Kingdom of Ash

by Sarah J. Maas

  “And at letting others pay her debts.”

  Dorian stilled, though his magic continued its vigil, monitoring her dark power as it paced the barrier to his mind.

  “Isn’t that why you are here?” Maeve asked. “To be the sacrifice so that Aelin need not destroy herself?” She clicked her tongue. “Such a terrible waste—for either of you to pay the price for Elena’s foolishness.”

  “It is.” Truth.

  “Can I tell you what Aelin revealed to me, during those moments I was able to peer into her mind?”

  Dorian didn’t dare reach for Damaris again. “You enslaved her,” he growled. “I don’t want to hear a damn thing about it.”

  Maeve brushed her curtain of hair over a shoulder, humming. “Aelin is glad it’s you,” she merely said. “She’s hoping she’ll be too late in returning. That you’ll accomplish what you’ve set out to do and spare her from a terrible choice.”

  “She has a mate and a kingdom. I don’t blame her.” The sharpness in his words wasn’t entirely faked.

  “Don’t you? Don’t you have a kingdom to look after, one no less powerful and noble than Terrasen?” When he didn’t answer, Maeve said, “Aelin has been freed for weeks now. And she has not come to find you.”

  “The continent is a big place.”

  A knowing smile. “She could find you, if she wished. And yet she went to Anielle.”

  He knew what manner of game she played. His magic slipped a fraction. An opening.

  Maeve’s own lashed for it, seeking a way in. She’d barely crossed the threshold when he gritted his teeth and threw her from his mind again, the wall of ice colliding with her.

  “If you want me to ally with you, you’re picking one hell of a way to show it.”

  Maeve laughed softly. “Can you blame me for trying?”

  Dorian didn’t answer, and stared at her for a long minute. Made a show of considering. Every bit of courtly intrigue and training kept his face unreadable. “You think I’d betray my friends that easily?”

  “Is it betrayal?” Maeve mused. “To find an alternative to you and Aelin Galathynius paying the ultimate price? It was what I intended for her all along: to keep her from being a sacrifice to unfeeling gods.”

  “Those gods are powerful beings.”

  “Then where are they now?” She gestured to the room, the keep. Silence answered. “They are afraid. Of me, of Erawan. Of the keys.” She gave him a serpent’s smile. “They are afraid of you. You, and Aelin Fire-Bringer. Powerful enough to send them home—or to damn them.”

  He didn’t answer. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

  “Why not defy them? Why bow to their wishes? What have they ever done for you?”

  Sorscha’s pained face flashed before his eyes.

  “There is no other way,” he said at last. “To end this.”

  “The keys could end it.”

  To wield them, rather than seal them back into the gate.

  “They could do anything,” Maeve went on. “Destroy Erawan, banish those gods back to their home if that’s what they want.” She angled her head. “Open another door to realms of peace and resting.”

  To the woman who would undoubtedly be there.

  The dark, predatory power stalking his mind faded away, pulled back to its mistress.

  Aelin had done it once. Opened a door to see Nehemia. It was possible. The encounters with Gavin and Kaltain only confirmed it.

  “What if you didn’t only ally with me,” he asked at last, “but with Adarlan itself?”

  Maeve didn’t answer. As if she were surprised by the offer.

  “A bigger alliance than merely working together to find the key,” Dorian mused, and shrugged. “You have no kingdom, and clearly want another. Why not lend your gifts to Adarlan, to me? Bring your spiders to our side.”

  “A breath ago, you were livid that I enslaved your friend.”

  “Oh, I still am. Yet I am not so proud to refuse to consider the possibility. You want a kingdom? Then join mine. Ally with me, work with me to get what we need from Erawan, and I shall make you queen. Of a far bigger territory, with a people who will not rise up against you. A new start, I suppose.”

  When she still did not speak, Dorian leaned against the door. The portrait of courtly nonchalance. “You think I’m trying to trick you. Perhaps I am.”

  “And Manon Blackbeak? What of your promises to her?”

  “I have made her no promises regarding my throne, and she wants nothing to do with them, anyway.” He didn’t hide the bitterness as he shrugged again. “Marriages have been built on far more volatile foundations than this one.”

  “Aelin of the Wildfire might very well mark you as an enemy, should we make a true union.”

  “Aelin will not risk killing an ally—not right now. And she will discover that she is not the only one capable of saving this world. Perhaps she’ll even come to thank me, if she’s as eager to avoid being sacrificed as you claim.”

  Maeve’s red mouth curved upward. “You are young, and brash.”

  Dorian sketched a bow again. “I am also exceedingly handsome and willing to offer up my throne in a gesture of good faith.”

  “I could sell you to Erawan right now and he would reward me handsomely.”

  “Reward you—as if you are a hound bringing back a pheasant to its master.” Dorian laughed, and her eyes flashed. “It was you who just posed this alliance between us, not me. But consider this: Shall you kneel, or shall you rule, Maeve?” He tapped his neck, right over the pale band across it. “I have knelt, and found I have no interest in doing so again. Not for Erawan, or for Aelin, or anyone.” Another shrug. “The woman I love is dead. My kingdom is in pieces. What do I have to lose?” He let some of the old ice, the hollowness in his chest, rise to his face. “I’m willing to play this game. Are you?”

  Maeve fell silent again. And slowly, those phantom hands crept into the corners of his mind.

  He let her see. See the truth she sought.

  He withstood it, that probing touch.

  At last, Maeve loosed a breath through her nose. “You came to Morath for a key and will leave with a bride.”

  He nearly sagged with relief. “I will leave with both. And quickly.”

  “And how do you propose we are to find what we seek?”

  Dorian smiled at the Fae Queen. The Valg Queen. “Leave that to me.”

  Atop Morath’s highest tower hours later, Dorian peered at the army campfires littering the valley floor, his raven’s feathers ruffled in the frozen wind off the surrounding peaks.

  The screams and snarling had quieted, at least. As if even Morath’s dungeon-masters maintained ordinary hours of working. He might have found the idea darkly funny, if he didn’t know what manner of thing was being broken and bred here.

  His cousin, Roland, had wound up here. He knew it, though no one had ever confirmed it. Had he survived the transition to Valg prince, or had he merely been a meal for one of the terrors who prowled this place?

  He lifted his head, scanning the cloudy sky. The moon was a pale blur behind them, a trickle of light that seemed keen to remain hidden from Morath’s watchful eyes.

  A dangerous game. He was playing one hell of a dangerous game.

  Did Gavin watch him now, from wherever he rested? Had he learned what manner of monster Dorian had allied himself with?

  He didn’t dare to summon the king here. Not with Erawan so close.

  Close enough that Dorian might have attacked. Perhaps he’d been a fool not to. Perhaps he’d be a fool to attempt it, as Kaltain had warned, when it might reveal their mission. When Erawan had those collars on hand.

  Dorian cast a glance to the adjacent tower, where Maeve slept. A dangerous, dangerous game.

  The dark tower beyond hers seemed to throb with power. The council room down the hall from it was still lit, however. And in the hall—motion. People striding past the torches. Hurrying.

  Stupid. Utterly stupid, and yet he found himse
lf flapping into the frigid night. Found himself banking, then swooping to a cracked window along the hallway.

  He pushed the window open a bit farther with his beak, and listened.

  “Months I’ve been here, and now he refuses my counsel?” A tall, thin man stomped down the hall. Away from Erawan’s council room. Toward the tower door at the end of the hall and the blank-faced guards stationed there.

  At his side, two shorter men struggled to keep up. One of them said, “Erawan’s motives are mysterious indeed, Lord Vernon. He does nothing without reason. Have faith in him.”

  Dorian froze.

  Vernon Lochan. Elide’s uncle.

  His magic surged, ice cracking over the windowsill.

  Dorian tracked the lanky lord while he stormed past, his dark fur cape drooping to the stones. “I have had faith in him beyond what could be expected,” Vernon snapped.

  The lord and his lackeys gave the tower door a wide berth as they passed it, turned the corner, and vanished, their voices fading with them.

  Dorian surveyed the empty hall. The council room at the far end. The door still ajar.

  He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give himself time to reconsider as he crafted his plan. And waited.

  Erawan emerged an hour later.

  Dorian’s heart thundered through him, but he kept his position in the hall, kept his shoulders straight and hands behind his back. Precisely how he’d appeared to the guards when he’d rounded the corner, having flown off to a quiet hall before shifting and striding here.

  The Valg king surveyed him once, and his mouth tightened. “I thought I’d dismissed you for the night, Vernon.”

  Dorian bowed his head, willing his breathing steady with each step Erawan made toward him. His magic stirred, recoiling in terror at the creature who approached, but he forced it down deep. To a place where Erawan would not detect it.

  As he had not detected Dorian earlier. Perhaps the raw magic in him also erased any traceable scent.

  Dorian bowed his head. “I had returned to my chambers, but I realized I had a lingering question, milord.”

  He prayed Erawan didn’t notice the different clothes. The sword that he kept half-hidden beneath his cloak. Prayed Erawan decided that Vernon had gone back to his room, changed, and returned. And prayed that he spoke enough like the Lord of Perranth to be convincing.

  A sniveling, groveling man—the sort who’d sell his own niece to a demon king.

  “What is it.” Erawan stalked down the hall to his tower, a nightmare wrapped in a beautiful body.

  Strike him now. Kill him.

  And yet Dorian knew he hadn’t come here for that. Not at all.

  He kept his head down, voice low. “Why?”

  Erawan slid golden, glowing eyes toward him. Manon’s eyes. “Why what?”

  “You might have made yourself lord of a dozen other territories, and yet you graced us with this one. I have long wondered why.”

  Erawan’s eyes narrowed to slits, and Dorian kept his face the portrait of groveling curiosity. Had Vernon asked this before?

  A stupid gamble. If Erawan noticed the sword at his side—

  “My brothers and I planned to conquer this world, to add it to the trove that we’d already taken.” Erawan’s golden hair danced with the light of the torches as he walked the long hall. Dorian had a feeling that when they reached the tower at the far end, the conversation would be through. “We arrived at this one, encountered a surprising amount of resistance, and they were banished back. I could do nothing less while trapped here than to repay this world for the blow they dealt us. So I will make this world into a mirror of our homeland—to honor my brothers, and to prepare it for their return.”

  Dorian sifted through countless lessons on the royal houses of their lands and said, “I, too, know what it is to have a brotherly rivalry.” He gave the king a simpering smile.

  “You killed yours,” Erawan said, bored already. “I love my brothers dearly.”

  The idea was laughable.

  Half the hallway remained until the tower door. “Will you truly decimate this world, then? All who dwell in it?”

  “Those who do not kneel.”

  Maeve, at least, wished to preserve it. To rule, but to preserve it.

  “Would they receive collars and rings, or a clean death?”

  Erawan surveyed him sidelong. “You have never wondered for the sake of your people. Not even the sake of your niece, failure that she was.”

  Dorian made himself cringe, and bowed his head. “I apologize again for that, milord. She is a clever girl.”

  “So clever, it seems, that one confrontation with you and you were scared away.”

  Dorian again bowed his head. “I will go hunt for her, if that is what you wish.”

  “I am aware that she no longer has what I seek, and it is now lost to me. A loss you brought about.” The Wyrdkey Elide had carried, given to her by Kaltain.

  Dorian wondered if Vernon had indeed been lying low for months now—avoiding this conversation. He cringed again. “Tell me how to rectify it, milord, and it will be done.”

  Erawan halted, and Dorian’s mouth went dry. His magic coiled within him, bracing.

  But he made himself look the king in the face. Meet the eyes of the creature who had brought about so much suffering.

  “Your bloodline proved useless to me, Vernon,” Erawan said a shade too softly. “Shall I find another use for you here at Morath?”

  Dorian knew precisely what sort of uses the man would have. He lifted supplicating hands. “I am your servant, milord.”

  Erawan stared at him for long heartbeats. Then he said, “Go.”

  Dorian straightened, letting Erawan stride a few more feet toward the tower. The blank-faced guards posted at its door stepped aside as he approached.

  “Do you truly hate them?” Dorian blurted.

  Erawan half-turned toward him.

  Dorian asked, “The humans. Aelin Galathynius. Dorian Havilliard. All of them. Do you truly hate them?” Why do you make us suffer so greatly?

  Erawan’s golden eyes guttered. “They would keep me from my brothers,” he said. “I will let nothing stand in the way of my reunion with them.”

  “Surely there might be another way to reunite you. Without such a great war.”

  Erawan’s stare swept over him, and Dorian held still, willing his scent to remain unremarkable, the shift to keep its form. “Where would the fun be in that?” the Valg king asked, and turned back toward the hall.

  “Did the former King of Adarlan ask such questions?” The words broke from him.

  Erawan again paused. “He was not so faithful a servant as you might believe. And look what it cost him.”

  “He fought you.” Not quite a question.

  “He never bowed. Not completely.” Dorian was stunned enough that he opened his mouth. But Erawan began walking again and said without looking back, “You ask many questions, Vernon. A great many questions. I find them tiresome.”

  Dorian bowed, even with Erawan’s back to him. But the Valg king continued on, opening the tower door to reveal a lightless interior, and shut it behind him.

  A clock chimed midnight, off-kilter and odious, and Dorian strode back down the hall, finding another route to Maeve’s chambers. A quick shift in a shadowed alcove had him scuttling along the floor again, his mouse’s eyes seeing well enough in the dark.

  Only embers remained in the fireplace when he slid beneath the door.

  In the dark, Maeve said from the bed, “You are a fool.”

  Dorian shifted again, back into his own body. “For what?”

  “I know where you went. Who you sought.” Her voice slithered through the darkness. “You are a fool.” When he didn’t reply, she asked, “Did you plan to kill him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You couldn’t face him and live.” Casual, stark words. Dorian didn’t need to touch Damaris to know they were true. “He would have put another collar around
your throat.”

  “I know.” Perhaps he should have learned where the Valg king kept them and destroyed the cache.

  “This alliance shall not work if you are sneaking off and acting like a reckless boy,” Maeve hissed.

  “I know,” he repeated, the words hollow.

  Maeve sighed when he didn’t say more. “Did you at least find what you were seeking?”

  Dorian lay down before the fire, curling an arm beneath his head. “No.”

  CHAPTER 72

  From a distance, the Ferian Gap did not look like the outpost for a good number of Morath’s aerial legion.

  Nor did it look, Nesryn decided, like it had been breeding wyverns for years.

  She supposed that the lack of any obvious signs of a Valg king’s presence was part of why it had remained secret for so long.

  Sailing closer to the towering twin peaks that flanked either side—the Northern Fang on one, the Omega on the other—and separated the White Fangs from the Ruhnn Mountains, Nesryn could barely make out the structures built into either one. Like the Eridun aerie, and yet not at all. The Eridun’s mountain home was full of motion and life. What had been built in the Gap, connected by a stone bridge near its top, was silent. Cold and bleak.

  Snow half blinded Nesryn, but Salkhi swept toward the peaks, staying high. Borte and Arcas came in from the north, little more than dark shadows amid the whipping white.

  Far behind them, out in the valley plain beyond the Gap, one half of their army waited, the ruks with them. Waited for Nesryn and Borte, along with the other scouts who had gone out, to report back that the time was ripe to attack. They’d made the river crossing under cover of darkness last night, and those the ruks could not carry had been brought over on boats.

  A precarious position to be in, on that plain before the Gap. The Avery forked at their backs, effectively hemming them in. Much of it had been frozen, but not nearly thick enough to risk crossing on foot. Should this battle go poorly, there would be nowhere to run.

  Nesryn nudged Salkhi, coming around the Northern Fang from the southern side. Far below, the whirling snows cleared enough to reveal what seemed to be a back gate into the mountain. No sign of sentries or any wyverns.