wild men that particular threat, at least, had been erased. Or had incinerated herself in the end.
We’ll make sure nothing harms this army tonight.” A knowing glance toward the healers’ wagons. “Certain areas will be especially guarded.” Chaol nodded his thanks. Having Aelin able to use her powers, having her companions wielding them, too, would make the battle far, far easier. Wyverns might not even be able to get close enough to touch their soldiers if Aelin could blast them from the skies, or Rowan could snap their wings with a gust of wind. Or just rip the air from their lungs.
Maeve nodded toward his pocket. “Well done.” Her dark power leapt upon his mind. He didn’t have the chance to grab for Damaris before he was snared in her dark web.
HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING DORIAN?! Why did you make this deal in the first place 🤦🏼♀️
Is this the king you wish to be? Torturing a helpless female? He laughed again. You are not helpless. And if I could, I would seal you in an iron box for eternity. Dorian glanced to the windows. To the night beyond. He had to go—quickly. But he still said, The king I wish to be is the opposite of what you are. He gave Maeve a smile. And there is only one witch who will be my queen.
Yrene just turned her head to the side and vomited into the waste bucket. Elide leapt to her feet. But Yrene held up a hand, wiping her mouth with the other. “As joyful as it is to know I shall soon be a mother, the realities of the first few months are … not so joyous.”
Tell me about it 🙄
Elide asked, “What’s wrong?” Borte shifted, with impatience or nerves, Yrene couldn’t tell. “They found someone in the mountain. They want you up there—to decide what to do with him.” Elide had gone still. Utterly still. Yrene asked, “Who?” Borte’s mouth tightened. “Her uncle.”
Uhhhh wasn’t he just in morath days ago?
Vernon’s face went the color of spoiled milk. “You mean to leave me in their hands, utterly defenseless?” “I was defenseless when you let my leg remain unhealed,” she said, a steady sort of calm settling over her. “I was a child then, and I survived. You’re a grown man.” She let her lips curl in another smile. “We’ll see if you do, too.” She didn’t try to hide her limp as she strode out. As she caught Lorcan’s eye and beheld the pride gleaming there. Not a whisper—not one whisper from that voice who had guided her. Not from fear, but … Perhaps she did not need Anneith, Lady of Wise Things.
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“Don’t burden yourself with the what-ifs,” Rowan said, reading the words on her face. I don’t know what to do, she said silently. He kissed the top of her head. Together.
“For those we love, we can rise above that fear. Remember that tomorrow. Even if you throw up, even if you spend the whole night in the privy. Remember that we have something to fight for, and it will always triumph.”
“I would like a word.” Darrow. Evangeline turned before Lysandra did. The ancient lord stood in the doorway of what seemed to be a study, and beckoned them inside. “It will not take long,” he said upon noting the displeasure still on Lysandra’s face. She was done making herself appear nice for men whom she had no interest in being nice to.
“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 said, looking them each in the eye, “I would rather fly with you than with ten thousand Ironteeth at my side.” She smiled slightly. “Tomorrow, we will show them why.” Her coven grinned, wicked and defiant, and touched two fingers to their brows in deference. Manon returned the gesture, bowing her head as she did. “We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”
Aedion nocked an arrow into his bow, arm straining as he pulled back the string. As one, the army gathered on the city walls did the same. “Let’s make this a fight worthy of a song,” Aedion said.
“On the other hand,” Rowan countered, “I’d say you were a human with Fae instincts. Perhaps more of them than human ones.” She felt him smirk. “Territorial, dominant, aggressive …” “Your skills when it comes to complimenting women are unparalleled.”
Had Gavriel heard, across the sea or wherever their hunt for Aelin had taken him, that Terrasen was about to fall? Would he care? It didn’t matter. Even if part of him wished the Lion were there. Rowan and the others certainly, but the steady presence of Gavriel would have been a balm to these men. Perhaps to him.
:(
Glennis stayed until the end. And when they were alone on the silent battlefield, Manon’s great-grandmother put a hand on her shoulder and said quietly, her voice somehow distant, “Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood—let the land be witness, and return home.”
The world went quiet. The approaching rider halted, another—a beautiful woman Dorian could only describe as golden—right behind. But Dorian stared at the rider before him. At the posture of the body, the commanding seat he possessed. And as Chaol Westfall dismounted and ran the last few feet toward Dorian, the King of Adarlan wept.
“The woman responsible for this,” Chaol said, motioning to his standing, his walking, to the army stretching down the road. “Yrene Towers. A healer at the Torre Cesme. And my wife.” Yrene bowed, and Chaol could have sworn a flicker of sorrow darkened Dorian’s eyes. But then his king was taking Yrene’s hands, lifting her from her bow. And though that sorrow still edged his smile, Dorian said to her, “Thank you.” Yrene went scarlet. “I’ve heard so much about you, Your Majesty.” Dorian only winked, a ghost of the man he’d been before. “All bad things, I hope.”
“Elena has had a thousand years of existence, either living or as a spirit. Forgive me if I don’t give a shit that her time has now come to an end, when you only received twenty years.”
“I am grateful—that I got to see you again. One last time.” Dorian had no words, couldn’t find them. Not as Aelin turned to him, tears sliding down her face as she said, “One of us has to rule.” Before Dorian could understand, before he could realize the agreement she’d just made, Aelin ripped her hand from his. And shoved him through that gateway behind them. Back into their own world.
