Lysandra only pointed to Rolfe, then Ansel, then Galan. Swept her arm to the windows, to where the Fae royals and Ilias of the Silent Assassins tended to their own on the castle grounds. “All of them. All of them came here because of Aelin. Not you. So before you sneer that there is no Her Majesty’s Armada, allow me to tell you that there is. And you are not a part of it.”
Darrow let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple again. “You are dismissed from this room.”
“Like hell she is,” Aedion growled.
But Murtaugh cut in, “There is someone, Lady, who would like to see you.” Lysandra raised her brows, and the old man winced. “I did not wish to risk leaving her in Allsbrook alone. Evangeline is in the northern tower—in my former granddaughter’s bedroom. She spotted your approach from the window and it was all I could do to convince her to wait.”
A polite, clever way to defuse the brewing storm. Aedion debated telling Lysandra that she could stay, but Lysandra was already moving, dark hair flowing behind her.
When she’d left, Aedion said, “She’s fought on the front lines at every battle. Nearly died against our enemies. I didn’t see any of you bothering to do the same.”
The group of old lords frowned with distaste. Yet it was Darrow who shifted in his seat—slightly. As if Aedion had struck upon a festering wound. “To be too old to fight,” Darrow said quietly, “while younger men and women die is not as easy as you would think, Aedion.” He glanced down, to the nameless sword at Aedion’s side. “It is not easy at all.”
Aedion debated telling him to ask the people who’d died if that wasn’t easy, either, but Prince Galan cleared his throat. “What preparations are under way for a siege?”
The Terrasen lords didn’t seem to appreciate being questioned, but they opened their hateful mouths and spoke.
An hour later, the others seen to their rooms, then to baths and hot meals, Aedion found himself following her scent.
She had gone not to the north tower and the ward who awaited her, but to the throne room.
The towering oak doors were cracked, the two rearing stags carved on them staring him down. Once, gold filigree had covered the immortal flame shining between their proud antlers.
During the past decade, someone had peeled off the gold. Either for spite or quick coin.
Aedion slipped through the doors, the cavernous chamber like the ghost of an old friend.
How many times had he bemoaned being forced to dress in his finery and stand beside the thrones atop the dais at the far back of the pillar-lined room? How many times had he caught Aelin nodding off during an endless day of pageantry?
Then, the banners of all the Terrasen territories had hung from the ceiling. Then, the pale marble floors had been so polished he could see his reflection in them.
Then, an antler throne had sat upon the dais, towering and primal. Built from the shed horns of the immortal stags of Oakwald.
Stags now butchered and burned, as the antler throne had been after the battle of Theralis. The king had ordered it done right on the battlefield.
It was before that empty dais that Lysandra stood. Staring at the white marble as if she could see the throne that had once been there. See the other, smaller thrones that had sat beside it.
“I hadn’t realized that Adarlan wrecked this place so thoroughly,” she said, either scenting him or recognizing the cadence of his footsteps.
“The bones of it are still intact,” Aedion said. “For how much longer that will remain true, I don’t know.”
Lysandra’s green eyes slid toward him, dim with exhaustion and sorrow. “Deep down,” she said quietly, “some part of me thought I’d live to see her sitting here.” She pointed to the dais, to where the antler throne had once been. “Deep down, I thought we might actually make it somehow. Even with Morath, and the Lock, and all of it.”
There was no hope in her face.
It was perhaps because of it that she bothered to speak to him.
“I thought so, too,” Aedion said with equal quiet, though the words echoed in the vast, empty chamber. “I thought so, too.”
CHAPTER 70
The Queen of the Fae had come to Morath.
Dorian forced his heartbeat to calm, his breathing to steady as Maeve sipped from her wine.
“You do not know me, then,” the Fae Queen said, studying the Valg king.
Erawan paused, goblet half-raised to his lips. “Are you not Maeve, Queen of Doranelle?”
Aelin. Had Maeve brought Aelin here? To be sold to Erawan?
Gods, gods—
Maeve tipped back her head and laughed. “Millennia apart, and you have forgotten even your own sister-in-law.”
Dorian was glad he was small and quiet and unmarked. He might have very well swayed.
Erawan went still. “You.”
Maeve smiled. “Me.”
Those golden eyes roved over the Fae Queen. “In a Fae skin. All this time.”
“I’m disappointed you did not figure it out.”
The pulse of Erawan’s power slithered over Dorian. So similar—so terribly similar to the oily power of that Valg prince. “Do you know what you have—” The Valg king silenced himself. Straightened his shoulders.
“I suppose I should thank you, then,” Erawan said, mastering himself. “Without you betraying my brother, I would not have discovered this delightful world. And would not stand primed to conquer it.” He sipped from his goblet. “But the question remains: Why come here? Why reveal yourself now? My ancient enemy—perhaps enemy no longer.”
“I was never your enemy,” Maeve said, her voice unruffled. “Your brothers, however, were mine.”
“And yet you married Orcus knowing full well what he is like.”
“Perhaps I should have married you when you offered.” A small smile—coy and horrible. “But I was so young then. Easily misled.”
Erawan let out a low laugh that made Dorian’s stomach turn. “You were never those things. And now here we are.”
If Aelin was here, if Dorian could find her, perhaps they could take on the Valg queen and king …
“Here we are,” Maeve said. “You, poised to sweep this continent. And me, willing to help you.”
Erawan crossed an ankle over a knee. “Again: Why?”
Maeve’s fingers smoothed over the facets of her goblet. “My people have betrayed me. After all I have done for them, all I have protected them, they rose up against me. The army I had gathered refused to march. My nobles, my servants, refused to kneel. I am Queen of Doranelle no longer.”
“I can guess who might be behind such a thing,” Erawan said.
Darkness flickered in the room, terrible and cold. “I had Aelin of the Wildfire contained. I had hoped to bring her here to you when she was … ready. But the sentinel I assigned to oversee her care made a grave error. I myself will admit that I was deceived. And now she is again free. And took it upon herself to dispatch letters to some influential individuals in Doranelle. She is likely already on this continent.”
Relief shuddered through him.
Erawan waved a hand. “In Anielle. Expending her power carelessly.”
Maeve’s eyes glowed. “She cost me my kingdom, my throne. My circle of trusted warriors. Any neutrality I might have had in this war, any mercy I might have offered, vanished the moment she and her mate left.”
They’d found her. Somehow, they’d found her. And Anielle—did he dare hope Chaol might also be there?
Dorian might have roared his victory. But Maeve continued, “Aelin Galathynius will come for me, if she survives you. I do not plan to allow her the chance to do so.”
Erawan’s smile grew. “So you think to ally with me.”
“Only together can we ensure Brannon’s bloodline is toppled forever. Never to rise again.”
“Then why not kill her, when you had her?”
“Would you have done so, brother? Would you not have tried to turn her?”
Erawan’s silence was conf
irmation enough. Then the Valg king asked, “You lay a great deal before me, sister. Do you expect me to believe you so readily?”
“I anticipated that.” Her lips curved. “After all, I have nothing left but my own powers.”
Erawan said nothing, as if well aware of the dance the queen led him in.
She extended a moon-white hand toward the center of the room. “There is something else I might bring to the table, should it interest you.”
A flick of her slender fingers, and a hole simply appeared in the heart of the chamber.
Dorian started, curling himself farther into shadow and dust. Not bothering to hide his trembling as a horror only true darkness could craft appeared on the other side of that hole. The portal.
“I had forgotten you’d mastered that gift,” Erawan said, his golden eyes flaring at the thing that now bowed to them, its pincers clicking.
The spider.
“And I’d forgotten that they still bothered to answer to you,” Erawan went on.
“When the Fae cast me aside,” Maeve said, smiling faintly at the enormous spider, “I returned to those who have always been loyal to me.”
“The stygian spiders have become their own creatures,” Erawan countered. “Your list of allies remains short.”
Maeve shook her head, dark hair shining. “These are not the stygian spiders.”
Through the portal, Dorian could make out jagged, ashen rock. Mountains.
“These are the kharankui, as the people of the southern continent call them. My most loyal handmaidens.”
Dorian’s heart thundered as the spider bowed again.
Erawan’s face turned cool and bored. “What use would I have for them?” He gestured to the windows beyond, the hellscape he’d crafted. “I have created armies of beasts loyal to me. I do not need a few hundred spiders.”
Maeve didn’t so much as falter. “My handmaidens are resourceful, their webs long-reaching. They speak to me of the goings-on in the world. And spoke to me of the next … phase of your grand plans.”
Dorian braced himself. Erawan stiffened.
Maeve drawled. “The Valg princesses need hosts. You have had difficulty in securing ones powerful enough to hold them. The khaganate princess managed to survive the one you planted in her, and is mistress of her own body once more.”
Valg princesses. In the southern continent. Chaol—
“I’m listening,” Erawan said.
Maeve pointed to the spider still bowing at the portal—the portal to the southern continent, opened as easily as a window. “Why bother with human hosts for the six remaining princesses when you might create ones far more powerful? And willing.”
Erawan’s gold eyes slid to the spider. “You and your kin would allow this?” His first words to the creature.
The spider’s pincers clicked, her horrible eyes blinking. “It would be our honor to prove our loyalty to our queen.”
Maeve smiled at the spider. Dorian shuddered.
“Immortal, powerful hosts,” Maeve purred to the Valg king. “With their innate gifts, imagine how the princesses might thrive within them. Both spider and princess becoming more.”
Becoming a horror beyond all reckoning.
Erawan said nothing, and Maeve flicked her fingers, the portal and spider vanishing. She rose, graceful as a shadow. “I shall let you consider this alliance, if that is what you wish. The kharankui will do as I bid them—and will happily march under your banner.”
“Yet what shall I say to my brother, when I see him again?”
Maeve angled her head. “Do you plan to see Orcus again?”
“Why do you think I have spent so long building this army, preparing this world, if not to greet my brothers once more? If not to impress them with what I have made here?”
Erawan would bring the Valg kings back to Erilea, if given the chance. And if he did—
Maeve studied the seated king. “Tell Orcus that I grew bored of waiting for him to come home from his conquests.” A spider’s smile. “I would much rather have joined him.”
Erawan blinked, the only sign of his surprise. Then he waved an elegant hand, and the doors opened on a phantom wind. “I shall think on this, sister. For your brazenness in approaching me, I will allow you to stay as my guest until I decide.” Two guards appeared in the hall, and Dorian braced himself, paws tensing on the stones. “They will show you to your room.”
To remain in this chamber for too long might lead to his exposure, but he had not sensed the key on the Valg king. Later—he could keep looking later. Contemplate the best way to kill the king, too. If he was foolish enough to risk it. For now …
Maeve gathered her cloak, sweeping it around her, and Dorian rushed forward, ducking into its shadows once more as the Fae Queen prowled out.
The guards led her down a hall, up a winding stair, and into a tower adjacent to Erawan’s. It was well-appointed in polished oak furniture and crisp linen sheets. Likely a remnant of the years this had been a human stronghold and not a home of horrors.
As the door shut behind Maeve, she leaned into the iron-studded wood and sighed.
“Do you plan to hide in that pathetic form all day?”
Dorian lunged for the gap between the door and the floor, but her black-booted foot slammed down upon his tail.
Pain speared through his bones, but her foot remained in place. His magic surged, lashing, but a dark wind wrapped talons around it, choking. Stifling.
The Fae Queen smiled down at him. “You are not a very skilled spy, King of Adarlan.”
CHAPTER 71
Dorian’s magic struggled, roaring as her dark power held him in its net. If he could turn into a wyvern and rip her head off …
But Maeve smiled, weary and amused, and lifted her foot from his poor tail. Then released her grip on his magic.
He shuddered at the dark, festering power as it caressed talons down his magic, brushed the shimmering, raw core, and vanished.
It was an effort not to gag, not to touch the pale band on his neck just to be sure it was gone.
Maeve’s smile remained on her red mouth, his magic still shivering as the feel of her power lingered. The power to break into minds, to rip apart the psyche. A different sort of enemy. One that would require another route. A reckless, fool’s route. A courtier’s route.
So he shifted, fur becoming skin, paws into hands. When he at last stood before the Fae Queen, man once more, her smile grew. “How handsome you are.”
Dorian sketched a bow. He didn’t dare reach for Damaris at his side. “How did you know?”
“You did not think I beheld you, your scent and the feel of your power, in Aelin’s memories?” She angled her head. “Though my spy did not report your interest in shifting.”
Cyrene. Horror crept through him.
Maeve strode deeper into the chamber and took up a seat on the bench before the foot of the bed, as regally as if she sat upon her throne. “How do you think the Matrons knew where to find you?”
“Cyrene was only at the camp for a day,” he managed to say.
“Do you truly believe that there are no other spiders, up there in the mountains? They all answer to her, and to me. She needed only whisper once, to the right ones, and they found me. And found the Ironteeth.” Maeve ran a hand along the lap of her gown. “Whether Erawan knows of your gifts remains to be seen. Before you killed her, Cyrene certainly informed me that you were … different.”
He did not regret killing her one bit.
“But that is neither here nor there. Cyrene is dead, and you are a long way from the arms of Manon Blackbeak.”
Dorian braced a hand on Damaris’s hilt.
Maeve smiled at the ancient sword. “It seems the Queen of Terrasen learned to share. She’s acquired quite the trove, hasn’t she?” Dorian started. If Maeve knew everything Aelin possessed—
“I know that, too,” Maeve said, her dark eyes depthless. Damaris warmed in his grip. “And know the spider did not guess at th
at truth, at least.” She scanned him. “Where are they now, Dorian Havilliard?”
Something slithering and sharp slid along his mind. Trying to get in—
Dorian’s magic roared. A sheet of ice slammed into those mental talons. Blasted them away.
Maeve chuckled, and Dorian blinked, finding the room also coated with frost. “A dramatic, but effective method.”
Dorian smirked at her, “You think I would be foolish enough to allow you into my mind?” Still keeping one hand on the sword, he slid the other into a pocket, if only to hide its shaking. “Or to tell you where they are hidden?”
“It was worth the attempt,” Maeve said.
“Why not sound the alarm?” was his only reply.
Maeve leaned back, studying him again. “You want what I want. Erawan has it. Does that not make you and I allies of a sort?”
“You must be mad, to think I would ever give you the keys.”
“Am I? What would you do with them, Dorian? Destroy them?”
“What would you do? Conquer the world?”
Maeve laughed. “Oh, nothing so common as that. I would make sure that Erawan and his brothers can never return.” Damaris remained warm in his hand. The queen spoke the truth. Or some part of it.
“You’ll admit so easily that you plan to betray Erawan?”
“Why do you think I came here?” Maeve asked. “My people have cast me out, and I guessed you would seek out Morath soon enough.”
Damaris’s warmth did not falter, yet Dorian said, “You cannot think I’d believe you came here to win my allegiance. Not when I saw that you plan to offer Erawan your spiders to assist his princesses.” He didn’t want to know what the Valg princesses could do. Why Erawan had delayed his unleashing of them.
“A small sacrifice on my part to win his trust.” Damaris held warm. “We are not so different, you and I. And I have nothing to lose now, thanks to your friend.”
Truth, truth, truth.
And there it was—the opening he’d been waiting for.
Keeping his mind encased in that wall of ice, his magic sizing up the enemy before them, Dorian let his hand slide from Damaris’s hilt. Let her see his thawing distrust as he said, “Aelin seems to be skilled at wrecking the kingdoms of other people while protecting her own.”
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