Kingdom of Ash

by Sarah J. Maas

  Around and around, he flew past the sarcophagus and the collars. No sign of the key.

  He knew how the collars would feel against his skin. The icy bite of the Wyrdstone.

  Kaltain had fought it. Destroyed the demon within.

  He could still feel the weight of his father’s knee digging into his chest as he’d pinned him to the marble floor in a glass castle that no longer existed. Still feel the slick stone of the collar against his neck as it sealed. Still see Sorscha’s limp hand as he tried to reach for her one last time.

  The room spun and spun, his blood throbbing with it.

  Not a prince, not a king.

  The collars reached for him with invisible, clawing fingers.

  He was no better than them. Had learned to enjoy what the Valg prince had shown him. Had shredded apart good men, and let the demon feed off his hate, his rage.

  The room began to eddy, spiraling, dragging him into its depths.

  Not human—not entirely. Perhaps he didn’t want to be. Perhaps he would stay in another form forever, perhaps he’d just submit—

  A dark wind snapped through the room. Snatched him in its gaping maw and dragged him.

  He thrashed, screaming silently.

  He wouldn’t be taken. Not like this, not again—

  But it hauled him away from the collars. Under the door and out of the room.

  Into the palm of a pale hand. Dark, depthless eyes peered down at him. An enormous red mouth parted to reveal bone-white teeth.

  “Stupid boy,” Maeve hissed. The words were a thunderclap.

  He panted, the gnat’s body shaking from wingtip to wingtip. One press of her finger and he’d be gone.

  He braced himself, waiting for it.

  But Maeve kept her palm open. And as she began to walk down the hall, away from the sealed chamber, she said, “What you felt in there—that is why I left their world.” She gazed ahead, a shadow darkening her face. “Every day, that was what I felt.”

  Kneeling on the floor in a corner of Maeve’s chamber, Dorian hurled the contents of his stomach into the wooden bucket.

  Maeve watched from the chair by the fire, cruel amusement on her red lips.

  “You saw the horrors of the dungeons and did not fall ill,” she said when he vomited again. The unspoken question shone in her eyes. Why today?

  Dorian lifted his head, wiping his mouth on the shoulder of his jacket. “Those collars …” He ran a hand over his neck. “I didn’t think it would affect me like that. To see them again.”

  “You were reckless in entering that chamber.”

  “Would I have been able to get out, if you hadn’t found me?” He didn’t ask how she’d done so, how she’d sensed the peril. That power of hers no doubt kept track of him wherever he went.

  “The collars can do nothing without being attached to a host. But that room is a place of hatred and pain, the memory of it etched into the stones.” She examined her long nails. “It snared you. You let yourself be snared.”

  Hadn’t Kaltain said nearly the same thing regarding the collars? “It took me by surprise.”

  Maeve let out a hum, well aware of his lie. But she said, “The collars are one of his more brilliant creations. Neither of his brothers was clever enough to come up with it. But Erawan—he always had a gift for ideas.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs. “But that gift also made him arrogant.” She nodded to him. “That he let you remain in Rifthold with your father, rather than bring you here, only proves it. He thought he could control you both from afar. Had he been more cautious, he would have brought you to Morath immediately. Begun work on you.”

  The collars flashed before his eyes, leaking their poisoned, oily scent into the world, beckoning, waiting for him—

  Dorian heaved again.

  Maeve let out a low laugh that raked talons down his spine. His temper.

  Dorian mastered himself and twisted toward her. “You gave over those spiders for his princesses, knowing what they’d endure, knowing how it would feel to be trapped like that, albeit in a different manner.” How, he didn’t say. How could you do that, when you knew that sort of terror?

  Maeve fell silent for a moment, and he could have sworn something like regret passed over her face. “I would not have done it, unless my need to prove my loyalty compelled me.” Her attention drifted to where Damaris hung at his side. “You do not wish to verify my claim?”

  Dorian didn’t touch the golden hilt. “Do you want me to?”

  She clicked her tongue. “You are different indeed. I wonder if some of the Valg did cross over when your father bred your mother.”

  Dorian cringed. He still hadn’t dared to ask Damaris about it—whether he was human. Whether it mattered now.

  “Why?” he asked, gesturing to the keep around them. “Why does Erawan do any of this?” A week after he’d asked the Valg king himself, Dorian still wanted to—needed to know.

  “Because he can. Because Erawan delights in such things.”

  “You made it sound as if he was the mildest of all three brothers.”

  “He is.” She ran a hand over her throat. “Orcus and Mantyx are the ones who taught him all he knows. Should they return here, what Erawan creates in these mountains will seem like lambs.”

  He’d heeded that warning from Kaltain, at least. He hadn’t dared venture into the caverns beyond the valley. To the stone altars and the monstrosities Erawan crafted upon them.

  He asked, “You never had children? With Orcus?”

  “Does my future husband truly wish to know?”

  Dorian settled back on his heels. “I wish to understand my enemy.”

  She weighed his words. “I did not allow my body to ripen, to ready for children. A small rebellion, and my first, against Orcus.”

  “Are the Valg princes and princesses the offspring of the other kings?”

  “Some are, some are not. No worthy heir has stepped forward. Though who knows what has occurred in their world in these millennia.” Their world. Not her own. “The princes Erawan summoned have not been strong—not as they were. I am certain it annoys Erawan to no end.”

  “Which is why he has brought over the princesses?”

  A nod. “The females are the deadliest. But harder to contain within a host.”

  The white band of skin on his neck seemed to burn, but he kept his stomach down: this time. “Why did you leave your world?”

  She blinked at him, as if surprised.

  “What?” he asked.

  She angled her head. “It has been a long, long time since I conversed with someone who knows me for what I am. And with someone whose mind remained wholly their own.”

  “Even Aelin?”

  A muscle in her slim jaw feathered. “Even Aelin of the Wildfire. I could not infiltrate her mind entirely, but little things … those, I could convince her to see.”

  “Why did you capture and torture her?” Such a simple way of describing what had happened in Eyllwe and after it.

  “Because she would never agree to work with me. And she would never have protected me from Erawan or the Valg.”

  “You’re strong—why not protect yourself? Use those spiders to your advantage?”

  “Because our kind only fears certain gifts. Mine, alas, are not those things.” She toyed with a strand of her black hair. “I usually keep another Fae female with me. One who has powers that work against the Valg. Different from those Aelin Galathynius possesses.” That she didn’t specify what those powers were told Dorian not to waste his breath in asking her. “She swore the blood oath to me long ago, and has rarely left my side since. But I did not dare bring her to Morath. To have her here would not have convinced Erawan that I came in good faith.” She twirled the strand of hair around a finger. “So you see, I am as defenseless against Erawan as you.”

  Dorian highly doubted that, but he rose to his feet at last, aiming for the table where water and food had been laid out. A fine spread, for a demon king’s cas
tle in the dead of winter. He poured himself a glass of water and gulped down the contents. “Is this Erawan’s true form?”

  “In a manner of speaking. We are not like the human and Fae, where your souls are invisible, unseen. Our souls have a shape to them. We have bodies that we can fashion around them—adorn them, like jewelry. The form you see on Erawan was always his preferred decoration.”

  “What do your souls look like beneath?”

  “You would find them displeasing.”

  He suppressed a shudder.

  “I suppose that makes us shape-shifters, too,” Maeve mused as Dorian aimed for the chair beside hers. He’d spent his nights sleeping on the floor before the fire, one eye watching the queen dozing in the canopied bed behind him. But she had made no move to harm him. Not one.

  “Do you feel Valg, or Fae?”

  “I am what I am.” For a heartbeat, he could almost glimpse the weight of her eons of existence in her eyes.

  “But who do you wish to be?” A careful question.

  “Not like Erawan. Or his brothers. I never have.”

  “That’s not exactly an answer.”

  “Do you know who and what you wish to be?” A challenge—and genuine question.

  “I’m figuring it out,” he said. Strange. So strange, to have this conversation. Sparing them both for the time being, Dorian rubbed at his face. “The key is in his tower. I’m sure of it.”

  Maeve’s mouth tightened.

  Dorian said, “There is no way in—not with the guards. And I’ve flown the exterior enough to know there are no windows, no cracks for me to even creep through.” He held her otherworldly stare. Did not shrink from it. “We need to get in. If only to confirm that it’s there.” She’d once held the keys—she knew what they felt like. That she had come so close then …

  “And I suppose you expect me to do that?”

  He crossed his arms. “I can think of no one else that Erawan would admit inside.”

  Maeve’s solitary blink was her only sign of surprise. “To seduce and betray a king—one of the oldest tricks in the book, as you humans say.”

  “Can Erawan be seduced by anyone?”

  He could have sworn disgust flitted over her pale face before she said, “He can.”

  They did not waste time. Did not wait.

  And even Dorian found himself unable to look away as Maeve flicked a hand at herself and her purple gown melted away, replaced by a sheer, flowing black dress. Little more than a robe. Golden thread had been woven through it, artfully concealing the parts of her that only the one who removed the garment would see, and when she turned from the mirror, her face was grave.

  “You will not like what you are about to witness.” Then she slung her cloak around her, hiding that lush body and sinful gown, and swept out the door.

  He shifted into a slithering insect, swift and flexible, and trailed her, lingering at her heels as Maeve wound through the halls. To the base of that tower.

  He tucked into a crack in the black wall as Maeve said to the Valg posted outside, “You know who I am. What I am. Tell him I have come.”

  He could have sworn Maeve’s hands trembled slightly.

  But one of the guards—whom Dorian had never once seen so much as blink—turned to the door, knocked once, and strode inside.

  He emerged moments later, resumed his post, and said nothing.

  Maeve waited. Then strolling footsteps sounded from the tower interior.

  And when the door opened again, the putrid wind and swirling darkness within threatened to send him running. Erawan, still clad in his clothes despite the late hour, lifted his brows. “We have a meeting tomorrow, sister.”

  Maeve took a step closer. “I did not come to discuss war.”

  Erawan stilled. And then said to the guards, “Leave us.”

  CHAPTER 74

  As one, the guards outside Erawan’s tower walked away.

  Alone, the Valg king blocking the doorway to his tower, Maeve said, “Does that mean I am welcome?” She loosened her grip on her cloak, the front folds falling open to reveal the sheer gown.

  Erawan’s golden eyes surveyed every inch. Then her face. “Though you may not believe so, you are my brother’s wife.”

  Dorian blinked at that. At the honor of the demon within the male body.

  “I do not have to be,” Maeve murmured, and Dorian knew, then, why she had warned him before they’d left.

  A shake of her head, and her thick black hair turned golden. Her moon-white skin darkened slightly, to a sun-kissed tan. The angular face rounded slightly, dark eyes lightening to turquoise and gold. “We could play like this, if you’d prefer.”

  Even the voice belonged to Aelin.

  Erawan’s eyes flared, his chest rising in an uneven breath.

  “Would that appeal to you?” Maeve gave a half-smile that Dorian had only seen on the Queen of Terrasen’s face.

  Disgust and horror roiled through him. He knew—knew there was no true lust in Erawan’s eyes for Aelin. No true desire beyond the claiming, the pain.

  Maeve’s glamour changed again. Golden hair paled to white, turquoise eyes burning to gold.

  Icy rage, pure and undiluted, tore through Dorian as Manon now stood before the Valg king. “Or maybe this form, beautiful beyond all reckoning.” She peered down at herself, smiling. “Was she your intended queen when this war was over, the Wing Leader? Or merely a prize breeding mare?”

  Erawan’s nostrils flared, and Dorian focused upon his breathing, on the stones beneath him, anything to keep his magic from erupting at the desire—true desire—that tightened Erawan’s face.

  But if it got Maeve inside that tower—

  Erawan blinked, and that desire winked out. “You are my brother’s wife,” he said. “No matter whose skin you wear. Should you need release, I’ll send someone to your chambers.”

  With that, he shut the door. And did not emerge again.

  Maeve brought Dorian to her meeting the next morning.

  In her cloak pocket, as a field mouse, Dorian kept still and listened.

  “After all that fuss last night,” Erawan was saying, “you turned away what I sent you.”

  Indeed, not fifteen minutes after they’d returned to Maeve’s tower, a knock had sounded. A blank-faced young man had stood there, beautiful and cold. Not a prince—not with the ring he wore. Just an enslaved human. Maeve had sent him away, though not from any kindness.

  No, Dorian knew the man had been spared his duties because of his presence, and nothing more. Maeve had told him as much before falling asleep.

  “I had hoped for wine,” Maeve said smoothly, “not watered-down ale.”

  Erawan chuckled, and paper rustled. “I have been considering further details of this alliance, sister.” The title was a barb, a taunt of last night’s rejection. “And I have been wondering: what else shall you bring to it? You stand to gain more than I do, after all. And offering up six of your spiders is relatively little, even if they have been receptive hosts to the princesses.”

  Dorian’s ears strained as he waited for Maeve’s reply. She said quietly, more tensely than he’d heard her speak before, “What is it that you want, brother?”

  “Bring the rest of the kharankui. Open a portal and transport them here.”

  “Not all will be such willing hosts.”

  “Not hosts. Soldiers. I do not intend to take chances. There will be no second phase.”

  Dorian’s stomach twisted. Maeve hesitated. “There is a chance, you know, that even with all of this, even if I summon the kharankui, you might face Aelin Galathynius and fail.” A pause. “Anielle has confirmed your darkest fears. I heard what occurred. The power she summoned to halt that river.” Maeve hummed. “That was meant for me, you know. The blast. But should she summon it again, let’s say against you on a field of battle … Would you be able to walk away, brother?”

  “That is why this press northward with your spiders shall be vital,” was Erawan’s onl
y reply.

  “Perhaps,” Maeve countered. “But do not forget that you and I together could win. Without the spiders. Without the princesses. Even Aelin Galathynius could not stand against us both. We can go to the North, and obliterate her. Keep the spiders in reserve for other kingdoms. Other times.”

  She did not wish to sacrifice them. As if she held some fondness for the beings who had remained loyal for millennia.

  “And beyond that,” Maeve went on, “You know much about walking between worlds. But not everything.” Her hand slid into the pocket, and Dorian braced himself as her fingers ran over his back. As if telling him to listen.

  “And I suppose I will only find out when you and I have won this war,” Erawan said at last.

  “Yes, though I am willing to give you a display. Tomorrow, once I have prepared.” Again, that horrible silence. Maeve said, “They are too strong, too mighty, for me to open a portal between realms to allow them through. They would destabilize my magic too greatly in the effort to bring all that they are into this world. But I could show them to you—just for a moment. I could show you your brothers. Orcus and Mantyx.”

  CHAPTER 75

  Darrow and the other Terrasen lords had spent their time wisely these past few months, thank the gods, and Orynth was well stocked against the siege marching closer with each passing hour.

  Food, weapons, healing supplies, plans for where the citizens might sleep should they flee into the castle, reinforcements at the places along the city and castle walls where the ancient stone had weakened—Aedion had found little at fault.

  Yet after a fitful night’s sleep in his old room in the castle—awful and strange and cold—he was prowling one of the lower turrets as dawn broke. Up here, the wind was so much wilder, icier.

  Stalking, steady footsteps sounded from the archway behind him. “I spotted you up here on the way down to breakfast,” Ren said by way of greeting. The Allsbrook court’s quarters had always been in the tower adjacent to Aedion’s—when they’d been boys, they’d once spent a summer devising a signaling system to each other’s rooms using a lantern.