Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)(103)

If he left to be with her, if he turned on his father, or if his magic was discovered, then his brother would become heir. And the thought of Hollin as king one day … What he would do to their world, especially with their father’s power … No, Dorian could not have the luxury of choosing, because there was no option. He was bound to his crown, and would be until the day he died.

There was a knock on his door, and Dorian smiled, wondering if Sorscha had come back. The grin vanished as the door opened.

“We need to talk,” Chaol said from the threshold. Dorian hadn’t seen him in weeks, and yet—his friend looked older. Exhausted.

“Not going to bother with flattery?” Dorian said, plopping onto the couch.

“You would see through it anyway.” Chaol shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

“Humor me.”

“I am sorry, Dorian,” Chaol said softly. “More than you know.”

“Sorry because lying cost you me—and her? Would you be sorry if you hadn’t been caught?”

Chaol’s jaw tightened. And perhaps Dorian was being unfair, but he didn’t care.

“I am sorry for all of it,” Chaol said. “But I—I’ve been working to fix it.”

“And what about Celaena? Is working with Aedion actually to help me, or her?”

“Both of you.”

“Do you still love her?” He didn’t know why he cared, why it was important.

Chaol closed his eyes for a moment. “A part of me will always love her. But I had to get her out of this castle. Because it was too dangerous, and she was … what she was becoming…”

“She was not becoming anything different from what she always was and always had the capacity to be. You just finally saw everything. And once you saw that other part of her …,” Dorian said quietly. It had taken him until now, until Sorscha, to understand what that meant. “You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.” He pitied Chaol, he realized. His heart hurt for his friend, for all that Chaol had surely been realizing these past few months. “Just as you cannot pick which parts of me you accept.”

“I don’t—”

“You do. But what’s done is done, Chaol. And there is no going back, no matter how hard you try to change things. Like it or not, you played a role in getting us all to this point, too. You set her down that path, to revealing what and who she is, to whatever she decides to do now.”

“You think I wanted any of this to happen?” Chaol splayed his arms. “If I could, I would put it all back to the way it was. If I could, she wouldn’t be queen, and you wouldn’t have magic.”

“Of course—of course you still see the magic as a problem. And of course you wish she wasn’t who she is. Because you’re not really scared of those things, are you? No—it’s what they represent. The change. But let me tell you,” Dorian breathed, his magic flickering and then subsiding in a flash of pain, “things have already changed. And changed because of you. I have magic—there is no undoing that, no getting rid of it. And as for Celaena …” He clamped down on the power that surged as he imagined—for the first time, he realized—what it was to be her. “As for Celaena,” he said again, “you do not have the right to wish she were not what she is. The only thing you have a right to do is decide whether you are her enemy or her friend.”

He did not know all of her story, did not know what had been truth and what had been lies, or what it had been like in Endovier to slave beside her countrymen, or to bow to the man who had murdered her family. But he had seen her—seen glimpses of the person beneath, regardless of name or title.

And he knew, deep down, that she had not blinked at his magic but rather understood that burden, and that fear. She had not walked away or wished him to be anything but what he was. I’ll come back for you.

So he stared down his friend, even though he knew Chaol was hurting and adrift, and said, “I’ve already made my decision about her. And when the time comes, regardless of whether you are here or in Anielle, I hope your choice is the same as mine.”




Aedion hated to admit it, but the captain’s self-control was impressive as they waited in the hidden apartment for Murtaugh to arrive. Ren, who couldn’t keep his ass planted in a chair for more than a moment even with his still-healing wounds, paced around the great room. But Chaol sat beside the fire, saying little but always watching, always listening.

Tonight the captain seemed different. Warier, but tighter. Thanks to all those meetings where he’d carefully watched the captain’s movements, every breath and blink, Aedion instantly noted the difference. Had there been some news, some development?

Murtaugh was to return tonight, after a few weeks near Skull’s Bay. He had refused Ren’s offer to go with him and told his grandson to rest. Which, though Ren tried to hide it, left the young lord anxious, ungrounded, and aggressive. Aedion was honestly surprised the apartment hadn’t been torn to shreds. In his war camp, Aedion might have taken Ren into the sparring ring and let him fight it out. Or sent him on some mission of his own. Or at least made him chop wood for hours.

“So we’re just going to wait all night,” Ren said at last, pausing before the dining table and looking at them both.

The captain yielded nothing more than a vague nod, but Aedion crossed his arms and gave him a lazy grin. “You have something better to do, Ren? Are we interfering with a visit to one of your opium dens?” A low blow, but nothing that the captain hadn’t already guessed about Ren. And if Ren showed any indication of that sort of habit, Aedion wouldn’t let him within a hundred miles of Aelin.