Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5)(65)

Perhaps it was torture, too, for Fenrys to be so far from Maeve’s grip—but to know that his twin was back in Doranelle, that if Fenrys never came back … Connall would be punished in unspeakable ways. It was how the queen had ensnared them in the first place: offspring were rare among the Fae—but twins? Even rarer. And for twins to be born gifted with strength, to grow into males whose dominance rivaled that of warriors centuries older than them…

Maeve had coveted them. Fenrys had refused the offer to join her service. So she’d gone after Connall—the dark to Fenrys’s gold, quiet to Fenrys’s roar, thoughtful to Fenrys’s recklessness.

Fenrys got what he wanted: women, glory, wealth. Connall, though skilled, was forever in his twin’s shadow. So when the queen approached him about the blood oath, at a time when Fenrys, not Connall, had been selected to fight in the war with the Akkadians … Connall had sworn it.

And when Fenrys returned to find his brother bound to the queen, and learned what Maeve forced him to do behind closed doors … Fenrys had bargained: he’d swear the oath, but only to get Maeve to back off his brother. For over a century now, Fenrys had served in the queen’s bedroom, had sat chained by invisible shackles beside her dark throne.

Rowan might have liked the male. Respected him. If it weren’t for that damned mouth of his.

“So,” Fenrys said, well aware he had not answered Rowan’s demand for information, “are we soon to call you King Rowan?”

Gavriel murmured, “Gods above, Fenrys.” He gave the sigh of the long-suffering and added before Fenrys could open that stupid mouth, “Your arrival, Rowan, was a fortunate turn of events.”

Rowan faced the male beside him—second-in-command for Maeve now that Rowan had vacated the title. As if the golden-haired warrior read the name from his eyes, Gavriel asked, “Where is Lorcan?”

Rowan had been debating how to answer that question from the moment he’d seen them. That Gavriel had asked … Why had they come to Skull’s Bay?

“I don’t know where Lorcan is,” Rowan said. Not a lie. If they were lucky, his former commander would get the other two Wyrdkeys, realize Aelin had tricked him, and come running—delivering the two keys for Aelin to then destroy.

If they were lucky.

Gavriel said, “You don’t know where he is—but you’ve seen him.” Rowan nodded.

Fenrys snorted. “Are we really going to play truths and lies? Just tell us, you bastard.”

Rowan pinned Fenrys with a look. The White Wolf of Doranelle smiled right back at him.

Gods help them all if Fenrys and Aedion ever sat in a room together.

Rowan said, “Are you here on Maeve’s command—ahead of the armada?”

Gavriel shook his head. “Our presence has nothing to do with the armada sailing. She sent us to hunt him. You already know the crime he committed.”

An act of love—though only in the twisted way that Lorcan could love things. Only in the twisted way he loved Maeve.

“He claims to be doing it in her best interest,” Rowan said casually, aware of the king seated beside him. Rowan knew most underestimated the sharp intelligence under that disarming smile. Knew that Dorian’s value wasn’t his godlike magic, but his mind. He’d latched on to Rolfe’s fear and trauma at the hands of the Valg and laid the foundation—one he’d make sure Aelin would exploit.

“Lorcan’s always been arrogant that way,” Fenrys drawled. “This time, he crossed the line.”

“So you’ve been sent here to bring Lorcan back?”

Those tattoos on Gavriel’s throat—marks Rowan himself had inked—bobbed with each word as he said, “We’ve been sent here to kill him.”





23


Holy gods.

Rowan froze. “That explains the two of you, then.”

Fenrys tossed his hair out of his dark eyes. “Three, actually. Vaughan left yesterday afternoon to fly north—while we take the South.” Vaughan, with his osprey form, could cover the far harsher terrain more easily. “We landed in this shithole town to see if Rolfe had dealings with Lorcan—to bribe him to tip us off if Lorcan should come through here again, looking to hire a boat.” Skull’s Bay would be one of the few ports where Lorcan could do such a thing without questions. “Warning Rolfe about Maeve’s armada was part of convincing the bastard to help us. We’re to make our way onto the continent from here—start our hunt in the South. And since these lands are rather large…” A flash of white teeth in a feral smile. “Any inkling about his general whereabouts would be much appreciated, Prince.”

Rowan debated it. But if they caught Lorcan, and the commander had possession of even one of the Wyrdkeys … If they brought both commander and keys back to Maeve, especially if she was already sailing for Eyllwe for whatever reasons of her own…

Rowan shrugged. “I washed my hands of you all this spring. Lorcan’s business is his own.”

“You prick—” Fenrys snarled.

Gavriel cut in, “If we could bargain?”

There was something like pain—and regret—in Gavriel’s eyes. Of all of them, Gavriel had probably been his only friend.

Rowan debated if he should tell him about the son who now was making his way here. Debated if Aedion would like the chance to meet his father … perhaps before war made corpses of them all.