He had been hunting for her since the moment

she was taken from him.

His mate.

He barely remembered his own name. And

only recalled it because his three companions

spoke it while they searched for her across

violent and dark seas, through ancient and

slumbering forests, over storm-swept

mountains already buried in snow.

He stopped long enough to feed his body

and allow his companions a few hours of

sleep. Were it not for them, he would have

flown off, soared far and wide.But he would need the strength of their

blades and magic, would need their cunning

and wisdom before this was through.

Before he faced the dark queen who had

torn into his innermost self, stealing his mate

long before she had been locked in an iron

coffin. And after he was done with her, after

that, then he’d take on the cold-blooded gods

themselves, hell-bent on destroying what

might remain of his mate.

So he stayed with his companions, even as

the days passed. Then the weeks.

Then months.

Still he searched. Still he hunted for her on

every dusty and forgotten road.

And sometimes, he spoke along the bond

between them, sending his soul on the wind to

wherever she was held captive, entombeded

*I WILL FIND You

^^^ ^^^

THE PRINCESS

The iron smothered her. It had snuffed out the

fire in her veins, as surely as if the flames had

been doused.

She could hear the water, even in the iron

box, even with the iron mask and chains

adorning her like ribbons of silk. The roaring;

the endless rushing of water over stone. It

filled the gaps between her screaming.

A sliver of island in the heart of a mist-

veiled river, little more than a smooth slab of

rock amid the rapids and falls. That’s where

they’d put her. Stored her. In a stone temple

built for some forgotten god.As she would likely be forgotten.

It was

better than the alternative: to be remembered

for her utter failure. If there would be anyone

left to remember her. If there would be

anyone left at all.

She would not allow it. That failure.

She would not tell them what they wished

to know.

No matter how often her screams drowned

out the raging river. No matter how often the

snap of her bones cleaved through the

bellowing rapids.

She had tried to keep track of the days.

But she did not know how long they had

kept her in that iron box. How long they had

forced her to sleep, lulled into oblivion by the

sweet smoke they’d poured in while they

traveled here. To this island, this temple of

pain.

She did not know how long the gaps lasted between her screaming and waking. Between

the pain ending and starting anew.

Days, months, years—they bled together,

as her own blood often slithered over the

stone floor and into the river itself.

A princess who was to live for a thousand

years. Longer.

That had been her gift. It was now her

curse.

Another curse to bear, as heavy as the one

placed upon her long before her birth. To

sacrifice her very self to right an ancient

wrong. To pay another’s debt to the gods who

had found their world, become trapped in it.

And then ruled it.

She did not feel the warm hand of the

goddess who had blessed and damned her with

such terrible power. She wondered if that

goddess of light and flame even cared that she

now lay trapped within the iron box—or if the immortal had transferred her attentions to

another. To the king who might offer himself

in her stead and in yielding his life, spare their

world.

The gods did not care who paid the debt. So

she knew they would not come for her, save

her. So she did not bother praying to them.

But she still told herself the story, still

sometimes imagined that the river sang it to

her. That the darkness living within the sealed

coffin sang it to her as well.

Once upon a time, in a land long since

burned to ash, there lived a young princess

who loved her kingdom …

Down she would drift, deep into that

darkness, into the sea of flame. Down so deep

that when the whip cracked, when bone

sundered, she sometimes did not feel it.

Most times she did.

It was during those infinite hours that she would fix her stare on her companion.

Not the queen’s hunter, who could draw out

pain like a musician coaxing a melody from

an instrument. But the massive white wolf,

chained by invisible bonds. Forced to witness

this.

There were some days when she could not

stand to look at the wolf. When she had come

so close, too close, to breaking. And only the

story had kept her from doing so.

Once upon a time, in a land long since

burned to ash, there lived a young princess

who loved her kingdom …

Words she had spoken to a prince. Once—

long ago.

A prince of ice and wind. A prince who had

been hers, and she his. Long before the bond

between their souls became known to them.

It was upon him that the task of protecting

that once-glorious kingdom now fell.

The prince whose scent was kissed with

pine and snow, the scent of that kingdom she

had loved with her heart of wildfire.

Even when the dark queen presided over

the hunter’s ministrations, the princess

thought of him. Held on to his memory as if it

were a rock in the raging river.

The dark queen with a spider’s smile tried

to wield it against her. In the obsidian webs

she wove, the illusions and dreams she spun at

the culmination of each breaking point, the

queen tried to twist the memory of him as a

key into her mind.

They were blurring. The lies and truths and

memories. Sleep and the blackness in the iron

coffin. The days bound to the stone altar in the

center of the room, or hanging from a hook in

the ceiling, or strung up between chains

anchored into the stone wall. It was all

beginning to blur, like ink in water.So she told herself the story. The darkness

and the flame deep within her whispered it,

too, and she sang it back to them. Locked in

that coffin hidden on an island within the

heart of a river, the princess recited the story,

over and over, and let them unleash an

eternity of pain upon her body.

Once upon a time, in a land long since

burned to ash, there lived a young princess

who loved her kingdom …

hello my dear friends here I'm with a great story for you all,it's about a women saving the world it's a little spicy and adventurous. please read if you like that type of story and you will not be disappointed by reading this I'll make sure of that 😊

The snows had come early.

Even for Terrasen, the first of the autumnal

flurries had barreled in far ahead of their

usual arrival.

Aedion Ashryver wasn’t entirely sure it

was a blessing. But if it kept Morath’s legions

from their doorstep just a little longer, he’d

get on his knees to thank the gods. Even if

those same gods threatened everything he

loved. If beings from another world could be

considered gods at all.

Aedion supposed he had more important

things to contemplate, anyway.In the two weeks since he’d been reunited

with his Bane, they’d seen no sign of

Erawan’s forces, either terrestrial or airborne.

The thick snow had begun falling barely three

days after his return, hindering the already-

slow process of transporting the troops from

their assembled armada to the Bane’s

sweeping camp on the Plain of Theralis.

The ships had sailed up the Florine, right to

Orynth’s doorstep, banners of every color

flapping in the brisk wind off the Staghorns:

the cobalt and gold of Wendlyn, the black and

crimson of Ansel of Briarcliff, the

shimmering silver of the Whitethorn royals

and their many cousins. The Silent Assassins,

scattered throughout the fleet, had no banner,

though none was needed to identify them—

not with their pale clothes and assortment of

beautiful, vicious weapons.

The ships would soon rejoin the rearguardleft at the Florine’s mouth and patrol the coast

from Ilium to Suria, but the footsoldiers—

most hailing from Crown Prince Galan

Ashryver’s forces—would go to the front.

A front that now lay buried under several

feet of snow. With more coming.

Hidden above a narrow mountain pass in

the Staghorns behind Allsbrook, Aedion

scowled at the heavy sky.

His pale furs blended him into the gray and

white of the rocky outcropping, a hood

concealing his golden hair. And keeping him

warm. Many of Galan’s troops had never seen

snow, thanks to Wendlyn’s temperate climate.

The Whitethorn royals and their smaller force

were hardly better off. So Aedion had left

Kyllian, his most trusted commander, in

charge of ensuring that they were as warm as

could be managed.

They were far from home, fighting for aqueen they did not know or perhaps even

believe in. That frigid cold would sap spirits

and sprout dissent faster than the howling

wind charging between these peaks.

A flicker of movement on the other side of

the pass caught Aedion’s eye, visible only

because he knew where to look.

She’d camouflaged herself better than he

had. But Lysandra had the advantage of

wearing a coat that had been bred for these

mountains.

Not that he’d said that to her. Or so much

as glanced at her when they’d departed on this

scouting mission.

Aelin, apparently, had secret business in

Eldrys and had left a note with Galan and her

new allies to account for her disappearance.

Which allowed Lysandra to accompany them

on this task.

No one had noticed, in the nearly two months they’d been maintaining this ruse, that

the Queen of Fire had not an ember to show

for it. Or that she and the shape-shifter never

appeared in the same place. And no one, not

the Silent Assassins of the Red Desert, or

Galan Ashryver, or the troops that Ansel of

Briarcliff had sent with the armada ahead of

the bulk of her army, had picked up the slight

tells that did not belong to Aelin at all. Nor

had they noted the brand on the queen’s wrist

that no matter what skin she wore, Lysandra

could not change.

She did a fine job of hiding the brand with

gloves or long sleeves. And if a glimmer of

scarred skin ever showed, it could be excused

as part of the manacle markings that

remained.

The fake scars she’d also added, right

where Aelin had them. Along with the laugh

and wicked grin. The swagger and stillness.Aedion could barely stand to look at her.

Talk to her. He only did so because he had to

uphold this ruse, too. To pretend that he was

her faithful cousin, her fearless commander

who would lead her and Terrasen to victory,

however unlikely.

So he played the part. One of many he’d

donned in his life.

Yet the moment Lysandra changed her

golden hair for dark tresses, Ashryver eyes for

emerald, he stopped acknowledging her

existence. Some days, the Terrasen knot

tattooed on his chest, the names of his queen

and fledgling court woven amongst it, felt like

a brand. Her name especially.

He’d only brought her on this mission to

make it easier. Safer. There were other lives

beyond his at risk, and though he could have

unloaded this scouting task to a unit within

the Bane, he’d needed the action.It had taken over a month to sail from

Eyllwe with their newfound allies, dodging

Morath’s fleet around Rifthold, and then these

past two weeks to move inland.

They had seen little to no combat. Only a

few roving bands of Adarlanian soldiers, no

Valg amongst them, that had been dealt with

quickly.

Aedion doubted Erawan was waiting until

spring. Doubted the quiet had anything to do

with the weather. He’d discussed it with his

men, and with Darrow and the other lords a

few days ago. Erawan was likely waiting until

the dead of winter, when mobility would be

hardest for Terrasen’s army, when Aedion’s

soldiers would be weak from months in the

snow, their bodies stiff with cold. Even the

king’s fortune that Aelin had schemed and

won for them this past spring couldn’t prevent

that.Yes, food and blankets and clothes could

be purchased, but when the supply lines were

buried under snow, what good were they then?

All the gold in Erilea couldn’t stop the slow,

steady leeching of strength caused by months

in a winter camp, exposed to Terrasen’s

merciless elements.

Darrow and the other lords didn’t believe

his claim that Erawan would strike in deep

winter—or believe Ren, when the Lord of

Allsbrook voiced his agreement. Erawan was

no fool, they claimed. Despite his aerial

legion of witches, even Valg foot soldiers

could not cross snow when it was ten feet

deep. They’d decided that Erawan would wait

until spring.

Yet Aedion was taking no chances. Neither

was Prince Galan, who had remained silent in

that meeting, but sought Aedion afterward to

add his support. They had to keep their troops warm and fed, keep them trained and ready to

march at a moment’s notice.

This scouting mission, if Ren’s

information proved correct, would help their

cause.

Nearby, a bowstring groaned, barely

audible over the wind. Its tip and shaft had

been painted white, and were now barely

visible as it aimed with deadly precision

toward the pass opening.

Aedion caught Ren Allsbrook’s eye from

where the young lord was concealed amongst

the rocks, his arrow ready to fly. Cloaked in

the same white and gray furs as Aedion, a pale

scarf over his mouth, Ren was little more than

a pair of dark eyes and the hint of a slashing

scar.

Aedion motioned to wait. Barely glancing

toward the shape-shifter across the pass,

Aedion conveyed the same order.Let their enemies draw closer.

Crunching snow mingled with labored

breathing.

Right on time.

Aedion nocked an arrow to his own bow

and ducked lower on the outcropping.

As Ren’s scout had claimed when she’d

rushed into Aedion’s war tent five days ago,

there were six of them.

They did not bother to blend into the snow

and rock. Their dark fur, shaggy and strange,

might as well have been a beacon against the

glaring white of the Staghorns. But it was the

reek of them, carried on a swift wind, that told

Aedion enough.

Valg. No sign of a collar on anyone in the

small party, any hint of a ring concealed by

their thick gloves. Apparently, even demon-

infested vermin could get cold. Or their

mortal hosts did.Their enemies moved deeper into the throat

of the pass. Ren’s arrow held steady.

Leave one alive, Aedion had ordered before

they’d taken their positions.

It had been a lucky guess that they’d

choose this pass, a half-forgotten back door

into Terrasen’s low-lying lands. Only wide

enough for two horses to ride abreast, it had

long been ignored by conquering armies and

the merchants seeking to sell their wares in

the hinterlands beyond the Staghorns.

What dwelled out there, who dared make a

living beyond any recognized border, Aedion

didn’t know. Just as he didn’t know why these

soldiers had ventured so far into the

mountains.

But he’d find out soon enough.

The demon company passed beneath them,

and Aedion and Ren shifted to reposition their

bows.A straight shot down into the skull. He

picked his mark.

Aedion’s nod was the only signal before

his arrow flew.

Black blood was still steaming in the snow

when the fighting stopped.

It had lasted only a few minutes. Just a

few, after Ren and Aedion’s arrows found

their targets and Lysandra had leaped from

her perch to shred three others. And rip the

muscles from the calves of the sixth and sole

surviving member of the company.

The demon moaned as Aedion stalked

toward him, the snow at the man’s feet now

jet-black, his legs in ribbons. Like scraps of a

banner in the wind.

Lysandra sat near his head, her maw

stained ebony and her green eyes fixed on the

man’s pale face. Needle-sharp claws gleamed

From her massive paws.

Behind them, Ren checked the others for

signs of life. His sword rose and fell,

decapitating them before the frigid air could

render them too stiff to hack through.

“Traitorous filth,

” the demon seethed at

Aedion, narrow face curdling with hate. The

reek of him stuffed itself up Aedion’s nostrils,

coating his senses like oil.

Aedion drew the knife at his side—the

long, wicked dagger Rowan Whitethorn had

gifted him—and smiled grimly. “This can go

quickly, if you’re smart.”

The Valg soldier spat on Aedion’s snow-

crusted boots.

Allsbrook Castle had stood with the Staghorns

at its back and Oakwald at its feet for over

five hundred years.

Pacing before the roaring fire ablaze in oneof its many oversized hearths, Aedion could

count the marks of every brutal winter upon

the gray stones. Could feel the weight of the

castle’s storied history on those stones, too—

the years of valor and service, when these

halls had been full of singing and warriors,

and the long years of sorrow that followed.

Ren had claimed a worn, tufted armchair

set to one side of the fire, his forearms braced

on his thighs as he stared into the flame.

They’d arrived late last night, and even

Aedion had been too drained from the trek

through snowbound Oakwald to take the grand

tour. And after what they’d done this

afternoon, he doubted he’d muster the energy

to do so now.

The once-great hall was hushed and dim

beyond their fire, and above them, faded

tapestries and crests from the Allsbrook

family’s banner men swayed in the draftcreeping through the high windows that lined

one side of the chamber. An assortment of

birds nested in the rafters, hunkered down

against the lethal cold beyond the keep’s

ancient walls.

And amongst them, a green-eyed falcon

listened to every word.

“If Erawan’s searching for a way into

Terrasen,

” Ren said at last,

“the mountains

would be foolish.” He frowned toward the

discarded trays of food they’d devoured

minutes ago. Hearty mutton stew and roasted

root vegetables. Most of it bland, but it had

been hot. “The land does not forgive easily

out here. He’d lose countless troops to the

elements alone.”

“Erawan does nothing without reason,

”

Aedion countered. “The easiest route to

Terrasen would be up through the farmlands,

on the northern roads. It’s where anyonewould expect him to march. Either there, or to

launch his forces from the coast.”

“Or both—by land and sea.”

Aedion nodded. Erawan had spread his net

wide in his desire to stomp out what

resistance had arisen on this continent. Gone

was the guise of Adarlan’s empire: from

Eyllwe to Adarlan’s northern border, from the

shores of the Great Ocean to the towering wall

of mountains that cleaved their continent in

two, the Valg king’s shadow grew every day.

Aedion doubted that Erawan would stop

before he clamped black collars around all

their necks.

And if Erawan attained the two other

Wyrdkeys, if he could open the Wyrdgate at

will and unleash hordes of Valg from his own

realm, perhaps even enslave armies from

other worlds and wield them for conquest …

There would be no chance of stopping him. Inthis world, or any other.

All hope of preventing that horrible fate

now lay with Dorian Havilliard and Manon

Blackbeak. Where they’d gone these months,

what had befallen them, Aedion hadn’t heard

a whisper. Which he supposed was a good

sign. Their survival lay in secrecy.

Aedion said,

“So for Erawan to waste a

scouting party to find small mountain passes

seems unwise.” He scratched at his stubble-

coated cheek. They’d left before dawn

yesterday, and he’d opted for sleep over a

shave. “It doesn’t make sense, strategically.

The witches can fly, so sending scouts to learn

the pitfalls of the terrain is of little use. But if

the information is for terrestrial armies …

Squeezing forces through small passes like

that would take months, not to mention risk

the weather.”

“Their scout just kept laughing,

” said Ren, shaking his head. His shoulder-length black

hair moved with him. “What are we missing

here? What aren’t we seeing?” In the firelight,

the slashing scar down his face was starker. A

reminder of the horrors Ren had endured, and

the ones his family hadn’t survived.

“It could be to keep us guessing. To make

us reposition our forces.” Aedion braced a

hand on the mantel, the warm stone seeping

into his still-chilled skin.

Ren had indeed readied the Bane the

months Aedion had been away, working

closely with Kyllian to position them as far

south from Orynth as Darrow’s leash would

allow. Which, it turned out, was barely

beyond the foothills lining the southernmost

edge of the Plain of Theralis.

Ren had since yielded control to Aedion,

though the Lord of Allsbrook’s reunion with

Aelin had been frosty. As cold as the snow A clever move on Ren’s part—to convince

Darrow to let him station part of the Bane

behind Orynth, should Erawan sail north and

attack from there. He’d put nothing past the

bastard.

“I don’t want the Bane spread too thin,

”

said Aedion, studying the fire. So different,

this flame—so different from Aelin’s fire. As

if the one before him were a ghost compared

to the living thing that was his queen’s magic.

“And we still don’t have enough troops to

spare.”

Even with Aelin’s desperate, bold

maneuvering, the allies she’d won didn’t

come close to the full might of Morath. And

all that gold she’d amassed did little to buy

them more—not when there were few left to

even entice to join their cause.

“Aelin didn’t seem too concerned when she

flitted off to Eldrys,

” Ren murmured.For a moment, Aedion was on a spit of

blood-soaked sand.

An iron box. Maeve had whipped her and

put her in a veritable coffin. And sailed off to

Mala-knew-where, an immortal sadist with

them.

“Aelin,

” said Aedion, dredging up a drawl

as best he could, even as the lie choked him,

“has her own plans that she’ll only tell us

about when the time is right.”

Ren said nothing. And though the queen

Ren believed had returned was an illusion,

Aedion added,

“Everything she does is for

Terrasen.”

He’d said such horrible things to her that

day she’d taken down the ilken. Where are

our allies? he’d demanded. He was still trying

to forgive himself for it. For any of it. All that

he had was this one chance to make it right, to

do as she’d asked and save their kingdom.Ren glanced to the twin swords he’d

discarded on the ancient table behind them.

“She still left.” Not for Eldrys, but ten years

ago.

“We’ve all made mistakes this past

decade.” The gods knew Aedion had plenty to

atone for.

Ren tensed, as if the choices that haunted

him had nipped at his back.

“I never told her,

” Aedion said quietly, so

that the falcon sitting in the rafters might not

hear. “About the opium den in Rifthold.”

About the fact that Ren had known the

owner, and had frequented the woman’s

establishment plenty before the night Aedion

and Chaol had hauled in a nearly unconscious

Ren to hide from the king’s men.

“You can be a real prick, you know that?”

Ren’s voice turned hoarse.

“I’d never use that against you.” Aedionheld the young lord’s raging dark stare, let

Ren feel the dominance simmering within his

own. “What I meant to say, before you flew

off the handle,

” he added when Ren’s mouth

opened again,

“was that Aelin offered you a

place in this court without knowing that part

of your past.” A muscle flickered in Ren’s

jaw. “But even if she had, Ren, she still would

have made that offer.”

Ren studied the stone floor beneath their

boots. “There is no court.”

“Darrow can scream it all he wants, but I

beg to differ.” Aedion slid into the armchair

across from Ren’s. If Ren truly backed Aelin,

with Elide Lochan now returned, and Sol and

Ravi of Suria likely to support her, it gave his

queen three votes in her favor. Against the

four opposing her.

There was little hope that Lysandra’s vote,

as Lady of Caraverre, would be recognized.The shifter had not asked to see the land

that was to be her home if they survived this

war. Had only changed into a falcon on the

trek here and flown off for a while. When

she’d returned, she’d said nothing, though her

green eyes had been bright.

No, Caraverre would not be recognized as a

territory, not until Aelin took up her throne.

Until Lysandra instead was crowned queen,

if his own did not return.

She would return. She had to.

A door opened at the far end of the hall,

followed by rushing, light steps. He rose a

heartbeat before a joyous “Aedion!” sang over

the stones.

Evangeline was beaming, clad head to toe

in green woolen clothes bordered with white

fur, her red-gold hair hanging in two plaits.

Like the mountain girls of Terrasen.

Her scars stretched wide as she grinned,and Aedion threw open his arms just before

she launched herself on him. “They said you

arrived late last night, but you left before first

light, and I was worried I’d miss you again—”

Aedion pressed a kiss to the top of her

head. “You look like you’ve grown a full foot

since I last saw you.”

Evangeline’s citrine eyes glowed as she

glanced between him and Ren. “Where’s—”

A flash of light, and there she was.

Shining. Lysandra seemed to be shining as

she swept a cloak around her bare body, the

garment left on a nearby chair for precisely

this purpose. Evangeline hurled herself into

the shifter’s arms, half sobbing with joy.

Evangeline’s shoulders shook, and Lysandra

smiled, deeply and warmly, stroking the girl’s

head. “You’re well?”

For all the world, the shifter would have

seemed calm, serene. But Aedion knew her moods, her secret tells. Knew that

the slight tremor in her words was proof of the

raging torrent beneath the beautiful surface.

“Oh, yes,

” Evangeline said, pulling away to

beam toward Ren. “He and Lord Murtaugh

brought me here soon after. Fleetfoot’s with

him, by the way. Murtaugh, I mean. She likes

him better than me, because he sneaks her

treats all day. She’s fatter than a lazy house

cat now.”

Lysandra laughed, and Aedion smiled. The

girl had been well cared for.

As if realizing it herself, Lysandra

murmured to Ren, her voice a soft purr,

“Thank you.”

Red tinted Ren’s cheeks as he rose to his

feet. “I thought she’d be safer here than in the

war camp. More comfortable, at least.”

“Oh, it’s the most wonderful place,

Lysandra,

” Evangeline chirped, grippingLysandra’s hand between both of hers.

“Murtaugh even took me to Caraverre one

afternoon—before it started snowing, I mean.

You must see it. The hills and rivers and

pretty trees, all right up against the

mountains. I thought I spied a ghost leopard

hiding atop the rocks, but Murtaugh said it

was a trick of my mind. But I swear it was one

—even bigger than yours! And the house! It’s

the loveliest house I ever saw, with a walled

garden in the back that Murtaugh says will be

full of vegetables and roses in the summer.”

For a heartbeat, Aedion couldn’t endure the

emotion on Lysandra’s face as Evangeline

prattled off her grand plans for the estate. The

pain of longing for a life that would likely be

snatched away before she had a chance to

claim it.

Aedion turned to Ren, the lord’s gaze

transfixed on Lysandra. As it had beenwhenever she’d taken her human form.

Fighting the urge to clench his jaw, Aedion

said,

“You recognize Caraverre, then.”

Evangeline continued her merry jabbering,

but Lysandra’s eyes slid toward them.

“Darrow is not Lord of Allsbrook,

” was all

Ren said.

Indeed. And who wouldn’t want such a

pretty neighbor?

That is, when she wasn’t living in Orynth

under another’s skin and crown, using Aedion

to sire a fake royal bloodline. Little more than

a stud to breed.

Lysandra again nodded her thanks, and

Ren’s blush deepened. As if they hadn’t spent

all day trekking through snow and

slaughtering Valg. As if the scent of gore

didn’t still cling to them.

Indeed, Evangeline sniffed at the cloak

Lysandra kept wrapped around herself andscowled. “You smell terrible. All of you.”

“Manners,

” Lysandra admonished, but

laughed.

Evangeline put her hands on her hips in a

gesture Aedion had seen Aelin make so many

times that his heart hurt to behold it. “You

asked me to tell you if you ever smelled.

Especially your breath.”

Lysandra smiled, and Aedion resisted the

tug on his own mouth. “So I did.”

Evangeline yanked on Lysandra’s hand,

trying to haul the shifter down the hall. “You

can share my room. There’s a bathing

chamber in there.” Lysandra conceded a step.

“A fine room for a guest,

” Aedion muttered

to Ren, his brows rising. It had to be one of

the finest here, to have its own bathing

chamber.

Ren ducked his head. “It belonged to

Rose.”His oldest sister. Who had been butchered

along with Rallen, the middle Allsbrook

sibling, at the magic academy they’d attended.

Near the border with Adarlan, the school had

been directly in the path of invading troops.

Even before magic fell, they would have

had few defenses against ten thousand

soldiers. Aedion didn’t let himself often

remember the slaughter of Devellin—that

fabled school. How many children had been

there. How none had escaped.

Ren had been close to both his elder sisters,

but to high-spirited Rose most of all.

“She would have liked her,

” Ren clarified,

jerking his chin toward Evangeline. Scarred,

Aedion realized, as Ren was. The slash down

Ren’s face had been earned while escaping the

butchering blocks, his parents’ lives the cost

of the diversion that got him and Murtaugh

out. Evangeline’s scars hailed from a different sort of escape, narrowly avoiding the hellish

life her mistress endured.

Aedion didn’t let himself often remember

that fact, either.

Evangeline continued pulling Lysandra

away, oblivious to the conversation. “Why

didn’t you wake me when you arrived?”

Aedion didn’t hear Lysandra’s answer as

she let herself be led from the hall. Not as the

shifter’s gaze met his own.

She had tried to speak with him these past

two months. Many times. Dozens of times.

He’d ignored her. And when they’d at last

reached Terrasen’s shores, she’d given up.

She had lied to him. Deceived him so

thoroughly that any moment between them,

any conversation … he didn’t know what had

been real. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to

know if she’d meant any of it, when he’d so

stupidly left everything laid out before her.He’d believed this was his last hunt. That

he’d be able to take his time with her, show

her everything Terrasen had to offer. Show

her everything he had to offer, too.

Lying bitch, he’d called her. Screamed the

words at her.

He’d mustered enough clarity to be

ashamed of it. But the rage remained.

Lysandra’s eyes were wary, as if asking

him, Can we not, in this rare moment of

happiness, speak as friends?

Aedion only returned to the fire, blocking

out her emerald eyes, her exquisite face.

Ren could have her. Even if the thought

made him want to shatter something.

Lysandra and Evangeline vanished from

the hall, the girl still chirping away.

The weight of Lysandra’s disappointment

lingered like a phantom touch.

Ren cleared his throat. “You want to tellme what’s going on between you two?”

Aedion cut him a flat stare that would have

sent lesser men running. “Get a map. I want to

go over the passes again.”

Ren, to his credit, went in search of one.

Aedion gazed at the fire, so pale without

his queen’s spark of magic.

How long would it be until the wind

howling outside the castle was replaced by the

baying of Erawan’s beasts?

Aedion got his answer at dawn the next day.

Seated at one end of the long table in the

Great Hall, Lysandra and Evangeline having a

quiet breakfast at the other, Aedion mastered

the shake in his fingers as he opened the letter

the messenger had delivered moments before.

Ren and Murtaugh, seated around him, had

refrained from demanding answers while he

read. Once. Twice.Aedion at last set down the letter. Took a

long breath as he frowned toward the watery

gray light leaking through the bank of

windows high on the wall.

Down the table, the weight of Lysandra’s

stare pressed on him. Yet she remained where

she was.

“It’s from Kyllian,

” Aedion said hoarsely.

“Morath’s troops made landfall at the coast—

at Eldrys.”

Ren swore. Murtaugh stayed silent. Aedion

kept seated, since his knees seemed unlikely

to support him. “He destroyed the city. Turned

it to rubble without unleashing a single

troop.”

Why the dark king had waited this long,

Aedion could only guess.

“The witch towers?” Ren asked. Aedion

had told him all Manon Blackbeak had

revealed on their trek through the Stone Marshes.

“It doesn’t say.” It was doubtful Erawan

had wielded the towers, since they were

massive enough to require being transported

by land, and Aedion’s scouts surely would

have noticed a one-hundred-foot tower hauled

through their territory. “But the blasts leveled

the city.”

“Aelin?” Murtaugh’s voice was a near-

whisper.

“Fine,

” Aedion lied. “On her way back to

the Orynth encampment the day before it

happened.” Of course, there was no mention

of her whereabouts in Kyllian’s letter, but his

top commander had speculated that since

there was no body or celebrating enemy, the

queen had gotten out.

Murtaugh went boneless in his seat, and

Fleetfoot laid her golden head atop his thigh.

“Thank Mala for that mercy.”“Don’t thank her yet.” Aedion shoved the

letter into the pocket of the thick cloak he

wore against the draft in the hall. Don’t thank

her at all, he almost added. “On their way to

Eldrys, Morath took out ten of Wendlyn’s

warships near Ilium, and sent the rest fleeing

back up the Florine, along with our own.”

Murtaugh rubbed his jaw. “Why not give

chase—follow them up the river?”

“Who knows?” Aedion would think on it

later. “Erawan set his sights on Eldrys, and so

he has now taken the city. He seems inclined

to launch some of his troops from there. If

unchecked, they’ll reach Orynth in a week.”

“We have to return to the camp,

” Ren said,

face dark. “See if we can get our fleet back

down the Florine and strike with Rolfe from

the sea. While we hammer from the land.”

Aedion didn’t feel like reminding them

that they hadn’t heard from Rolfe beyondvague messages about his hunt for the

scattered Mycenians and their legendary fleet.

The odds of Rolfe emerging to save their

asses were as slim as the fabled Wolf Tribe at

the far end of the Anascaul Mountains riding

out of the hinterland. Or the Fae who’d fled

Terrasen a decade ago returning from

wherever they’d gone to join Aedion’s forces.

The calculating calm that had guided

Aedion through battle and butchering settled

into him, as solid as the fur cloak he wore.

Speed would be their ally now. Speed and

clarity.

The lines have to hold, Rowan ordered

before they’d parted. Buy us whatever time

you can.

He’d make good on that promise.

Evangeline fell silent as Aedion’s attention

slid to the shifter down the table. “How many

can your wyvern form carry?”.........