Kingdom of Ash
Page 71
A new world beyond each; a new world beckoning.
But they remained there, in the crossroads of all things.
In bodies that were not their bodies, they stood amid all those doorways, their power pouring out, pooling before them. Blending and merging, a ball of light, of creation, hovering in midair.
Every ember that flowed from them into the growing sphere before them, into the Lock taking form, would not return. It would not replenish.
A well running dry. Forever.
More and more and more, ripping from them with each breath. Creation and destruction.
The sphere swirled, its edges warping, shrinking. Forming into the shape they’d chosen, a thing of gold and silver. The Lock that would seal all these infinite doors forever.
Still they gave over their power, still the forming of the Lock demanded more.
And it began to hurt.
She was Aelin and yet she was not.
She was Aelin and yet she was infinite; she was all worlds, she was—
She was Aelin.
She was Aelin.
And by letting the keys into her, they had entered the true Wyrdgate. A step, or a thought, or a wish would allow them to access any world they desired. Any possibility.
An archway lingered behind them. An archway that would smell of pine and snow.
Slowly, the Lock formed, light turning to metal—to gold and silver.
Dorian was panting, his jaw stretched tight, as they gave and gave and gave their power toward it. Never to see it again.
It was agony. Agony like nothing she had known.
She was Aelin. She was Aelin and not the things that she’d set in her arm, not this place that existed beyond reason. She was Aelin; she was Aelin; and she had come here to do something, had come here promising to do something—
She fought her rising scream as her power rippled away, like peeling skin from her bones. Precisely how Cairn had done it, delighted in it. She had outlasted him, though. Had escaped Maeve’s clutches. She had outlasted them both. To do this. To come here.
But she had been wrong.
She couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stomach it, this loss and pain and growing madness as a new truth became clear:
They would not leave this place. Would have nothing left anyway. They would dissolve, mist to float into the fog around them.
It was agony like Dorian had never known. His very self, unraveled thread by thread.
The shape of the Lock, Elena had told Aelin, did not matter. It could have been a bird or a sword or a flower for all this place, this gate, cared. But their minds, what was left of them as they frayed, chose the shape they knew, the one that made the most sense. The Eye of Elena, born again—the Lock once more.
Aelin began screaming. Screaming and screaming.
His magic ripped away from that sacred, perfect place inside him.
It would kill them to forge it. It’d kill them both. They had come here out of the desperate hope they’d both leave.
And if they did not halt, if they did not stop this, neither would.
He tried to move his head. Tried to tell her. Stop.
His magic tore out of him, the Lock drinking it down, a force not to be leashed. An insatiable hunger that devoured them.
Stop. He tried to speak. Tried to pull back.
Aelin was sobbing now—sobbing through her teeth.
Soon. Soon now, the Lock would take everything. And that final destruction would be the most brutal and painful of all.
Would the gods make them watch as they claimed Elena’s soul? Would he even have the chance, the ability, to try to help her, as he had promised Gavin? He knew the answer.
Stop.
Stop.
“Stop.”
Dorian heard the words and for a heartbeat did not recognize the speaker.
Until a man appeared from one of those impossible-yet-possible doorways. A man who looked of flesh and blood, as they were, and yet shimmered at his edges.
His father.
CHAPTER 95
His father stood there. The man he had last seen on a bridge in a glass castle, and yet not.
There was kindness on his face. Humanity.
And sorrow. Such terrible, pained sorrow.
Dorian’s magic faltered.
Even Aelin’s magic slowed in surprise, the torrent thinning to a trickle, a steady and agonizing drain.
“Stop,” the man breathed, staggering toward them, glancing at the ribbon of power, blinding and pure, feeding the Lock’s formation.
Aelin said, “This cannot be stopped.”
His father shook his head. “I know. What has begun can’t be halted.”
His father.
“No,” Dorian said. “No, you cannot be here.”
The man only looked down—to Dorian’s side. To where a sword might be. “Did you not summon me?”
Damaris. He had been wearing Damaris within that ring of Wyrdmarks. In their world, their existence, he still did.
The sword, the unnamed god it served, apparently thought he had one truth left to face. One more truth, before his end.
“No,” Dorian repeated. It was all he could think to say as he looked upon him, the man who had done such terrible things to all of them.
His father lifted his hands in supplication. “My boy,” he only breathed.
Dorian had nothing to say to him. Hated that this man was here, at the end and beginning.
Yet his father looked to Aelin. “Let me do this. Let me finish this.”
“What?” The word snapped from Dorian.
“You were not chosen,” Aelin said, though the coldness in her voice faltered.
“Nameless is my price,” the king said.
Aelin went still.
“Nameless is my price,” his father repeated. The warning of an ancient witch, the damning words written on the back of the Amulet of Orynth. “For the bastard-born mark you bear, you are Nameless, yet am I not so as well?” He glanced between them, his eyes wide. “What is my name?”
“This is ridiculous,” Dorian said through his teeth. “Your name is—”
But where there should have been a name, only an empty hole existed.
“You …,” Aelin breathed. “Your name is … How is it that you don’t have one, that we don’t know it?”
Dorian’s rage slipped. And the agony of having his magic, his soul, shredded from him became secondary as his father said, “Erawan took it. Wiped it from history, from memory. An ancient, terrible spell, so powerful it could only be used once. All so I might be his most faithful servant. Even I do not know my name, not anymore. I lost it.”
“Nameless is my price,” Aelin murmured.
Dorian looked then. At the man who had been his father. Truly looked at him.
“My boy,” his father whispered again. And it was love—love and pride and sorrow that shone in his face.
His father who had been possessed as he had, who had tried to save them in his own way and failed. His father, who had everything taken from him, but had never bowed to Erawan—not entirely.
“I want to hate you,” Dorian said, his voice breaking.
“I know,” his father said.
“You destroyed everything.” He couldn’t stop his tears. Aelin’s hand only tightened in his.
“I am sorry,” his father breathed. “I am sorry for all of it, Dorian.”
And even the way his father said his name—he had never heard him speak it like that.
Dismiss him. Throw him into some hell-world. That’s what he should do.
And yet Dorian knew for whom he had really brought down Morath. For whom he’d buried that room of collars, the hateful tomb around them.
“I’m sorry,” his father said again.
He did not need Damaris to tell him the words were true.
“Let me pay this debt,” his father said, stepping closer. “Let me pay this, do this. Does Mala’s blood not flow through my veins as well?”
His father met Aelin’s stare. “I have enough—just enough in my blood. To help.”
Dorian glanced over his shoulder, toward the archway that opened to Erilea. To home. “Then let him,” he said, though the words did not come out with the iciness he wished. Only heaviness and exhaustion.
Aelin said softly to his father, “I had planned to before it got to the end.”
“Then you will not be alone now,” his father replied. Then the man smiled at him—a vision of the king, the father, he might have been. Had always been, despite what had befallen him. “I am grateful—that I got to see you again. One last time.”
Dorian had no words, couldn’t find them. Not as Aelin turned to him, tears sliding down her face as she said, “One of us has to rule.”
Before Dorian could understand, before he could realize the agreement she’d just made, Aelin ripped her hand from his.
And shoved him through that gateway behind them. Back into their own world.
Roaring, Dorian fell.
As the Wyrdgate’s misty realm vanished, Dorian saw Aelin take his father’s hand.
CHAPTER 96
Rowan had not moved for the hours they’d stood beside Aelin and Dorian and watched them stare at nothing. Chaol had not so much as shifted, either.
The night passed, the stars wheeling over this hateful, cold place.
And then Dorian arched, gulping down air—and collapsed to his knees.
Aelin remained where she was. Remained standing and simply let go of Dorian’s hand.
Rowan’s very soul halted.
“No,” Dorian rasped, scrambling toward her, trying to grip her hand again, to join her.
But the wound on Aelin’s hand had sealed.
“No, no!” Dorian shouted, and Rowan knew then.
Knew what she had done.
The final deceit, the last lie.
“What happened?” Chaol demanded, reaching to hoist Dorian to his feet. The king sobbed, unbuckling the ancient sword from his side and hurling it away. Damaris thunked hollowly as it hit the earth.
Rowan just stared at Aelin.
At his mate, who had lied to him. To all of them.
“It wasn’t enough—the two of us together. It would have destroyed us both,” Dorian wept. “Yet Damaris somehow summoned my father, and … he took my place. He offered to take my place so she …” Dorian lunged, reaching for Aelin’s hand, but he’d left the ring of Wyrdmarks.
They now kept him out.
A wall that sealed in Aelin.
The mating bond stretched thinner and thinner.
“She and him—they’re going to end it,” Dorian said, shaking.
Rowan barely heard the words.
He should have known. Should have known that if their plan failed, Aelin would never willingly sacrifice a friend. Even for this. Even for her own future.
She had known he’d try to keep her from forging the Lock if she’d mentioned that possibility, what she would do if it all went to hell. Had agreed to let Dorian help her only to get herself here. Would likely have dropped Dorian’s hand without his father appearing.
Over—she had said so many times that she wished if to be over. He should have listened.
Chaol gripped Dorian, and the young lord said to Rowan, softly and sadly, “I’m sorry.”
She had lied.
His Fireheart had lied.
And he would now watch her die.
Hand in hand with her enemy, Aelin allowed the magic to flow again. Allowed it to rage out of her.
The nameless king’s power was nothing compared to Dorian’s. But it was just enough, as he said. Just enough to help.
She had never intended for Dorian to destroy himself for this. Only for him to give just enough. And then she would have tossed him back into Erilea. So she might finish this alone.
Payment for ten years of selfishness, ten years away from Terrasen, ten years of running.
The agony became a numbing roar. Even the old king was panting through the pain.
Close now. The gold loops and circles of the Lock solidified.
Still more was needed. To bind this place, to bind all worlds.
He would never forgive her.
Her mate.
She had needed him to let her go, needed him to accept it. She would never have been able to do it, to come here, had he been begging her not to, had he been weeping as she had wanted to weep when she had kissed him one last time.
Come back to me, he had whispered.
She knew he’d wait. Until he faded into the Afterworld, Rowan would wait for her to return. To come back to him.
Aelin’s magic tore out of her, a piece so vital and deep that she cried out, swaying. Only the king’s grip kept her from falling.
The Lock was nearly finished, the two overlapping circles of the Eye almost complete.
Her magic writhed, begging her to stop. But she could not. Would not.
“Soon now,” the king promised.
She found the man smiling.
“I was given a message for you,” he said softly. His edges blurred, as the last of his power drained away. But he still smiled. Still looked at peace. “Your parents are … They are so very proud of you. They asked me to tell you that they love you so very much.” He was nearly invisible now, his words little more than a whisper of wind. “And that the debt has been paid enough, Fireheart.”
Then he was gone. The last of him flowed into the Lock. Wiped from existence.
She barely felt the tears on her face as she fell to her knees. As she gave and gave her magic, her very self. My name is Aelin Ashryver Galath—
A choking scream tore out of her as the last of the Lock sealed.
As the Lock became forged once more, as real as her own flesh.
As Aelin’s magic completely vanished.
CHAPTER 97
She could barely move. Barely think.
Gone. Where light and life had flowed within her, there was nothing.
Not an ember. Only a droplet, just one, of water.
She clung to it, shielded it as they appeared, twelve figures through the portal behind her. Filtering into this place of places, this crossroads of eternity.
“It is done, then,” said the one with many faces, approaching the Lock that hovered in midair. A flick of a ghostly, ever-changing hand and the Lock floated toward Aelin. Landed on her lap, gold and glittering.
“Summon us our world, girl,” said the one with a voice like steel and screams. “And let us go home at last.”
The final breaking. To send them back, to seal the gate. She’d use her last kernel of self, the final droplet, to seal the gate shut with the Lock. And then she would be gone.
Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …
“Now,” one with a voice like crashing waves ordered. “We have waited enough.”
Aelin managed to lift her head. To look at their shimmering figures. Things from another world.
But amongst them, pressed into their ranks as if they held her captive …
Elena’s eyes were wide. Agonized.
Who loved her kingdom …
One of them snapped their ghostly fingers at Aelin. “Enough of this.”
Aelin looked up at her, at the goddess who had spoken. She knew that voice. Deanna.
Silently, Aelin surveyed them. Found the one like a shimmering dawn, the heart of a flame.
Mala did not look at her. Or at Elena, her own daughter.
Aelin turned away from the Fire-Bringer. And said to none of them in particular, “I should like to make a bargain with you.”
The gods stilled. Deanna hissed, “A bargain? You dare to ask for a bargain?”
“I would hear it,” said one whose voice was kind and loving.
The thing in her arm writhed, and Aelin willed it to reveal what they sought.
The portal to their realm. Sunlight over a rolling green country nearly blinded her. They whirled toward it, some sighing at the sight.
But Aelin said, “A trade. Before you fulfill your end.”
Words were distant, so difficult and pained. But she forced them out.
The gods halted. Aelin only looked at Elena. Smiled softly.
“You have sworn to take Erawan with you. To destroy him,” Aelin said, and the one with a voice like death faced her. As if remembering they had indeed promised such an outrageous thing.
“I would like to trade,” she said again. And managed to point, with that arm that held all of eternity within it. “Erawan’s soul for Elena’s.”
Mala turned toward her now. And stared.
Aelin said into their silence, “Leave Erawan to Erilea. But in exchange, leave Elena. Let her soul remain in the Afterworld with those she loves.”
“Aelin,” Elena whispered, and tears like silver flowed down her cheeks.
Aelin smiled at the ancient queen. “The debt has been paid enough.”
She had wanted them to debate it—her friends. Had asked for a vote on the gate not just to ease the burden of the choice, but to hear it from them, to hear them say that they could defeat Erawan on their own. That Yrene Towers might stand a chance to destroy him.
So she could make this bargain, this trade, and not seal their doom entirely.
“Don’t do it,” Elena begged. Begged all those cold, impassive gods. “Don’t agree to it.”
Aelin said to them, “Leave her be, and go.”
“Aelin, please,” Elena said, weeping now.
Aelin smiled. “You bought me that extra time. So I might live. Let me buy this for you.”
Elena covered her face with her hands and wept.
The gods looked among themselves. Then Deanna moved, graceful as a stag through a wood.
Aelin loosed a breath, bowing over her knees, as the goddess approached Elena.
No one but herself. She would allow no one but herself to be sacrificed in this final task.
Deanna laid her hands on either side of Elena’s face. “I had hoped for this.”