Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5)(202)

“The Shadows told us,” Asterin said, eyes dancing.

“And?”

“And what?” Sorrel grunted. “So you’re half Crochan.”

“Crochan Queen.” And heir to Rhiannon Crochan’s likeness. Had the Ancients noted it?

Asterin shrugged. “Five centuries of pure-blooded Ironteeth couldn’t bring us home. Maybe you can.”

A child not of war … but of peace.

“And will you follow me?” Manon asked them quietly. “To do what needs to be done before we can return to the Wastes?”

Aelin Galathynius had not beseeched Elena for another fate. She had only asked for one thing, one request of the ancient queen: Will you come with me? For the same reason Manon had now asked them.

As one, the Thirteen lifted their fingers to their brows. As one, they lowered them.

Manon looked toward the sea, her throat tight.

“Aelin Galathynius willingly handed over her freedom so an Ironteeth witch could walk free,” Manon said. Elide straightened, pulling from Asterin’s arms. But Manon continued, “We owe her a life debt. And more than that … It is time that we became better than our foremothers. We are all children of this land.”

“What are you going to do?” Asterin breathed, her eyes so bright.

Manon looked behind them. To the north.

“I am going to find the Crochans. And I am going to raise an army with them. For Aelin Galathynius. And her people. And for ours.”

“They’ll never trust us,” Sorrel said.

Asterin drawled, “Then we’ll have to just be our charming selves.”

Some of them smirked; some of them shifted on their feet.

Manon said again to her Thirteen, “Will you follow me?”

And when they all touched their fingers to their brows again, Manon returned the gesture.





Rowan and Aedion were sitting silently on the beach. Gavriel had recovered enough from the shock of the oath’s severing that he and Lorcan were now standing atop the bluff, talking quietly; Lysandra was sitting alone, in ghost leopard form, amongst the waving seagrasses; and Dorian was just … watching them from the apex of a dune.

What Aelin had done … what she’d lied about …

Some of the blood on the ground had dried.

If Aelin was gone, if her life would indeed be the cost if she ever got free …

“Maeve doesn’t have the two keys,” Manon said from Dorian’s side, having crept up silently. Her coven lingered behind her, Elide ensconced within their ranks. “In case you were concerned.”

Lorcan and Gavriel turned toward them. Then Lysandra.

Dorian dared to ask, “Then where are they?”

“I have them,” Manon said simply. “Aelin slid them into my pocket.”

Oh, Aelin. Aelin. She’d worked Maeve into such a frenzy, made the queen so focused on capturing her that she hadn’t thought to confirm if Aelin held the keys before she vanished.

She’d been dealt such a wicked, impossible hand—and yet Aelin had made it count. One last time, she’d made it count.

“It’s why I couldn’t do anything about it,” Manon said. “To help her. I had to look uninvolved. Neutral.” From where he sat on the beach below, Aedion had twisted toward them, his keen Fae hearing feeding him every word. Manon said to all of them, “I am sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

She reached into the pocket of her riding leathers and extended the Amulet of Orynth and a sliver of black stone to Dorian. He balked.

“Elena said Mala’s bloodline can stop this. It runs in both your houses.”

The golden eyes were weary—heavy. He realized what Manon was asking.

Aelin had never planned to see Terrasen again.

She had married Rowan knowing she would have months at best, days at the worst, with him. But she would give Terrasen a legal king. To hold her territory together.

She had made plans for all of them—and none for herself.

“The quest does not end here,” Dorian said softly.

Manon shook her head. And he knew she meant more than the keys, than the war, as she said, “No, it does not.”

He took the keys from her. They throbbed and flickered, warming his palm. A foreign, horrible presence, and yet … all that stood between them and destruction.

No, the quest did not end here. Not even close. Dorian slid the keys into his pocket.

And the road that now sprawled away before him, curving into unknown, awaiting shadow … it did not frighten him.





75


Rowan had married Aelin before dawn barely two days ago.

Aedion and Lysandra had been the only witnesses as they’d awoken the bleary-eyed captain, who married them quickly and quietly and signed a vow of secrecy.

They’d had fifteen minutes in their cabin to consummate that marriage.

Aedion still carried the formal documents; the captain bearing the duplicates.

Rowan had been kneeling on that spit of beach for half an hour now. Silent, wandering the paths of his churning thoughts. Aedion had kept him company, staring blankly at the sea.

Rowan had known.

Part of him had known that Aelin was his mate. And had turned away from that knowledge, again and again, out of respect for Lyria, out of terror for what it’d mean. He’d leapt in front of her at Skull’s Bay knowing it, deep down. Knowing mates aware of the bond could not bear to harm each other, and that it might be the only force to compel her to regain control from Deanna. And even when she had proved him right … He had turned from that proof, still unready, pushing it from his mind even as he claimed her in every other way.