Kingdom of Ash

Her name was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.

And she would not be afraid.

Maeve and Erawan halted. So did the army poised behind them, a final blow of the hammer, ready to land upon Orynth.

The magic in her veins was little more than a sputtering ember.

But they did not know that.

Her shaking hands threatened to drop her weapons, but she held firm. Held fast.

Not one more step.

Not one more step toward Orynth would she allow them to make.

Maeve smiled. “What a very long way you’ve traveled, Aelin.”

Aelin only angled Goldryn. Met Erawan’s golden stare.

His eyes flared as he took in the sword. Remembered it.

Aelin bared her teeth. Let the flame she fed into the sword glow brighter.

Maeve turned to the Valg king. “Shall we, then?”

But Erawan looked at Aelin. And hesitated.

She would not have long. Not long at all until they realized that the power that made him hesitate was no more.

But she had not remained outside the southern gate to defeat them.

Only to buy time.

For those in the city she loved so greatly to get away. To run, and live to fight tomorrow.

She had made it home.

It was enough.

The words echoed with her every breath. Sharpened her vision, steeled her spine. A crown of flame appeared atop her head, swirling and unbreakable.

She could never win against both of them.

But she wouldn’t make it easy. Would take one of them down with her, if she could. Or at least slow them enough for the others to enact their plan, to find a way to either halt or defeat them. Even if either option seemed unlikely. Hopeless.

But that was why she remained here.

To give them that slim shred of hope. That will to keep fighting.

At the end of this, if that was all she was able to do against Erawan and Maeve, she could go to the Afterworld with her chin held high. She would not be ashamed to see those she had loved with her heart of wildfire.

So Aelin sketched a bow to Erawan and said with every remaining scrap of bravado she possessed, “We’ve met a few times, but never as we truly are.” She winked at him. Even as her knees quaked, she winked at him. “Pretty as this form is, Erawan, I think I miss Perrington. Just a little bit.”

Maeve’s nostrils flared.

But Erawan’s eyes slitted in amusement. “Was it fate, you think, that we encountered each other in Rifthold without recognizing the other?”

Such casual, easy words from such horrible, corrupt filth. Aelin made herself shrug. “Fate, or luck?” She gestured to the battlefield, her wrecked city. “This is a far grander setting for our final confrontation, don’t you think? Far more worthy of us.”

Maeve let out a hiss. “Enough of this.”

Aelin arched a brow. “I’ve spent the past year of my life—ten years, if you consider it another way—building to this moment.” She clicked her tongue. “Forgive me if I want to savor it. To talk with my great enemy for longer than a moment.”

Erawan chuckled, and the sound grated down her bones. “One might think you were trying to delay us, Aelin Galathynius.”

She beckoned to the city walls behind her. “From what? The keys are gone, the gods with them.” She threw them a smile. “You did know that, didn’t you?”

The amusement faded from Erawan’s face. “I know.” Death—such terrible death beckoned in his voice at that.

Aelin shrugged again. “I did you a favor, you know.”

Maeve murmured, “Don’t let her talk. We end this now.”

Aelin laughed. “One would think you were afraid, Maeve. Of any sort of delay.” She turned to Erawan once again. “The gods had planned to drag you with them. To rip you apart.” Aelin gave him a half smile. “I asked them not to. So you and I might have this grand duel of ours.”

“How is it that you survived?” Maeve demanded.

“I learned to share,” Aelin purred. “After all this time.”

“Lies,” Maeve spat.

“I do have a question for you,” Aelin said, glancing between the two dark rulers, separated from her by only the swirling snow. “Will you be sharing power? Now that you’re both trapped here.” She gestured to Maeve with her burning shield. “Last I heard, you were hell-bent on sending him home. And had gathered a little army of healers in Doranelle so you might destroy him the moment you got the chance.”

Erawan blinked slowly.

Aelin smiled. “What will you do with all those healers now, Maeve? Have you two discussed that?”

Darkness swirled around Maeve’s fingers. “I have endured enough of this prattling.”

“I have not,” Erawan said, his golden eyes blazing.

“Good,” Aelin said. “I was her prisoner, you know. For months. You’d be surprised how much I picked up. About her husband—your brother. About the library in his castle, and how Maeve learned so many interesting things about world-walking. Will you share that knowledge, Maeve, or is that not part of your bargain?”

Doubt. That was doubt beginning to darken Erawan’s eyes.

Aelin pressed, “She wants you out, you know. Gone. What did she even tell you when your Wyrdkey went missing? Let me guess: the King of Adarlan snuck into Morath, killed the girl you’d enslaved to be your living gate, destroyed your castle, and Maeve arrived just in time to try to stop him—but failed? Did you know that she worked with him for days and days? Trying to get the key from you?”

“That is a lie,” Maeve snapped.

“Is it? Shall I repeat some of the things you said in your most private meetings with Lord Erawan here? The things the King of Adarlan told me?”

Erawan’s smile grew. “You always had a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps you are lying, as my sister claims.”

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not. Though I think the truth of your new ally’s backstabbing is far more interesting than any lie I might invent.”

“Shall we tell you another truth, then?” Maeve crooned. “Do you wish to know who killed your parents? Who killed Lady Marion?”

Aelin stilled.

Maeve waved a hand to Erawan. “It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even the King of Adarlan. No, he sent a low-ranking Valg prince to do it. He couldn’t even be bothered to go himself. Didn’t think anyone important was really necessary to do the deed.”

Aelin stared at the queen. At the Valg king.

And then arched a brow. “Is that some attempt to unnerve me? You’re thousands of years old, and that is all you can think of to say?” She laughed again, and pointed to Erawan with Goldryn. She could have sworn he flinched away from the flaming blade. “I feel sorry for you, you know. That you’ve now shackled yourself to that immortal bore.” She sucked on a tooth. “And when Maeve sells you out, I suppose I’ll feel a little bit sorry for you then, too.”

“See how she talks?” Maeve hissed. “That has always been her gift: to distract and babble while—”

“Yes, yes. But, as I said: you have the field. There’s nothing left that can really stop you.”

“Except for you,” Erawan said.

Aelin pressed her shield against her chest. “I’m flattered you think so.” She flicked up her brows. “Though I think the two hundred healers we’ve got in the city right now might be a little offended that you forgot them. Especially when I’ve watched them so diligently expel your Valg grunts from the hosts they infected.”

Erawan stilled. Just a fraction.

“Or is that another lie?” Aelin mused. “A risky thing for you to do, then—to enter this city. My city, I suppose. To see who’s waiting for you. I heard you went to an awful lot of trouble to try to kill one of my friends this summer. Silba’s Heir. If I were you, I might have been more thorough in trying to end her. She’s here, you know. Came all this way to see you and repay the favor.” Aelin let her flame grow brighter as Erawan again hesitated. “Maeve knew. She knows that the healers are here, waiting for you. And will let them at you. Ask her where her owl is—the healer she keeps chained to her. To protect her from you.”

“Don’t listen to her nonsense,” Maeve spat.

“She even made a bargain: to spare their lives in exchange for ridding her of you.” Aelin waved Goldryn toward Orynth. “You’re walking into a trap the moment you enter the city. You, and all your little Valg friends. And only Maeve will be left standing in the end, Lady of All.”

Maeve’s shadows rose in a wave. “I have had enough of this, Aelin Galathynius.”

Aelin knew Maeve would go on ahead, without Erawan. Work without him, if need be.

The dark king looked toward Maeve and seemed to realize it, too.

Maeve’s black hair flowed around her. “Where is the King of Adarlan? We would have words with him.” Simmering, vicious rage pulsed from the queen.

Aelin shrugged. “Off fighting somewhere. Likely not bothering to think about you.” She inclined her head. “A valiant effort, Maeve, to try to divert the conversation.” She turned to Erawan. “The healers are waiting for you in there. You’ll see I’m telling the truth. Though I suppose it will be too late by then.”

Doubt. That was indeed doubt in Erawan’s eyes. Just a crack. An open doorway.

And it would now be upon Yrene—Yrene and the others—to seize it.

She had not wanted to ask, to plan this. Had not wanted to drag anyone else in.

But she trusted them. Yrene, her friends. She trusted them to see this through. When she was gone. She trusted them.

Maeve stepped forward. “I hope you have enjoyed yourself these past few moments.” She bared her too-white teeth, all traces of that cool grace vanished. Even Erawan seemed to blink in surprise at it—and again hesitate. As if wondering whether Aelin’s words had struck true. “I hope you are entertained by your prattling idiocy.”

“Eternally so,” Aelin said with a mocking bow. “I suppose I’ll be more entertained when I wipe you from the face of the earth.” She sighed skyward. “Gods above, what a sight that will be.”

Maeve extended a hand before her, darkness swirling in her cupped palm. “There are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.”

Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.”

She unleashed herself upon them.

Rowan pried free the shard of iron from his shoulder as Maeve and Erawan arrived.

As Aelin went to meet them before the walls of Orynth.

His magic guttered within his veins, but he clapped a hand to his bleeding arm as he ran for the southern gate. Willed the healing.

Flesh stung as it knitted together—too slowly. Too damn slowly.

But he couldn’t fly with a shredded wing, as he’d surely have if he shifted now. Block after block, through the city that would have been his home, he ran for the southern gate.

He had to get to her.

A warning shout from the battlements had him throwing up a shield on instinct. Just as a siege ladder collided with the wall above him.

Morath’s footsoldiers spilled over it, into the awaiting blades of both khagan soldier and Bane warrior. Too many.

Ironteeth clashed with Crochans above them—Ironteeth bearing several Morath footsoldiers apiece. They deposited them on the battlements, on the streets.

People screamed. Further into the city, people were screaming. Fleeing.

Only a few blocks to the southern gate—to Aelin.

And yet … those screams of terror and pain continued. Families. Children.

Home. This was to be his home. Already was, if Aelin were with him. He would defend it.

Rowan drew his sword and hatchet.

Fire burst beyond the walls, bathing the city in gold. She couldn’t have more than an ember. Against Erawan and Maeve, she should already be dead. Yet her flame still raged. The mating bond held strong.

White flashed beside him, and then there was Fenrys, stained with blood and snarling at the soldiers pouring over the walls. One neared them, and a swipe of a mighty paw was all it took for the grunt to be in pieces.

A swipe—and then a burst of black wind. Lorcan.

They halted for all of a heartbeat. Both males looked to him in question. They knew full well where Aelin was. What the plan had been.

Another blast of flame from beyond the walls.

But the screams of the innocent in the city … She would never forgive him for it. If he walked away.

So Rowan angled his weapons. Turned toward the screaming. “We swore an oath to our queen and this court,” he snarled, sizing up the soldiers pouring over the walls. “We will not break it.”

Even three of the great powers of the realm battling before the city gates was not enough to halt the war around them.

Morath swarmed, and the exhausted khaganate army turned to meet them once more. To meet the new horrors that emerged, beasts of snapping teeth and baying howls, ilken sailing above them. No sign of the Valg princesses, not yet. But Elide knew they were out there. Morath had emptied its darkest pits for this final destruction.

And on the plain, before the gates, fire and darkness blacker than the fallen night warred.

Elide didn’t know where to look: at the battle between the armies, or the one between Maeve and Erawan, and Aelin.

Yrene remained beside her, Lord Darrow, Lysandra, and Evangeline watching with them.

A flare of light, an answering wave of darkness.

Aelin was a fiery whirlwind between Maeve and Erawan, the fighting swift and brutal.

She had no power left. Before the Wyrdgate had ripped it from her, Aelin might have been able to face one of them and emerge triumphant. But left with a whisper of power, and after a day of wielding it on this battlefield …

Maeve and Erawan didn’t know.

They didn’t know that Aelin was only deflecting, not attacking. That this drawn-out dance was not for the spectacle, but because she was buying them all time.

Down in the dark beyond the walls, soldiers died and died. And in the city, as siege ladders breached the battlements, Morath surged into Orynth.

Still Aelin held the gate against Erawan and Maeve. Didn’t let them get one step closer to the city. The final sacrifice of Aelin Galathynius for Terrasen.

The moment they realized Aelin had nothing left, it would be over. Any amusement they felt at this shallow exchange of power and skill would vanish.

Where were the others? Where was Rowan, or Lorcan, or Dorian? Or Fenrys and Gavriel? Where were they, or did they not know what occurred before the city gates?

Lysandra’s breathing was shallow. Nothing—the shifter could do nothing against them. And to offer Aelin assistance might be the very thing that made Erawan and Maeve realize the queen was deceiving them.

There was no gentle voice at Elide’s shoulder. Not anymore. Never again would she hear that whispering, wise voice guide her.

See, Anneith had always murmured to her. See.

Elide scanned the field, the city, the queen battling the Valg rulers.

Aelin did nothing without reason. Had gone out there to buy them time. To wear the Valg rulers down, just a bit. But Aelin could not defeat them.

There was only one person who could.

Elide’s eyes landed on Yrene, the healer’s face ashen as she watched Aelin.

The queen would never ask. Never ask that of them, of Yrene.

But she might leave a path open. Should they, should Yrene, wish to take it.

Noticing her stare, Yrene tore her attention away from the battle. “What?”

Elide looked to Lysandra. Then to the city walls, to the flash of ice and flame along them.

She saw what they had to do.