Every step, every path she had taken, had led here.
The faces of her friends, her allies, blurred as she passed by.
To the throne that waited. To the crown Darrow would place upon her head.
Each of her footfalls seemed to echo through the earth. Aelin let some of her embers stream by, bobbing in the wake of her gown’s train as it flowed behind her.
Her hands shook, yet she clutched the bouquet of evergreen tighter. Evergreen—for the eternal sovereignty of Terrasen.
Each step toward that throne loomed and yet beckoned.
Rowan stood to the right of the throne, teeth bared in a fierce grin that even his training could not contain.
And there was Aedion at the throne’s left. Head high and tears running down his face, the Sword of Orynth hanging at his side.
It was for him that she then smiled. For the children they had been, for what they had lost.
What they now gained.
Aelin passed Dorian and Chaol, and threw a nod their way. Winked at Ansel of Briarcliff, dabbing her eyes on her jacket sleeve.
And then Aelin was at the three steps of the dais, and Darrow strode to their edge.
As he had instructed her last night, as she had practiced over and over in a dusty stairwell for hours, Aelin ascended the three steps and knelt upon the top one.
The only time in her reign that she would ever bow.
The only thing she would ever kneel before.
Her crown. Her throne. Her kingdom.
The hall remained standing, even as Darrow motioned them to sit.
And then came the words, uttered in the Old Language. Sacred and ancient, spoken flawlessly by Darrow, who had crowned Orlon himself all those decades ago.
Do you offer your life, your body, your soul to the service of Terrasen?
She answered in the Old Language, as she had also practiced with Rowan last night until her tongue turned leaden. I offer all that I am and all that I have to Terrasen.
Then speak your vows.
Aelin’s heart raced, and she knew Rowan could hear it, but she bowed her head and said, I, Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, swear upon my immortal soul to guard, to nurture, and to honor Terrasen from this day until my very last.
Then so it shall be, Darrow responded, and reached out a hand.
Not to her, but to Evangeline, who stepped forward with a green velvet pillow.
The crown atop it.
Adarlan had destroyed her antler throne. Had melted her crown.
So they had made a new one. In the ten days since it had been decided she was to be crowned here, before the world, they had found a master goldsmith to forge one from the remaining gold they’d stolen from the barrow in Wendlyn.
Twining bands of it, like woven antlers, rose to uphold the gem in its center.
Not a true gem, but one infinitely more precious. Darrow had given it to her himself.
The cut bit of crystal that contained the sole bloom of kingsflame from Orlon’s reign.
Even amid the shining metals of the crown, the red-and-orange blossom glowed like a ruby, dazzling in the light of the morning sun as Darrow lifted the crown from the pillow.
He raised it toward the shaft of light pouring through the bank of windows behind the dais. The ceremony chosen for this time, this ray of sun. This blessing, from Mala herself.
And though the Lady of Light was forever gone, Aelin could have sworn she felt a warm hand on her shoulder as Darrow held up the crown to the sun.
Could have sworn she felt them all standing there with her, those whom she had loved with her heart of wildfire. Whose stories were again inked upon her skin.
And as the crown came down, as she braced her head, her neck, her heart, Aelin let her power shine. For those who had not made it, for those who had fought, for the world watching.
Darrow set the crown upon her head, its weight heavier than she’d thought.
Aelin closed her eyes, letting that weight, that burden and gift, settle into her.
“Rise,” Darrow said, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.”
She swallowed a sob. And slowly, her breathing steady despite the heartbeat that threatened to leap out of her chest, Aelin rose.
Darrow’s gray eyes were bright. “Long may she reign.”
And as Aelin turned, the call went up through the hall, echoing off the ancient stones and into the gathered city beyond the castle. “Hail, Aelin! Queen of Terrasen! ”
The sound of it from Rowan’s lips, from Aedion’s, threatened to send her to her knees, but Aelin smiled. Kept her chin high and smiled.
Darrow gestured to the awaiting throne, to those last two steps.
She would sit, and the ceremony would be done.
But not yet.
Aelin turned to the left. Toward Aedion. And said quietly, but not weakly, “This has been yours from the day you were born, Prince Aedion.”
Aedion went still as Aelin pushed back the gauzy sleeve of her gown, exposing her forearm.
Aedion’s shoulders shook with the force of his tears.
Aelin didn’t fight hers as she asked, lips wobbling, “Will you swear the blood oath to me?”
Aedion just fell to his knees before her.
Rowan silently handed her a dagger, but Aelin paused as she held it over her arm. “You fought for Terrasen when no one else would. Against all odds, beyond all hope, you fought for this kingdom. For me. For these people. Will you swear to continue to do so, for as long as you draw breath?”
Aedion’s head bowed as he breathed, “Yes. In this life, and in all others, I will serve you. And Terrasen.”
Aelin smiled at Aedion, at the other side to her fair coin, and sliced open her forearm before extending it to him. “Then drink, Prince. And be welcome.”
Gently, Aedion took her arm and set his mouth to her wound.
And when he withdrew, her blood on his lips, Aelin smiled down at him. “You said you wanted to swear it before the entire world,” she said so only he could hear. “Well, here you go.”
Aedion choked out a laugh and rose, throwing his arms around her and squeezing tightly before he backed to his place on the other side of the throne.
Aelin looked to Darrow, still waiting. “Where were we?”
The old lord smiled slightly and gestured to the throne. “The last piece of this ceremony.”
“Then lunch,” Fenrys muttered, sighing.
Aelin suppressed her smile, and took the two steps to the throne.
She halted again as she turned to sit.
Halted at the small figures who poked their heads around the throne room doors. A small gasp escaped her, enough that everyone turned to look.
“The Little Folk,” people murmured, some backing away as small figures darted through the shadows down the aisle, wings rustling and scales gleaming.
One of them approached the dais, and with spindly greenish hands, laid their offering at her feet.
A second crown. Mab’s crown.
Taken from her saddlebags—wherever they had wound up after the battle. With them, it seemed. As if they would not let it be lost once more. Would not let her forget.
Aelin picked up the crown they had laid at her feet, gaping toward the small gathering who clustered in the shadows beyond the pews, their dark, wide eyes blinking.
“The Faerie Queen of the West,” Elide said softly, though all heard.
Aelin’s fingers trembled, her heart filling to the point of pain, as she surveyed the ancient, glimmering crown. Then looked to the Little Folk. “Yes,” she said to them. “I will serve you, too. Until the end of my days.”
And Aelin bowed to them then. The near-invisible people who had saved her so many times, and asked for nothing. The Lord of the North, who had survived, as she had, against all odds. Who had never forgotten her. She would serve them, as she would serve any citizen of Terrasen.
Everyone on the dais bowed, too. Then everyone in the throne room.
But the Little Folk were already gone.
So she placed Mab’s crown atop the one of gold and crystal and silver, the ancient crown settling perfectly behind it.
And then finally, Aelin sat upon her throne.
It weighed on her, nestled against her bones, that new burden. No longer an assassin. No longer a rogue princess.
And when Aelin lifted her head to survey the cheering crowd, when she smiled, Queen of Terrasen and the Faerie Queen of the West, she burned bright as a star.
The ritual was not over. Not yet.
As the bells rang out over the city, declaring her coronation, the gathered city beyond cheered.
Aelin went to greet them.
Down to the castle gates, her court, her friends, following her, the crowd from the throne room behind. And when she stopped at the sealed gates, the ancient, carved metal looming, the city and world awaiting beyond it, Aelin turned toward them.
Toward all those who had come with her, who had gotten them to this day, this joyous ringing of the bells.
She beckoned her court forward.
Then smiled at Dorian and Chaol, at Yrene and Nesryn and Sartaq and their companions. And beckoned them forward, too.
Brows rising, they approached.
But Aelin, crowned and glowing, only said, “Walk with me.” She gestured to the gates behind her. “All of you.”
This day did not belong to her alone. Not at all.
And when they all balked, Aelin walked forward. Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff.
All the women who had fought by her side, or from afar. Who had bled and sacrificed and never given up hope that this day might come.
“Walk with me,” Aelin said to them, the men and males falling into step behind. “My friends.”
The bells still ringing, Aelin nodded to the guards at the castle gates.
They opened at last, and the roar from the gathered crowds was loud enough to rattle the stars.
As one, they walked out. Into the cheering city.
Into the streets, where people danced and sang, where they wept and clasped their hands to their hearts at the sight of the parade of waving, smiling rulers and warriors and heroes who had saved their kingdom, their lands. At the sight of the newly crowned queen, joy lighting her eyes.
A new world.
A better world.
CHAPTER 120
Two days later, Nesryn Faliq was still recovering from the ball that had lasted until dawn.
But what a celebration it had been.
Nothing as majestic as anything in the southern continent, but the sheer joy and laughter in the Great Hall, the feasting and dancing … She would never forget it, as long as she lived.
Even if it might take her until her dying day to feel rested again.
Her feet still ached from dancing and dancing and dancing, and she’d spotted both Aelin and Lysandra grousing about it at the breakfast table just an hour ago.
The queen had danced, though—a sight Nesryn would never forget, either.
The first dance had been Aelin’s to lead, and she had selected her mate to join her. Both queen and consort had changed for the party, Aelin into a gown of black threaded with gold, Rowan into black embroidered with silver. And what a pair they had been, alone on the dance floor.
The queen had seemed shocked—delighted—as the Fae Prince had led her into a waltz and had not faltered a step. So delighted that she’d crowned them both with flames.
That had been the start of it.
The dance had been … Nesryn had no words for the swiftness and grace of their dance. Their first as queen and consort. Their movements had been a question and answer to each other, and when the music had sped up, Rowan had spun and dipped and twirled her, the skirts of her black gown revealing Aelin’s feet, clad in golden slippers.
Feet that moved so quickly over the floor that embers sparked at her heels. Trailed in the wake of her sweeping dress.
Faster and faster, Aelin and Rowan had danced, spinning, spinning, spinning, the queen glowing like she’d been freshly forged as the music gathered into a clashing close.
And when the waltz slammed into its triumphant, final note, they halted—a perfect, sudden stop. Right before the queen threw her arms around Rowan and kissed him.
Nesryn was still smiling about it, sore feet and all, as she stood in the dusty chamber that had become the headquarters for the khaganate royals, and listened to them talk.
“The Healer on High says it will be another five days until the last of our soldiers are ready,” Prince Kashin was saying to his siblings. To Dorian, who had been asked into this meeting today.
“And you will depart then?” Dorian asked, smiling a bit sadly.
“Most of us,” Sartaq said, smiling with equal sadness.
For it was friendship that had grown here, even in war. True friendship, to last beyond the oceans that would separate them once more.
Sartaq said to Dorian, “We asked you here today because we have a rather unusual request.”
Dorian lifted a brow.
Sartaq winced. “When we visited the Ferian Gap, some of our rukhin found wyvern eggs. Untended and abandoned. Some of them now wish to stay here. To look after them. To train them.”
Nesryn blinked, right along with Dorian. No one had mentioned this to her. “I—I thought the rukhin never left their aeries,” Nesryn blurted.
“These are young riders,” Sartaq said with a smile. “Only two dozen.” He turned to Dorian. “But they begged me to ask you if it would be permissible for them to stay when we leave.”
Dorian considered. “I don’t see why they couldn’t.” Something sparked in his eyes, an idea formed and then set aside. “I would be honored, actually.”
“Just don’t let them bring the wyverns home,” Hasar groused. “I never want to see another wyvern for as long as I live.”
Kashin patted her on the head. Hasar snapped her teeth at him.
Nesryn chuckled, but her smile faded as she found Dorian smiling sadly at her, too.
“I think I’m about to lose another Captain of the Guard,” the King of Adarlan said.
Nesryn bowed her head. “I …” She hadn’t anticipated having this conversation. Not right now, at least.
“But I will be glad,” Dorian went on, “to gain another queen whom I can call friend.”
Nesryn blushed. It deepened as Sartaq smirked and said, “Not queen. Empress.”
Nesryn cringed, and Sartaq laughed, Dorian with him.
Then the king embraced her tightly. “Thank you, Nesryn Faliq. For all you have done.”
Nesryn’s throat was too tight to speak, so she hugged Dorian back.
And when the king left, when Kashin and Hasar went to find an early lunch, Nesryn turned to Sartaq and cringed again. “Empress? Really?”
Sartaq’s dark eyes glittered. “We won the war, Nesryn Faliq.” He tugged her close. “And now we shall go home.”
She’d never heard such beautiful words.
Chaol stared at the letter in his hands.
It had arrived an hour ago, and he still hadn’t opened it. No, he’d just taken it from the messenger—one of the fleet of children commanded by Evangeline—and brought it back to his bedroom.
Seated on his bed, the candlelight flickering through the worn chamber, he still couldn’t bring himself to crack the red wax seal.
The doorknob twisted, and Yrene slipped in, tired but bright-eyed. “You should be sleeping.”
“So should you,” he said with a pointed look to her abdomen.
She waved him off, as easily as she’d waved off the titles of Savior, and Hero of Erilea. As easily as she waved off the awed stares, the tears, when she strode by.
So Chaol would be proud for both of them. Would tell their child of her bravery, her brilliance.
“What’s that lett
er?” she asked, washing her hands, then her face, in the ewer by the window. Beyond the glass, the city was silent—sleeping, after a long day of rebuilding. The wild men of the Fangs had even remained to help, an act of kindness that Chaol would ensure did not go unrewarded. Already, he had looked into where he might expand their territory—and the peace between them and Anielle.
Chaol swallowed. “It’s from my mother.”
Yrene paused, her face still dripping. “Your … Why haven’t you opened it?”
He shrugged. “Not all of us are courageous enough to take on Dark Lords, you know.”
Yrene rolled her eyes, dried her face, and plopped down on the bed beside him. “Do you want me to read it first?”
He did. Damn him, but he did. Wordlessly, Chaol handed it to her.
Yrene said nothing as she opened the sealed parchment, her golden eyes darting over the inked words. Chaol tapped a finger on his knee. After a long day of healing, he knew better than to try to pace. Had barely made it back here with the cane before he’d sunk to the bed.
Yrene put a hand to her throat as she turned the page, read the back.
When she lifted her head again, tears slid down her cheeks. She handed him the letter. “You should read it yourself.”
“Just tell me.” He’d read it later. “Just—tell me what it says.”
Yrene wiped at her face. Her mouth trembled, but there was joy in her eyes. Pure joy. “It says that she loves you. It says that she has missed you. It says that if you and I are amenable to it, she would like to come live with us. Your brother Terrin, too.”
Chaol reached for the letter, scanning the text. Still not believing it. Not until he read,
I have loved you from the moment I knew you were growing in my womb.
He didn’t stop his own tears from falling.
Your father informed me of what he did with my letters to you. I informed him I shall not be returning to Anielle.
Yrene leaned her head against his shoulder while he read and read.
The years have been long, and the space between us distant, his mother had written. But when you are settled with your new wife, your babe, I would like to visit. To stay for longer than that, Terrin with me. If that would be all right with you.
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