Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5)(178)

Steps thudded down the stairs at the back of the hold. Dorian twisted toward them, but Aelin smirked at Manon and approached the mirror. “Then I’ll see you on the other side, witch.”

Aedion’s golden head appeared between the crates. “What the hell are you—”

Aelin’s shallow nod seemed all that Manon needed. She placed her hand atop Aelin’s.

Golden eyes met Dorian’s for a moment, and he opened his mouth to say something to her, the words surging from some barren field in his chest.

But Aelin and Manon pressed their joined hands to the speckled glass.

Aedion’s shout of warning rang through the hold as they vanished.





63


Elide watched the ship rally against the armada looming before them—then descend into utter chaos as Aedion began roaring below.

The news came out moments later. Came out as Prince Rowan Whitethorn landed on the main deck, face haggard, eyes full of nothing but fear as Aedion burst out the door, Dorian on his heels, sporting an already-nasty bruise around his eye. Pacing, seething, Aedion told them of Aelin and Manon walking into the mirror—the Lock—and vanishing. How the King of Adarlan had solved Deanna’s riddle and sent them into its silvery realm to buy them a shot at this battle.

They went down into the cargo hold. But no matter how Aedion pushed against the mirror, it did not open to him. No matter how Rowan searched it with his magic, it did not yield where Aelin and Manon had gone. Aedion had spat on the floor, looking inclined to give the king another black eye as Dorian explained there had been little choice. He hadn’t seemed sorry about it—until Rowan refused to meet his gaze.

Only when they were gathered on the deck again, the king and shape-shifter off speaking to the captain about the turn of events, did Elide carefully say to Aedion as he paced, “What is done is done. We can’t wait for Aelin and Manon to find a way to save us.”

Aedion halted, and Elide tried not to cringe at the unrelenting fury as it narrowed on her. “When I want your opinion about how to deal with my missing queen, I’ll ask you.”

Lorcan snarled at him. But Elide lifted her chin, even as the insult hit something in her chest. “I waited as long as you did to find her again, Aedion. You are not the only one who fears to lose her once more.”

Indeed, Rowan Whitethorn now rubbed his face. She suspected it was as much feeling as the Fae Prince would show.

Rowan lowered his hands, the others watching him. Waiting—for his orders.

Even Aedion.

Elide started as realization slapped her. As she searched for proof but found none.

“We continue readying for battle,” Rowan said hoarsely. He looked to Lorcan, then Fenrys and Gavriel, and his entire countenance changed, his shoulders pushing back, his eyes turning hard and calculating. “There’s not a chance in hell Maeve doesn’t know you’re here. She’ll wield the blood oath when it’ll hurt us the most.”

Maeve. Some small part of her wished to see the queen who could command Lorcan’s relentless focus and affection for so many centuries. And perhaps give Maeve a piece of her mind.

Fenrys put a hand on the hilt of his sword and said with more quiet than Elide had witnessed so far, “I don’t know how to play this one.”

Indeed, Gavriel seemed at a loss, scanning his tattooed hands as if the answer lay there.

It was Lorcan who said, “If you’re spotted fighting on this side, it’s over. She’ll either kill you both or make you regret it in other ways.”

“And what about you?” Fenrys challenged.

Lorcan’s eyes slid to hers, then back to the males before them. “It was over for me months ago. It’s now a matter of waiting to see what she’ll do about it.”

If she’d kill him. Or drag him back in chains.

Elide’s stomach turned, and she avoided the urge to grab his hand, to beg him to run.

“She’ll see that we’ve worked our way around her order to kill you,” Gavriel at last said. “If fighting on this side of the line doesn’t damn us enough, then that surely will. It likely already has.”

“Dawn’s still half an hour off, if you two want to try again,” Lorcan crooned.

Elide tensed. But it was Fenrys who said, “It’s all a ploy.” Elide held her breath as he surveyed the Fae males—his companions. “To fracture us when Maeve knows that unified, we could present a considerable threat.”

“We’d never turn on her,” Gavriel countered.

“No,” Fenrys agreed. “But we would offer that strength to another.” And he looked at Rowan as he said, “When we got your call for aid this spring—when you asked us to come defend Mistward, we left before Maeve could get wind of it. We ran.”

“That’s enough,” Lorcan growled.

But Fenrys went on, holding Rowan’s steady gaze, “When we returned, Maeve whipped us within an inch of our lives. Tied Lorcan to the posts for two days and let Cairn whip him whenever he wished. Lorcan ordered us not to tell you—for whatever reason. But I think Maeve saw what we did together in Mistward and realized how dangerous we could be—to her.”

Rowan didn’t hide the devastation in his eyes as he faced Lorcan—devastation that Elide felt echo in her own heart. Lorcan had endured that … and still remained loyal to Maeve. Elide brushed her fingers against his. The motion didn’t go unnoticed by the others, but they wisely kept quiet about it. Especially as Lorcan dragged his thumb down the back of her hand in answer.