Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5)(164)

Vernon had mocked her about it once. Said it had been taken by the King of Adarlan and melted down. Burned, along with the antler throne.

Aedion’s turquoise eyes softened. “It survived. We survived.”

The three of them, the remnants of their court, their families.

But Aelin was again sizing up Lorcan, bristling, that wicked grin returning. Elide said softly, “I survived, Majesty, because of him.” She pointed with her chin to Manon. “And because of her. I am here because of both of them.”

Manon nodded, focus going to the pocket where she’d seen Elide hide that scrap of stone. The confirmation she’d been looking for. The reminder of the third part of the triangle.

“I’m here,” Elide said as Aelin fixed those unnervingly vivid eyes on her, “because of Kaltain Rompier.” Her throat clogged, but she pushed past it as her trembling fingers fished out the little bit of cloth from her inside pocket. The otherworldly feel of it pulsed in her palm.

“She said to give this to you. To Celaena Sardothien, I mean. She didn’t know they … you were the same. She said it was payment for … for a warm cloak offered in a cold dungeon.” She wasn’t ashamed of the tears that fell, not in honor of what that woman had done. Aelin studied the scrap of cloth in Elide’s shaking palm. “I think she kept this as a reminder of kindness,” Elide said hoarsely. “They … they broke her, and hurt her. And she died alone in Morath. She died alone, so I wouldn’t … so they couldn’t …” None of them spoke or moved. She couldn’t tell if it made it worse. If the hand that Lorcan laid on her back made her cry harder.

The words tumbled out of Elide’s shaking mouth. “She said t-to remember your promise to punish them all. And s-said that you can unlock any door, if you only have the k-key.”

Aelin clamped her lips together and closed her eyes.

A beautiful, dark-haired man now approached. He was perhaps a few years older than her, but carried himself so gracefully that she felt small and unmolded before him. His sapphire eyes fixed on Elide, clever and unruffled—and sad. “Kaltain Rompier saved your life? And gave you that?”

He knew her—had known her.

Manon Blackbeak said in a faint, amused voice, “Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth, meet Dorian Havilliard, King of Adarlan.” The king lifted his brows at the witch.

“M-majesty,” she stammered, inclining her head. She should really get up. Really stop lying on the ground like a worm. But the cloth and stone still lay in her hand.

Aelin wiped her damp face on a sleeve, then straightened. “Do you know what it is you carry, Elide?”

“Y-yes, Majesty.”

Turquoise eyes, haunted and weary, lifted to her own. Then slid to Lorcan. “Why didn’t you take it?” The voice was hollow and hard. Elide suspected she’d be lucky if it was never used on her.

Lorcan met her gaze without flinching. “It wasn’t mine to take.”

Aelin now glanced between them, seeing too much. And there was no warmth on the queen’s face, but she said to Lorcan, “Thank you—for bringing her to me.”

The others seemed to be trying not to look too shocked at the words.

But Aelin turned to Manon. “I lay claim to her. Witch-blood in her veins or no, she is Lady of Perranth, and she is mine.”

Gold eyes gleamed with the thrill of challenge. “And if I claim her for the Blackbeaks?”

“Blackbeaks—or the Crochans?” Aelin purred.

Elide blinked. Manon—and the Crochans? What was the Wing Leader doing here? Where was Abraxos? The witch said, “Careful, Majesty. With your power reduced to embers, you’ll have to fight me the old-fashioned way again.”

That dangerous grin returned. “You know, I’ve been hoping for round two.”

“Ladies,” the silver-haired prince said through clenched teeth.

They both turned, giving Rowan Whitethorn horrifyingly innocent smiles. The Fae Prince, to his credit, only winced after they looked away again.

Elide wished she could hide behind Lorcan as both women fixed that near-feral attention on her again. Manon reached forward, tipping Elide’s hand over—to where Aelin’s waited. “There you go, over and done with,” Manon said.

Aelin cringed slightly but pocketed the cloth and the key inside. A shadow instantly lifted from Elide’s heart, a whispering presence now silenced.

Manon ordered, “On your feet. We were in the middle of something.”

She reached to pull Elide up, but Lorcan stepped in and did it himself. He didn’t let go of Elide’s arm, and she tried not to lean into his warmth. Tried not to make it seem like she hadn’t just met her queen, her friend, her court, and … somehow now found Lorcan to be the safest of them all.

Manon smirked at Lorcan. “Your claim on her, male, is at the very bottom of the list.” Iron teeth slid out, turning that beautiful face petrifying. Lorcan didn’t let go. Manon crooned in that way that usually meant death, “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

“You don’t give me orders, witch,” Lorcan said. “And you have no say in what is between us.”

Elide frowned at him. “You’re making it worse.”

“We like to call it ‘territorial male nonsense,’” Aelin confided. “Or ‘territorial Fae bastard’ works just as nicely.”