Kingdom of Ash

“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 head.

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 dimming 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.

“They’ll be within the archers’ range in about an hour,” Elgan reported. Darrow’s orders be damned. Kyllian was still general, yes, but every report his friend received, Aedion got as well.

“Remind them to make their shots count. Pick targets.”

The Bane knew that without being told. The others—they had proved their mettle in these battles, but a reminder never hurt.

Elgan aimed for the sections of the city walls that Ren and the Fae nobles had deemed the best advantage for their archers. Against a hundred thousand troops, they might only stand to thin the lines, but to let the enemy charge unchallenged at the walls would be utter folly. And break the spirit of these people before they met their end.

“What is that?” Ren murmured. Pointing to the horizon.

Sharp—Ren’s eyes had to be sharper than most humans, since it was still just a smudge on the horizon to Aedion.

A breath passed. The dark smudge began to take form, rising into the blue sky.

Flying toward them.

“Ilken?” Ren squinted as he shielded his eyes against the glare.

“Too big,” Aedion breathed.

Closer, the mass flying above the teeming army became clearer. Larger.

“Wyverns,” Aedion said, dread curdling in his stomach.

The Ironteeth aerial legion had been unleashed at last.

“Oh gods,” Ren whispered.

Against a terrestrial siege, Orynth might have held out—a few days or weeks, but they could have lasted.

But with the thousand or so Ironteeth witches who soared toward them on those wyverns … They would not need their infernal towers to destroy this city, the castle. To rip open the city gates and walls and let in Morath’s hordes.

The soldiers began to spot the wyverns. People cried out, along the battlements. Up in the castle looming behind them.

This siege would not even get the chance to be a siege.

It would end today. Within a few hours.

Racing feet skidded to a halt, and then Lysandra was there, panting. “Tell me what to do, where to go.” Her emerald eyes were wide with terror—helpless terror and despair. “I can change into a wyvern, try to keep them—”

“There are over a thousand Ironteeth,” Aedion said, his voice hollow in his ears. Her fear whetted something sharp and dangerous in him, but he refrained from reaching for her. “There is nothing you or we can do.”

A few dozen of the Ironteeth had sacked Rifthold in a matter of hours.

This host …

Aedion focused on his breathing, on keeping his head high as soldiers began to step away from their positions along the walls.

Unacceptable.

“STAY WHERE YOU ARE,” he bellowed. “HOLD THE LINE, AND DO NOT BALK.”

The roared command halted those who’d looked prone to bolt, at least. But it didn’t stop the shaking swords, the stench of their rising fear.

Aedion turned to Lysandra and Ren. “Get Rolfe’s firelances up on the higher towers and buildings. See if they can burn the Ironteeth from the sky.”

When Ren hesitated, Aedion snarled, “Do it now.”

Then Ren was racing toward where the Pirate Lord stood with his Mycenian soldiers.

“It won’t do anything, will it?” Lysandra said softly.

Aedion just said, “Take Evangeline and go. There is a small tunnel in the bottom level of the castle that leads into the mountains. Take her and go.”

She shook her head. “To what end? Morath will find us all anyway.”

His commanders were sprinting toward him, and for the first time since he’d known them, there was true dread shining in the eyes of the Bane. In Elgan’s eyes.

But Aedion kept his attention fixed on Lysandra. “Please. I am begging you. I am begging you, Lysandra, to go.”

Her chin lifted. “You are not asking our other allies to run.”

“Because I am not in love with our other allies.”

For a heartbeat, she blinked at him.

Then her face crumpled, and Aedion only stared at her, unafraid of the words he’d spoken. Only afraid of the dark mass that swept toward them, staying within formation above that endless army. Afraid of what that legion would do to her, to Evangeline.

“I should have told you,” Aedion said, voice breaking. “Every day after I realized it, all these months. I should have told you every day.”

Lysandra began to cry, and he brushed away her tears.

His commanders reached him, ashen and panting. “Orders, General?”

He didn’t bother to tell them that he wasn’t their general. It wouldn’t matter what the hell he was called in a few hours anyway.

Yet Lysandra remained at his side. Made no move to run.

“Please,” he said to her.

Lysandra only linked her fingers through his in silent answer. And challenge.

His heart cracked at that refusal. At the hand, shaking and cold, that clung to his.

He squeezed her fingers tightly, and did not let go as he faced his commanders. “We—”

“Wyverns from the north!”

The screamed warning shattered down the battlements, and Aedion and Lysandra ducked as they whirled toward the attack coming at their backs.

Thirteen wyverns raced from the Staghorns, plunging toward the city walls.

And as they shot toward Orynth, people and soldiers screaming and fleeing before them, the sun hit the smaller wyvern leading the attack.

Lighting up wings like living silver.

Aedion knew that wyvern. Knew the white-haired rider atop it.

“HOLD FIRE,” he bellowed down the lines. His commanders echoed the order, and all the arrows that had been pointed upward now halted.

“It’s …,” Lysandra breathed, her hand dropping from his while she walked forward a step, as if in a daze. “It …”

Soldiers still fell back from the city walls as Manon Blackbeak and her Thirteen landed along them, right before Aedion and Lysandra.

It was not the witch he had last seen on a beach in Eyllwe.

No, there was nothing of that cold, strange creature in the face that smiled grimly at him. Nothing of her in that remarkable crown of stars atop her brow.

A crown of stars.

For the last Crochan Queen.

Panting, rasping breaths neared, and Aedion glanced away from Manon Blackbeak to see Darrow hurry onto the city walls, gaping at the witch and her wyvern, at Aedion for not firing at her—her, whom Darrow believed to be an enemy come to parley before their slaughter.

“We will not surrender,” Darrow spat.

Asterin Blackbeak, her blue wyvern beside Manon’s, let out a low laugh.

Indeed, Manon’s lips curved in cool amusement as she said to Darrow, “We have come to ensure that you don’t, mortal.”

Darrow hissed, “Then why has your master sent you to speak with us?”

Asterin laughed again.

“We have no master,” Manon Blackbeak said, and it was indeed a queen’s voice that she spoke with, her golden eyes bright. “We come to honor a friend.”

There was no sign of Dorian amongst the Thirteen, but Aedion was reeling enough that he didn’t have the words to ask.

“We came,” Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could hear, “to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what she promised us.”

Darrow said quietly, “And what was that?”

Manon smiled then. “A better world.”

Darrow took a step back. As if disbelieving what stood before him, in defiance of the legion that swept toward their city.

Manon only looked to Aedion, that smile lingering. “Long ago, the Crochans fought beside Terrasen, to honor the great debt we owed the Fae King Brannon for granting us a homeland. For centuries, we were your closest allies and friends.” That crown of stars blazed bright upon her head. “We heard your call for aid.” Lysandra began weeping. “And we have come to answer it.”

“How many,” Aedion breathed, scanning the skies, the mountains. “How many?”

Pride and awe filled the Witch-Queen’s face, and even her golden eyes were lined with silver as she pointed toward the Staghorns. “See for yourself.”

And then, breaking from between the peaks, they appeared.

Red cloaks flowing on the wind, they filled the northern skies. So many he could not count them, nor the swords and bows and weapons they bore upon their backs, their brooms flying straight and unwavering.

Thousands. Thousands of them descended upon Orynth. Thousands of them now swept over the city, his soldiers gaping upward at the stream of fluttering red, undaunted and untroubled by the enemy force darkening the horizon. One by one by one, they alit upon the empty castle battlements.

An aerial legion to challenge the Ironteeth.

The Crochans had returned at last.