She ignored him. “Well?”
Vernon finished his ale. “I don’t know if he had another beyond what was in Kaltain’s arm.”
“He did. He does.”
“Then I don’t know where it is, do I? I only knew of the one my cunning little niece stole.”
Aelin refrained from grinding her teeth. Maeve and Erawan—united. And not a whisper of where Dorian and Manon were with the two other keys.
She didn’t acknowledge the walls that began pressing in, the cold sweat again sliding down her back. “Why did Maeve ally with Erawan?”
“I was not privy to that discussion. I was dispatched here quickly.” A flash of annoyance. “But Maeve somehow has … influence over Erawan.”
“What happened to the Ironteeth stationed here at the Gap?”
“Called northward. To Terrasen. They were given orders to join with the legion already on its way after routing the army at the border, then at Perranth.”
Oh gods. It took all her training to think past the roaring in her head.
“One hundred thousand soldiers march on Orynth,” Vernon said, chuckling. “Will that fire of yours be enough to stop them?”
Aelin put a hand on Goldryn’s hilt, her heart thundering. “How far are they from the city?”
Vernon shrugged. “They were already within a few days’ march when the Ironteeth legion left here.”
Aelin calculated the distance, the terrain, the size of their own army. They were two weeks away at best—if the weather didn’t hinder them. Two weeks through dense forest and enemy territory.
They’d never make it in time.
“Do Maeve and Erawan go to join them?”
“I’d assume so. Not with the initial group, for reasons I was not told, but they will go to Orynth. And face you there.”
Her mouth turned dry. Aelin rose.
Vernon frowned at her. “Don’t you wish to ask if I know of Erawan’s weaknesses, or any surprises in store for you?”
“I have everything I need to know.” She jerked her chin to Fenrys and Gavriel and the former peeled away from the wall to open the door. The latter, however, began tightening Vernon’s chains once more. Anchoring him to the chair, binding his hands to the arms.
“Aren’t you going to unchain me?” Vernon demanded. “I gave you what you wished.”
Aelin took a step into the hall, noting the fury on Lorcan’s face. He’d heard every word—including her oath not to let him slaughter Vernon.
Aelin threw Vernon a crooked smile over her shoulder. “I said nothing about unchaining you.”
Vernon went still.
Aelin shrugged. “I said none of us would kill you. It’s not our fault if you can’t get out of those chains, is it?”
The blood drained from Vernon’s face.
Aelin said quietly, “You chained and locked my friend in a tower for ten years. Let’s see how you enjoy the experience.” She let her smile turn vicious. “Though, once the trainers here are dealt with, I don’t think there will be anyone left to feed you. Or bring you water. Or even hear your screaming. So I doubt you’ll make it to ten years before the end claims you, but two days? Three? I can accept that, I think.”
“Please,” Vernon said as Gavriel reached for the door handle—to seal the man inside.
“Marion saved my life,” Aelin said, holding the man’s gaze. “And you gleefully bowed to the man who killed her. Perhaps even told the King of Adarlan where to find us. All of us.”
“Please!” Vernon shrieked.
“You should have conserved that tankard of ale,” was all Aelin said before she nodded to Gavriel.
Vernon began screaming as the door shut. And Aelin turned the key.
Silence filled the hall.
Aelin met Elide’s wide-eyed stare, Lorcan savagely satisfied at her side.
“It won’t be quick this way,” Aelin said, extending the key to Elide. The rest of the question hung there.
Vernon kept screaming, pleading for them to come back, to unchain him.
Elide studied the sealed door. The desperate man behind it.
The Lady of Perranth took the outstretched key. Pocketed it. “We should find a better way to seal that room.”
“Our worst fears have been confirmed,” Aelin said to Rowan, leaning over a railing of one of the Northern Fang’s balconies, peering to the army gathered on the Gap floor. To where their companions now headed, the task of permanently sealing the chamber in which Vernon sat chained completed. Where they should be headed, too. But she had paused here. Taken a moment.
Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “We will face them together. Maeve and Erawan.”
“And the hundred thousand soldiers marching on Orynth?”
“Together, Fireheart,” was all he said.
She found only centuries of training and cool calculation within his face. That unbreakable will.
She rested her head against his shoulder, her temple digging into the light armor. “Will we make it? Will there be anything left at all?”
He brushed the hair from her face. “We will try. That is the best we can do.” The words of a commander who had walked on and off killing fields for centuries.
He joined their hands, and together they gazed at the army below. The shred of salvation it offered.
Had she been a fool, to expend those three hard-won months of descent into her power on that army, rather than Maeve? Maeve and Erawan? Even if she began now, it wouldn’t, could never, be the same.
“Don’t burden yourself with the what-ifs,” Rowan said, reading the words on her face.
I don’t know what to do, she said silently.
He kissed the top of her head. Together.
And as the wind howled through the peaks, Aelin realized that her mate, perhaps, did not have a solution, either.
CHAPTER 81
“One hundred thousand,” Ren breathed, warming his hands before the roaring fire in the Great Hall. They had lost two of the Silent Assassins to Morath archers seeking retaliation for the destruction of the witch towers, but no more than that, mercifully.
Still, the evening meal had been somber. No one had really eaten, not when darkness had fallen and the enemy campfires ignited. More than they could count.
Aedion had lingered here after everyone else had trudged to their own beds. Only Ren had remained, Lysandra escorting a still-trembling Evangeline up to their chamber. What the morning would bring, only the gods knew.
Perhaps the gods had abandoned them again, now that their only way to return home had been locked up in an iron box. Or focused their efforts entirely on Dorian Havilliard.
Ren heaved out a long breath. “This is it, isn’t it. There’s no one left to come to our aid.”
“It won’t be a pretty end,” Aedion admitted, leaning against the mantel. “Especially once they get that third tower operational again.”
They wouldn’t have another chance to surprise Morath now.
He jerked his chin at the young lord. “You should get some rest.”
“And you?”
Aedion just stared into the flame.
“It would have been an honor,” Ren said. “To serve in this court. With you.”
Aedion shut his eyes, swallowing hard. “It would have been an honor indeed.”
Ren clapped him on the shoulder. Then his departing footsteps scuffed through the hall.
Aedion remained alone in the guttering firelight for another few minutes before he made his way toward bed and whatever sleep he might find.
He’d nearly reached the entrance to the eastern tower when he spied her.
Lysandra halted, a cup of what seemed to be steaming milk in her hands. “For Evangeline,” she said. “She can’t sleep.”
The girl had been shaking all day. Had looked like she’d vomit right at the table.
Aedion only asked, “Can I speak to her?”
Lysandra opened her mouth as if she’d say no, and he was willing to let it drop, but she inclined her hea
d.
They walked in silence the entire way to the north tower, then up and up and up. To Rose’s old room. Ren must have seen to it once again. The door was cracked open, golden light spilling onto the landing.
“I brought you some milk,” Lysandra announced, barely winded from the climb. “And some company,” she added to the girl as Aedion stepped into the cozy room. Despite the years of neglect, Rose’s chamber in the royal castle remained unharmed—one of the few rooms to claim such a thing.
Evangeline’s eyes widened at the sight of him, and Aedion offered the girl a smile before he perched on the side of her bed. She took the milk that Lysandra offered as the shifter sat on the other edge of the mattress, and sipped once, hands white-knuckled around the cup.
“Before my first battle,” Aedion said to the girl, “I spent the entire night in the privy.”
Evangeline squeaked, “You?”
Aedion smirked. “Oh yes. Quinn, the old Captain of the Guard, said it was a wonder I had anything left inside me by the time dawn broke.” An old ache filled Aedion’s chest at the mention of his mentor and friend, the man he’d admired so greatly. Who had made his final stand, as Aedion would, on the plain beyond this city.
Evangeline let out a little laugh. “That’s disgusting.”
“It certainly was,” Aedion said, and could have sworn Lysandra was smiling a bit. “So you’re already much braver than I ever was.”
“I threw up earlier,” Evangeline whispered.
Aedion said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Better than shitting your pants, sweetheart.”
Evangeline let out a belly laugh that made her clutch the cup to keep from spilling.
Aedion grinned, and ruffled her red-gold hair. “The battle won’t be pretty,” he said as Evangeline sipped her milk. “And you will likely throw up again. But just remember that this fear of yours? It means you have something worth fighting for—something you care so greatly for that losing it is the worst thing you can imagine.” He pointed to the frost-covered windows. “Those bastards out there on the plain? They have none of that.” He laid his hand on hers and squeezed gently. “They have nothing to fight for. And while we might not have their numbers, we do have something worth defending. And because of that, we can overcome our fear. We can fight against them, to the very end. For our friends, for our family …” He squeezed her hand again at that. “For those we love …” He dared to look up at Lysandra, whose green eyes were lined with silver. “For those we love, we can rise above that fear. Remember that tomorrow. Even if you throw up, even if you spend the whole night in the privy. Remember that we have something to fight for, and it will always triumph.”
Evangeline nodded. “I will.”
Aedion ruffled her hair once more and walked to the door, pausing on the threshold. He met Lysandra’s stare, her eyes emerald-bright. “I lost my family ten years ago. Tomorrow I will fight for the new one I’ve made.”
Not only for Terrasen and its court and people. But also for the two ladies in this room.
I wanted it to be you in the end.
He almost spoke her words then. Almost said them back to Lysandra as something like sorrow and longing entered her face.
But Aedion ducked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Lysandra barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the expression on Aedion’s face, heard his words.
He didn’t expect to survive this battle. Didn’t expect any of them to.
She should have gone after him. Run down the tower stairs after him.
And yet she didn’t.
Dawn broke, a bright day with it. So they might see the size of the host waiting for them all the more clearly.
Lysandra braided Evangeline’s hair, the girl more straight-backed than she’d been yesterday. She could thank Aedion for that. For the words that had allowed the girl to sleep last night.
They walked in silence, Evangeline’s chin high, down to the Great Hall for what might very well be their last breakfast.
They were nearly there when an old voice said, “I would like a word.”
Darrow.
Evangeline turned before Lysandra did.
The ancient lord stood in the doorway of what seemed to be a study, and beckoned them inside. “It will not take long,” he said upon noting the displeasure still on Lysandra’s face.
She was done making herself appear nice for men whom she had no interest in being nice to.
Evangeline peered at her in silent question, but Lysandra jerked her chin toward the old man. “Very well.”
The study was crammed with stacks of books—piles and piles against the walls, along the floors. Well over a thousand. Many half-crumbling with age.
“The last of the sacred texts from the Library of Orynth,” Darrow said, aiming toward the desk piled with papers before a narrow glass window. “All that the Master Scholars managed to save ten years ago.”
So few. So few compared to what Aelin had said once existed in that near-mythic library.
“I had them brought out of hiding after the king’s demise,” Darrow said, seating himself behind the desk. “A fool’s optimism, I suppose.”
Lysandra strode to one of the piles, peering at a title. In a language she did not recognize.
“The remains of a once-great civilization,” Darrow said thickly.
And it was the slight catch in his voice that made Lysandra turn. She opened her mouth to demand what he wanted, but glimpsed what sat beside his right hand.
Encased in crystal no larger than a playing card, the red-and-orange flower within seemed to glow—just like the power of its namesake.
“The kingsflame,” she breathed, unable to stop herself as she approached.
Aelin and Aedion had told her of the legendary flower, which had bloomed across the mountains and fields the day Brannon had set foot on this continent, proof of the peace he brought with him.
And since those ancient days, only single blossoms had been spotted, so rare that their appearance was deemed a sign that the land had blessed whatever ruler sat on Terrasen’s throne. That the kingdom was truly at peace.
The one entombed in crystal on Darrow’s desk, Aelin had said, had appeared during Orlon’s reign. Orlon, Darrow’s lifelong love.
“The Master Scholars grabbed the books when Adarlan invaded,” Darrow said, smiling sadly at the kingsflame. “I grabbed this.”
The antler throne, the crown—all of it destroyed. Save for this one treasure, as great as any belonging to the Galathynius household.
“It’s very beautiful,” Evangeline said, coming up to the desk. “But very small.”
Lysandra could have sworn the old man’s lips twitched toward a smile. “It is indeed,” Darrow said. “And so are you.”
She didn’t expect the softening of his voice, the kindness. And didn’t expect his next words, either.
“Battle will be upon us before midday,” Darrow said to Evangeline. “I find that I will have need for someone of quick wit and quicker feet to assist me here. To run messages to our commanders in this castle, and fetch me supplies as needed.”
Evangeline angled her head. “You wish me to help?”
“You have trained with warriors during your travels with them, I take it.”
Evangeline glanced up at Lysandra in question, and she nodded to her ward. They had all overseen Evangeline learning the basics of swordplay and archery while on the road.
The girl nodded to the old lord. “I have some ability, but not like Aedion.”
“Few do,” Darrow said wryly. “But I shall need someone with a fearless heart and steady hand to help me. Are you that person?”
Evangeline didn’t look up to Lysandra again. “I am,” she said, chin lifting.
Darrow smiled slightly. “Then head down to the Great Hall. Eat your breakfast, and when you return here, there shall be armor waiting for you.”
Evangeline’s eyes widened at the mention of armor, no trace of fear d
imming them at all.
Lysandra murmured to her, “Go. I’ll be down with you in a minute.”
Evangeline dashed out, braid flying behind her.
Only when Lysandra was certain she had gone downstairs did she say, “Why?”
“I assume that question means you are allowing me to commandeer your ward.”
“Why.”
Darrow picked up the kingsflame crystal. “Nox Owen is of no use to me now that his allegiance has been made clear, and apparently has vanished to the gods know where, likely at Aedion’s request.” He turned the crystal over in his thin fingers. “But beyond that, no child should have to watch as her friends are cut down. Keeping her busy, giving her a purpose and some small power will be better than locking her in the north tower, scared out of her wits at every horrible sound and death.”
Lysandra did not smile, did not bow her head. “You would do this for the ward of a whore?”
Darrow set down the crystal. “It’s the faces of the children that I remember the most from ten years ago. Even more than Orlon’s. And Evangeline’s face yesterday as she looked out at that army—it was the same despair I saw back then. So you may think me a champion bastard, as Aedion would say, but I am not so heartless as you might believe.” He nodded toward the open doorway. “I will keep an eye on her.”
She wasn’t entirely certain what to say. If she should spit in his face and tell him to hell with his offer.
Yet the brightness in Evangeline’s eyes, the way she’d run out of here … Purpose. Darrow had offered her purpose and guidance.
So she turned from the room, from the precious trove, the ancient books worth more than gold. Darrow’s silent, mournful companions. “Thank you.”
Darrow waved her off, and went back to studying whatever papers were on his desk—though his eyes did not move along the pages.
The battlement walls of the city were lined with soldiers. Each stone-faced at what marched closer.
The witch tower was still down, thank the gods. But even from the distance, Aedion could spy soldiers toiling to repair its damaged wheel. Yet without another wyvern to replace the one felled yesterday, it would not be moving soon.
It wouldn’t make today any easier, though. No, today would hurt.
Kingdom of Ash Page 62
