Kingdom of Ash

Yrene frowned. “I don’t know how she didn’t walk out and leave everyone to rot. I would have.”

“Never underestimate the power of guilt when it comes to Aelin Galathynius,” Dorian said, and sighed. The fire he’d summoned fluttered.

“She sealed the Wyrdgate.” Yrene scowled. “The least they could do is be grateful for it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt they are,” Chaol said, frowning now as well. “But the fact remains that Aelin promised one thing, and did the opposite.”

Indeed. Dorian didn’t quite know what to think of Aelin’s choice. Or that she’d even told them about it—about trading Erawan for Elena. The gods betraying her in turn.

And then Aelin destroying them for it.

“Typical,” Dorian said, trying for humor and failing. Some part of him still felt as if he were in that place-of-places.

Especially when some part of him had been given up.

The magic that had felt bottomless only yesterday now had a very real, very solid stopping point. A mighty gift, yes, but he did not think he’d ever again be capable of shattering glass castles or enemy strongholds.

He hadn’t yet decided whether it was a relief.

It was more power, at least, than Aelin had been left with. Gifted with, it sounded like. Aelin had burned through every ember of her own magic. What she now possessed was all that remained of what Mala had given her to seal the gate—to punish the gods who had betrayed them both.

The idea of it still made Dorian queasy. And the memory of Aelin choosing to throw him out of that non-place still made him grind his teeth. Not at her choice, but that his father—

He’d think about his father later. Never.

His nameless father, who had come for him in the end.

Chaol hadn’t asked about it, hadn’t pushed. And Dorian knew that whenever he was ready to talk about it, his friend would be waiting.

Chaol said, “Aelin didn’t kill Erawan. But at least Erawan can never bring over his brothers. Or use the keys to destroy us all. We have that. She—you both did that.”

There would be no more collars. No more rooms beneath a dark fortress to hold them.

Yrene ran her fingers through Chaol’s brown hair, and Dorian tried to fight the ache in his chest at the sight. At the love that flowed so freely between them.

He didn’t resent Chaol for his happiness. But it didn’t stop the sharp slicing in his chest every time he saw them. Every time he saw the Torre healers, and wished Sorscha had found them.

“So the world was only partly saved,” Yrene said. “Better than nothing.”

Dorian smiled at that. He adored his friend’s wife already. Likely would have married her, too, if he’d had the chance.

Even if his thoughts still drifted northward—to a golden-eyed witch who walked with death beside her and did not fear it. Did she think of him? Wonder what had become of him in Morath?

“Aelin and I still have magic,” Dorian said. “Not like it was before, but we still have it. We’re not entirely helpless.”

“Enough to take on Erawan?” Chaol said, his bronze eyes wary. Well aware of the answer. “And Maeve?”

“We’ll have to figure out a way,” Dorian said. He prayed it was true.

But there were no gods left to pray to at all.

Elide kept one eye on Aelin while they washed themselves in the queen’s tent. One eye on the deliciously warm water that had been brought in.

And kept warm by the woman in the tub beside her own.

As if in defiance of the horrible meeting they’d had with the khaganate royals upon Aelin’s unexpected return.

Triumphant. But only in some regards.

One threat defeated. The other fumbled.

Aelin had hid it well, but the queen had her tells, too. Her utter stillness—the predatory angle of her head. The former had been present this morning. Utter stillness while she’d been questioned, criticized, shouted at.

The queen had not been this quiet since the day she’d escaped Maeve.

And it was not trauma that bowed her head, but guilt. Dread. Shame.

Nearly shoulder-deep in the high, long tubs, Elide had been the one to suggest a bath. To give Prince Rowan a chance to fly high and wide and take some of the edge off his temper. To give Aelin a moment to settle herself.

She’d planned to bathe this morning anyway. Though she’d imagined a different partner in the bath beside hers.

Not that Lorcan knew that. He’d only kissed her temple before striding off into the morning—to join Fenrys and Gavriel in readying the army to move out. Keep plunging northward.

Aelin scrubbed at her long hair, the flowing mass of it draped over her body. In the light of the braziers, the tattoos on the queen’s back seemed to flow like a living black river.

“So your magic is still there?” Elide blurted.

Aelin slid turquoise eyes over to her. “Is your water warm?”

Elide snorted, dragging her fingers through the water. “Yes.”

“You wish to know how much, exactly.”

“Am I allowed to know?”

“I wasn’t lying in the meeting,” Aelin said, voice still hollow. She’d stood there and taken every shouted question from Princess Hasar, every frown of disapproval from Prince Sartaq. “It’s …” She lifted her arms, and positioned her hands in the air above each other, a foot of space between them. “Here’s where the bottom was before,” she said, wriggling her lower fingers. She lifted her bottom hand until it hovered two inches from her top hand. “Here’s where it is now.”

“You’ve tested it?”

“I can feel it.” Those turquoise eyes, despite all she’d done, were heavy. Solemn. “I’ve never felt a bottom before. Felt it without having to look for it.” Aelin dunked her sudsy scalp in the water, scrubbing free the bubbles and oils. “Not so impressive, is it?”

“I never cared if you had magic or not.”

“Why? Everyone else did.” A flat question. Yes, when they’d been children, so many had feared what manner of power Aelin possessed. What she’d grow into.

“Who you are isn’t your magic,” Elide said simply.

“Isn’t it?” Aelin rested her head on the back of the tub. “I liked my magic. Loved it.”

“And being human?” Elide knew she shouldn’t have dared ask, but it slipped out.

Aelin glanced sidelong at her. “Am I still human, deep down, without a human body to possess?”

Elide considered. “I suppose you’re the only person who can decide that.”

Aelin hummed, dunking under the water again.

When she emerged, Elide asked, “Are you afraid? Of facing Erawan in battle?”

Aelin hugged her knees, her tattoo flexing across her back. She was quiet for a long while.

“I am afraid of not reaching Orynth in time,” she said at last. “If Erawan chooses to drag his carcass up there to fight me, I’ll deal with it then.”

“And Maeve? What if she arrives with Erawan, too?”

But Elide knew the answer. They would die. All of them.

There had to be some way—some way to defeat both of them. She supposed Anneith would be of no help now. And perhaps it was time for her to rely upon herself anyway. Even if the timing could have been far better.

“So many questions, Lady of Perranth.”

Elide blushed, and reached for the soap, scrubbing her arms down. “Sorry.”

“Do you now see why I didn’t have you take the blood oath?”

“The Fae males challenge you all the time.”

“Yes, but I like having you not bound to me.” A soft sigh. “I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“For what?”

“To survive the Lock. The gate. To actually have to … rule. To live. I’m in uncharted territory, it seems.”

Elide considered. Then pulled the golden ring from her finger. Silba’s ring—not Mala’s.

“Here,” she said, extending the ring between their tubs, suds dripping off her fingers.

Aelin blinked at the ring. “Why?”

“Because between the two of us, you’re more likely to face Erawan or Maeve.”