Ash's Kingdom

chapter 1

The snows had come early.
Even for Terrasen, the first of the autumnal
flurries had barreled in far ahead of their
usual arrival.
Aedion Ashryver wasn’t entirely sure it
was a blessing. But if it kept Morath’s legions
from their doorstep just a little longer, he’d
get on his knees to thank the gods. Even if
those same gods threatened everything he
loved. If beings from another world could be
considered gods at all.
Aedion supposed he had more important
things to contemplate, anyway.In the two weeks since he’d been reunited
with his Bane, they’d seen no sign of
Erawan’s forces, either terrestrial or airborne.
The thick snow had begun falling barely three
days after his return, hindering the already-
slow process of transporting the troops from
their assembled armada to the Bane’s
sweeping camp on the Plain of Theralis.
The ships had sailed up the Florine, right to
Orynth’s doorstep, banners of every color
flapping in the brisk wind off the Staghorns:
the cobalt and gold of Wendlyn, the black and
crimson of Ansel of Briarcliff, the
shimmering silver of the Whitethorn royals
and their many cousins. The Silent Assassins,
scattered throughout the fleet, had no banner,
though none was needed to identify them—
not with their pale clothes and assortment of
beautiful, vicious weapons.
The ships would soon rejoin the rearguardleft at the Florine’s mouth and patrol the coast
from Ilium to Suria, but the footsoldiers—
most hailing from Crown Prince Galan
Ashryver’s forces—would go to the front.
A front that now lay buried under several
feet of snow. With more coming.
Hidden above a narrow mountain pass in
the Staghorns behind Allsbrook, Aedion
scowled at the heavy sky.
His pale furs blended him into the gray and
white of the rocky outcropping, a hood
concealing his golden hair. And keeping him
warm. Many of Galan’s troops had never seen
snow, thanks to Wendlyn’s temperate climate.
The Whitethorn royals and their smaller force
were hardly better off. So Aedion had left
Kyllian, his most trusted commander, in
charge of ensuring that they were as warm as
could be managed.
They were far from home, fighting for aqueen they did not know or perhaps even
believe in. That frigid cold would sap spirits
and sprout dissent faster than the howling
wind charging between these peaks.
A flicker of movement on the other side of
the pass caught Aedion’s eye, visible only
because he knew where to look.
She’d camouflaged herself better than he
had. But Lysandra had the advantage of
wearing a coat that had been bred for these
mountains.
Not that he’d said that to her. Or so much
as glanced at her when they’d departed on this
scouting mission.
Aelin, apparently, had secret business in
Eldrys and had left a note with Galan and her
new allies to account for her disappearance.
Which allowed Lysandra to accompany them
on this task.
No one had noticed, in the nearly two months they’d been maintaining this ruse, that
the Queen of Fire had not an ember to show
for it. Or that she and the shape-shifter never
appeared in the same place. And no one, not
the Silent Assassins of the Red Desert, or
Galan Ashryver, or the troops that Ansel of
Briarcliff had sent with the armada ahead of
the bulk of her army, had picked up the slight
tells that did not belong to Aelin at all. Nor
had they noted the brand on the queen’s wrist
that no matter what skin she wore, Lysandra
could not change.
She did a fine job of hiding the brand with
gloves or long sleeves. And if a glimmer of
scarred skin ever showed, it could be excused
as part of the manacle markings that
remained.
The fake scars she’d also added, right
where Aelin had them. Along with the laugh
and wicked grin. The swagger and stillness.Aedion could barely stand to look at her.
Talk to her. He only did so because he had to
uphold this ruse, too. To pretend that he was
her faithful cousin, her fearless commander
who would lead her and Terrasen to victory,
however unlikely.
So he played the part. One of many he’d
donned in his life.
Yet the moment Lysandra changed her
golden hair for dark tresses, Ashryver eyes for
emerald, he stopped acknowledging her
existence. Some days, the Terrasen knot
tattooed on his chest, the names of his queen
and fledgling court woven amongst it, felt like
a brand. Her name especially.
He’d only brought her on this mission to
make it easier. Safer. There were other lives
beyond his at risk, and though he could have
unloaded this scouting task to a unit within
the Bane, he’d needed the action.It had taken over a month to sail from
Eyllwe with their newfound allies, dodging
Morath’s fleet around Rifthold, and then these
past two weeks to move inland.
They had seen little to no combat. Only a
few roving bands of Adarlanian soldiers, no
Valg amongst them, that had been dealt with
quickly.
Aedion doubted Erawan was waiting until
spring. Doubted the quiet had anything to do
with the weather. He’d discussed it with his
men, and with Darrow and the other lords a
few days ago. Erawan was likely waiting until
the dead of winter, when mobility would be
hardest for Terrasen’s army, when Aedion’s
soldiers would be weak from months in the
snow, their bodies stiff with cold. Even the
king’s fortune that Aelin had schemed and
won for them this past spring couldn’t prevent
that.Yes, food and blankets and clothes could
be purchased, but when the supply lines were
buried under snow, what good were they then?
All the gold in Erilea couldn’t stop the slow,
steady leeching of strength caused by months
in a winter camp, exposed to Terrasen’s
merciless elements.
Darrow and the other lords didn’t believe
his claim that Erawan would strike in deep
winter—or believe Ren, when the Lord of
Allsbrook voiced his agreement. Erawan was
no fool, they claimed. Despite his aerial
legion of witches, even Valg foot soldiers
could not cross snow when it was ten feet
deep. They’d decided that Erawan would wait
until spring.
Yet Aedion was taking no chances. Neither
was Prince Galan, who had remained silent in
that meeting, but sought Aedion afterward to
add his support. They had to keep their troops warm and fed, keep them trained and ready to
march at a moment’s notice.
This scouting mission, if Ren’s
information proved correct, would help their
cause.
Nearby, a bowstring groaned, barely
audible over the wind. Its tip and shaft had
been painted white, and were now barely
visible as it aimed with deadly precision
toward the pass opening.
Aedion caught Ren Allsbrook’s eye from
where the young lord was concealed amongst
the rocks, his arrow ready to fly. Cloaked in
the same white and gray furs as Aedion, a pale
scarf over his mouth, Ren was little more than
a pair of dark eyes and the hint of a slashing
scar.
Aedion motioned to wait. Barely glancing
toward the shape-shifter across the pass,
Aedion conveyed the same order.Let their enemies draw closer.
Crunching snow mingled with labored
breathing.
Right on time.
Aedion nocked an arrow to his own bow
and ducked lower on the outcropping.
As Ren’s scout had claimed when she’d
rushed into Aedion’s war tent five days ago,
there were six of them.
They did not bother to blend into the snow
and rock. Their dark fur, shaggy and strange,
might as well have been a beacon against the
glaring white of the Staghorns. But it was the
reek of them, carried on a swift wind, that told
Aedion enough.
Valg. No sign of a collar on anyone in the
small party, any hint of a ring concealed by
their thick gloves. Apparently, even demon-
infested vermin could get cold. Or their
mortal hosts did.Their enemies moved deeper into the throat
of the pass. Ren’s arrow held steady.
Leave one alive, Aedion had ordered before
they’d taken their positions.
It had been a lucky guess that they’d
choose this pass, a half-forgotten back door
into Terrasen’s low-lying lands. Only wide
enough for two horses to ride abreast, it had
long been ignored by conquering armies and
the merchants seeking to sell their wares in
the hinterlands beyond the Staghorns.
What dwelled out there, who dared make a
living beyond any recognized border, Aedion
didn’t know. Just as he didn’t know why these
soldiers had ventured so far into the
mountains.
But he’d find out soon enough.
The demon company passed beneath them,
and Aedion and Ren shifted to reposition their
bows.A straight shot down into the skull. He
picked his mark.
Aedion’s nod was the only signal before
his arrow flew.
Black blood was still steaming in the snow
when the fighting stopped.
It had lasted only a few minutes. Just a
few, after Ren and Aedion’s arrows found
their targets and Lysandra had leaped from
her perch to shred three others. And rip the
muscles from the calves of the sixth and sole
surviving member of the company.
The demon moaned as Aedion stalked
toward him, the snow at the man’s feet now
jet-black, his legs in ribbons. Like scraps of a
banner in the wind.
Lysandra sat near his head, her maw
stained ebony and her green eyes fixed on the
man’s pale face. Needle-sharp claws gleamed
From her massive paws.
Behind them, Ren checked the others for
signs of life. His sword rose and fell,
decapitating them before the frigid air could
render them too stiff to hack through.
“Traitorous filth,
” the demon seethed at
Aedion, narrow face curdling with hate. The
reek of him stuffed itself up Aedion’s nostrils,
coating his senses like oil.
Aedion drew the knife at his side—the
long, wicked dagger Rowan Whitethorn had
gifted him—and smiled grimly. “This can go
quickly, if you’re smart.”
The Valg soldier spat on Aedion’s snow-
crusted boots.
Allsbrook Castle had stood with the Staghorns
at its back and Oakwald at its feet for over
five hundred years.
Pacing before the roaring fire ablaze in oneof its many oversized hearths, Aedion could
count the marks of every brutal winter upon
the gray stones. Could feel the weight of the
castle’s storied history on those stones, too—
the years of valor and service, when these
halls had been full of singing and warriors,
and the long years of sorrow that followed.
Ren had claimed a worn, tufted armchair
set to one side of the fire, his forearms braced
on his thighs as he stared into the flame.
They’d arrived late last night, and even
Aedion had been too drained from the trek
through snowbound Oakwald to take the grand
tour. And after what they’d done this
afternoon, he doubted he’d muster the energy
to do so now.
The once-great hall was hushed and dim
beyond their fire, and above them, faded
tapestries and crests from the Allsbrook
family’s banner men swayed in the draftcreeping through the high windows that lined
one side of the chamber. An assortment of
birds nested in the rafters, hunkered down
against the lethal cold beyond the keep’s
ancient walls.
And amongst them, a green-eyed falcon
listened to every word.
“If Erawan’s searching for a way into
Terrasen,
” Ren said at last,
“the mountains
would be foolish.” He frowned toward the
discarded trays of food they’d devoured
minutes ago. Hearty mutton stew and roasted
root vegetables. Most of it bland, but it had
been hot. “The land does not forgive easily
out here. He’d lose countless troops to the
elements alone.”
“Erawan does nothing without reason,
”
Aedion countered. “The easiest route to
Terrasen would be up through the farmlands,
on the northern roads. It’s where anyonewould expect him to march. Either there, or to
launch his forces from the coast.”
“Or both—by land and sea.”
Aedion nodded. Erawan had spread his net
wide in his desire to stomp out what
resistance had arisen on this continent. Gone
was the guise of Adarlan’s empire: from
Eyllwe to Adarlan’s northern border, from the
shores of the Great Ocean to the towering wall
of mountains that cleaved their continent in
two, the Valg king’s shadow grew every day.
Aedion doubted that Erawan would stop
before he clamped black collars around all
their necks.
And if Erawan attained the two other
Wyrdkeys, if he could open the Wyrdgate at
will and unleash hordes of Valg from his own
realm, perhaps even enslave armies from
other worlds and wield them for conquest …
There would be no chance of stopping him. Inthis world, or any other.
All hope of preventing that horrible fate
now lay with Dorian Havilliard and Manon
Blackbeak. Where they’d gone these months,
what had befallen them, Aedion hadn’t heard
a whisper. Which he supposed was a good
sign. Their survival lay in secrecy.
Aedion said,
“So for Erawan to waste a
scouting party to find small mountain passes
seems unwise.” He scratched at his stubble-
coated cheek. They’d left before dawn
yesterday, and he’d opted for sleep over a
shave. “It doesn’t make sense, strategically.
The witches can fly, so sending scouts to learn
the pitfalls of the terrain is of little use. But if
the information is for terrestrial armies …
Squeezing forces through small passes like
that would take months, not to mention risk
the weather.”
“Their scout just kept laughing,
” said Ren, shaking his head. His shoulder-length black
hair moved with him. “What are we missing
here? What aren’t we seeing?” In the firelight,
the slashing scar down his face was starker. A
reminder of the horrors Ren had endured, and
the ones his family hadn’t survived.
“It could be to keep us guessing. To make
us reposition our forces.” Aedion braced a
hand on the mantel, the warm stone seeping
into his still-chilled skin.
Ren had indeed readied the Bane the
months Aedion had been away, working
closely with Kyllian to position them as far
south from Orynth as Darrow’s leash would
allow. Which, it turned out, was barely
beyond the foothills lining the southernmost
edge of the Plain of Theralis.
Ren had since yielded control to Aedion,
though the Lord of Allsbrook’s reunion with
Aelin had been frosty. As cold as the snow A clever move on Ren’s part—to convince
Darrow to let him station part of the Bane
behind Orynth, should Erawan sail north and
attack from there. He’d put nothing past the
bastard.
“I don’t want the Bane spread too thin,
”
said Aedion, studying the fire. So different,
this flame—so different from Aelin’s fire. As
if the one before him were a ghost compared
to the living thing that was his queen’s magic.
“And we still don’t have enough troops to
spare.”
Even with Aelin’s desperate, bold
maneuvering, the allies she’d won didn’t
come close to the full might of Morath. And
all that gold she’d amassed did little to buy
them more—not when there were few left to
even entice to join their cause.
“Aelin didn’t seem too concerned when she
flitted off to Eldrys,
” Ren murmured.For a moment, Aedion was on a spit of
blood-soaked sand.
An iron box. Maeve had whipped her and
put her in a veritable coffin. And sailed off to
Mala-knew-where, an immortal sadist with
them.
“Aelin,
” said Aedion, dredging up a drawl
as best he could, even as the lie choked him,
“has her own plans that she’ll only tell us
about when the time is right.”
Ren said nothing. And though the queen
Ren believed had returned was an illusion,
Aedion added,
“Everything she does is for
Terrasen.”
He’d said such horrible things to her that
day she’d taken down the ilken. Where are
our allies? he’d demanded. He was still trying
to forgive himself for it. For any of it. All that
he had was this one chance to make it right, to
do as she’d asked and save their kingdom.Ren glanced to the twin swords he’d
discarded on the ancient table behind them.
“She still left.” Not for Eldrys, but ten years
ago.
“We’ve all made mistakes this past
decade.” The gods knew Aedion had plenty to
atone for.
Ren tensed, as if the choices that haunted
him had nipped at his back.
“I never told her,
” Aedion said quietly, so
that the falcon sitting in the rafters might not
hear. “About the opium den in Rifthold.”
About the fact that Ren had known the
owner, and had frequented the woman’s
establishment plenty before the night Aedion
and Chaol had hauled in a nearly unconscious
Ren to hide from the king’s men.
“You can be a real prick, you know that?”
Ren’s voice turned hoarse.
“I’d never use that against you.” Aedionheld the young lord’s raging dark stare, let
Ren feel the dominance simmering within his
own. “What I meant to say, before you flew
off the handle,
” he added when Ren’s mouth
opened again,
“was that Aelin offered you a
place in this court without knowing that part
of your past.” A muscle flickered in Ren’s
jaw. “But even if she had, Ren, she still would
have made that offer.”
Ren studied the stone floor beneath their
boots. “There is no court.”
“Darrow can scream it all he wants, but I
beg to differ.” Aedion slid into the armchair
across from Ren’s. If Ren truly backed Aelin,
with Elide Lochan now returned, and Sol and
Ravi of Suria likely to support her, it gave his
queen three votes in her favor. Against the
four opposing her.
There was little hope that Lysandra’s vote,
as Lady of Caraverre, would be recognized.The shifter had not asked to see the land
that was to be her home if they survived this
war. Had only changed into a falcon on the
trek here and flown off for a while. When
she’d returned, she’d said nothing, though her
green eyes had been bright.
No, Caraverre would not be recognized as a
territory, not until Aelin took up her throne.
Until Lysandra instead was crowned queen,
if his own did not return.
She would return. She had to.
A door opened at the far end of the hall,
followed by rushing, light steps. He rose a
heartbeat before a joyous “Aedion!” sang over
the stones.
Evangeline was beaming, clad head to toe
in green woolen clothes bordered with white
fur, her red-gold hair hanging in two plaits.
Like the mountain girls of Terrasen.
Her scars stretched wide as she grinned,and Aedion threw open his arms just before
she launched herself on him. “They said you
arrived late last night, but you left before first
light, and I was worried I’d miss you again—”
Aedion pressed a kiss to the top of her
head. “You look like you’ve grown a full foot
since I last saw you.”
Evangeline’s citrine eyes glowed as she
glanced between him and Ren. “Where’s—”
A flash of light, and there she was.
Shining. Lysandra seemed to be shining as
she swept a cloak around her bare body, the
garment left on a nearby chair for precisely
this purpose. Evangeline hurled herself into
the shifter’s arms, half sobbing with joy.
Evangeline’s shoulders shook, and Lysandra
smiled, deeply and warmly, stroking the girl’s
head. “You’re well?”
For all the world, the shifter would have
seemed calm, serene. But Aedion knew her moods, her secret tells. Knew that
the slight tremor in her words was proof of the
raging torrent beneath the beautiful surface.
“Oh, yes,
” Evangeline said, pulling away to
beam toward Ren. “He and Lord Murtaugh
brought me here soon after. Fleetfoot’s with
him, by the way. Murtaugh, I mean. She likes
him better than me, because he sneaks her
treats all day. She’s fatter than a lazy house
cat now.”
Lysandra laughed, and Aedion smiled. The
girl had been well cared for.
As if realizing it herself, Lysandra
murmured to Ren, her voice a soft purr,
“Thank you.”
Red tinted Ren’s cheeks as he rose to his
feet. “I thought she’d be safer here than in the
war camp. More comfortable, at least.”
“Oh, it’s the most wonderful place,
Lysandra,
” Evangeline chirped, grippingLysandra’s hand between both of hers.
“Murtaugh even took me to Caraverre one
afternoon—before it started snowing, I mean.
You must see it. The hills and rivers and
pretty trees, all right up against the
mountains. I thought I spied a ghost leopard
hiding atop the rocks, but Murtaugh said it
was a trick of my mind. But I swear it was one
—even bigger than yours! And the house! It’s
the loveliest house I ever saw, with a walled
garden in the back that Murtaugh says will be
full of vegetables and roses in the summer.”
For a heartbeat, Aedion couldn’t endure the
emotion on Lysandra’s face as Evangeline
prattled off her grand plans for the estate. The
pain of longing for a life that would likely be
snatched away before she had a chance to
claim it.
Aedion turned to Ren, the lord’s gaze
transfixed on Lysandra. As it had beenwhenever she’d taken her human form.
Fighting the urge to clench his jaw, Aedion
said,
“You recognize Caraverre, then.”
Evangeline continued her merry jabbering,
but Lysandra’s eyes slid toward them.
“Darrow is not Lord of Allsbrook,
” was all
Ren said.
Indeed. And who wouldn’t want such a
pretty neighbor?
That is, when she wasn’t living in Orynth
under another’s skin and crown, using Aedion
to sire a fake royal bloodline. Little more than
a stud to breed.
Lysandra again nodded her thanks, and
Ren’s blush deepened. As if they hadn’t spent
all day trekking through snow and
slaughtering Valg. As if the scent of gore
didn’t still cling to them.
Indeed, Evangeline sniffed at the cloak
Lysandra kept wrapped around herself andscowled. “You smell terrible. All of you.”
“Manners,
” Lysandra admonished, but
laughed.
Evangeline put her hands on her hips in a
gesture Aedion had seen Aelin make so many
times that his heart hurt to behold it. “You
asked me to tell you if you ever smelled.
Especially your breath.”
Lysandra smiled, and Aedion resisted the
tug on his own mouth. “So I did.”
Evangeline yanked on Lysandra’s hand,
trying to haul the shifter down the hall. “You
can share my room. There’s a bathing
chamber in there.” Lysandra conceded a step.
“A fine room for a guest,
” Aedion muttered
to Ren, his brows rising. It had to be one of
the finest here, to have its own bathing
chamber.
Ren ducked his head. “It belonged to
Rose.”His oldest sister. Who had been butchered
along with Rallen, the middle Allsbrook
sibling, at the magic academy they’d attended.
Near the border with Adarlan, the school had
been directly in the path of invading troops.
Even before magic fell, they would have
had few defenses against ten thousand
soldiers. Aedion didn’t let himself often
remember the slaughter of Devellin—that
fabled school. How many children had been
there. How none had escaped.
Ren had been close to both his elder sisters,
but to high-spirited Rose most of all.
“She would have liked her,
” Ren clarified,
jerking his chin toward Evangeline. Scarred,
Aedion realized, as Ren was. The slash down
Ren’s face had been earned while escaping the
butchering blocks, his parents’ lives the cost
of the diversion that got him and Murtaugh
out. Evangeline’s scars hailed from a different sort of escape, narrowly avoiding the hellish
life her mistress endured.
Aedion didn’t let himself often remember
that fact, either.
Evangeline continued pulling Lysandra
away, oblivious to the conversation. “Why
didn’t you wake me when you arrived?”
Aedion didn’t hear Lysandra’s answer as
she let herself be led from the hall. Not as the
shifter’s gaze met his own.
She had tried to speak with him these past
two months. Many times. Dozens of times.
He’d ignored her. And when they’d at last
reached Terrasen’s shores, she’d given up.
She had lied to him. Deceived him so
thoroughly that any moment between them,
any conversation … he didn’t know what had
been real. Didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to
know if she’d meant any of it, when he’d so
stupidly left everything laid out before her.He’d believed this was his last hunt. That
he’d be able to take his time with her, show
her everything Terrasen had to offer. Show
her everything he had to offer, too.
Lying bitch, he’d called her. Screamed the
words at her.
He’d mustered enough clarity to be
ashamed of it. But the rage remained.
Lysandra’s eyes were wary, as if asking
him, Can we not, in this rare moment of
happiness, speak as friends?
Aedion only returned to the fire, blocking
out her emerald eyes, her exquisite face.
Ren could have her. Even if the thought
made him want to shatter something.
Lysandra and Evangeline vanished from
the hall, the girl still chirping away.
The weight of Lysandra’s disappointment
lingered like a phantom touch.
Ren cleared his throat. “You want to tellme what’s going on between you two?”
Aedion cut him a flat stare that would have
sent lesser men running. “Get a map. I want to
go over the passes again.”
Ren, to his credit, went in search of one.
Aedion gazed at the fire, so pale without
his queen’s spark of magic.
How long would it be until the wind
howling outside the castle was replaced by the
baying of Erawan’s beasts?
Aedion got his answer at dawn the next day.
Seated at one end of the long table in the
Great Hall, Lysandra and Evangeline having a
quiet breakfast at the other, Aedion mastered
the shake in his fingers as he opened the letter
the messenger had delivered moments before.
Ren and Murtaugh, seated around him, had
refrained from demanding answers while he
read. Once. Twice.Aedion at last set down the letter. Took a
long breath as he frowned toward the watery
gray light leaking through the bank of
windows high on the wall.
Down the table, the weight of Lysandra’s
stare pressed on him. Yet she remained where
she was.
“It’s from Kyllian,
” Aedion said hoarsely.
“Morath’s troops made landfall at the coast—
at Eldrys.”
Ren swore. Murtaugh stayed silent. Aedion
kept seated, since his knees seemed unlikely
to support him. “He destroyed the city. Turned
it to rubble without unleashing a single
troop.”
Why the dark king had waited this long,
Aedion could only guess.
“The witch towers?” Ren asked. Aedion
had told him all Manon Blackbeak had
revealed on their trek through the Stone Marshes.
“It doesn’t say.” It was doubtful Erawan
had wielded the towers, since they were
massive enough to require being transported
by land, and Aedion’s scouts surely would
have noticed a one-hundred-foot tower hauled
through their territory. “But the blasts leveled
the city.”
“Aelin?” Murtaugh’s voice was a near-
whisper.
“Fine,
” Aedion lied. “On her way back to
the Orynth encampment the day before it
happened.” Of course, there was no mention
of her whereabouts in Kyllian’s letter, but his
top commander had speculated that since
there was no body or celebrating enemy, the
queen had gotten out.
Murtaugh went boneless in his seat, and
Fleetfoot laid her golden head atop his thigh.
“Thank Mala for that mercy.”“Don’t thank her yet.” Aedion shoved the
letter into the pocket of the thick cloak he
wore against the draft in the hall. Don’t thank
her at all, he almost added. “On their way to
Eldrys, Morath took out ten of Wendlyn’s
warships near Ilium, and sent the rest fleeing
back up the Florine, along with our own.”
Murtaugh rubbed his jaw. “Why not give
chase—follow them up the river?”
“Who knows?” Aedion would think on it
later. “Erawan set his sights on Eldrys, and so
he has now taken the city. He seems inclined
to launch some of his troops from there. If
unchecked, they’ll reach Orynth in a week.”
“We have to return to the camp,
” Ren said,
face dark. “See if we can get our fleet back
down the Florine and strike with Rolfe from
the sea. While we hammer from the land.”
Aedion didn’t feel like reminding them
that they hadn’t heard from Rolfe beyondvague messages about his hunt for the
scattered Mycenians and their legendary fleet.
The odds of Rolfe emerging to save their
asses were as slim as the fabled Wolf Tribe at
the far end of the Anascaul Mountains riding
out of the hinterland. Or the Fae who’d fled
Terrasen a decade ago returning from
wherever they’d gone to join Aedion’s forces.
The calculating calm that had guided
Aedion through battle and butchering settled
into him, as solid as the fur cloak he wore.
Speed would be their ally now. Speed and
clarity.
The lines have to hold, Rowan ordered
before they’d parted. Buy us whatever time
you can.
He’d make good on that promise.
Evangeline fell silent as Aedion’s attention
slid to the shifter down the table. “How many
can your wyvern form carry?”.........