Asterin shoved Sorrel away so violently that Manon’s Second went crashing into the dresser. Before Sorrel could recover, Asterin was inches from Manon.
“You gave him those witches. You gave him witches!”
Manon lashed out, her hand wrapping around Asterin’s throat. But Asterin gripped her arm, digging in her iron nails so hard that blood ran.
For a moment, Manon’s blood dripping on the floor was the only sound.
Asterin’s life should have been forfeited for drawing blood from the heir.
Light glinted off Sorrel’s dagger as she approached, ready to tear it into Asterin’s spine if Manon gave the order. Manon could have sworn Sorrel’s hand wobbled slightly.
Manon met Asterin’s gold-flecked black eyes. “You do not question. You do not demand. You are no longer Third. Vesta will replace you. You—”
A harsh, broken laugh. “You’re not going to do anything about it, are you? You’re not going to free them. You’re not going to fight for them. For us. Because what would Grandmother say? Why hasn’t she answered your letters, Manon? How many have you sent now?” Asterin’s iron nails dug in harder, shredding flesh. Manon embraced the pain.
“Tomorrow morning at breakfast, you will receive your punishment,” Manon hissed, and shoved her Third away, sending Asterin staggering toward the door. Manon let her bloodied arm hang at her side. She’d need to bind it up soon. The blood—on her palm, on her fingers—felt so familiar …
“If you try to free them, if you do anything stupid, Asterin Blackbeak,” Manon went on, “the next punishment you’ll receive will be your own execution.”
Asterin let out another joyless laugh. “You would not have disobeyed even if it had been Blackbeaks down there, would you? Loyalty, obedience, brutality—that is what you are.”
“Leave while you can still walk,” Sorrel said softly.
Asterin whirled toward the Second, and something like hurt flashed across her face.
Manon blinked. Those feelings …
Asterin turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her.
Elide had managed to clear her head by the time she offered to clean and bandage Manon’s arm.
What she’d seen today, both in this room and in that chamber below …
You let them do this. She didn’t blame Asterin for it, even if it had shocked her to see the witch lose control so completely. She had never seen any of them react with anything but cool amusement, indifference, or raging bloodlust.
Manon hadn’t said a word since she’d ordered Sorrel away, to follow Asterin and keep her from doing something profoundly stupid.
As if saving those Yellowlegs witches might be foolish. As if that sort of mercy was reckless.
Manon was staring at nothing as Elide finished applying the salve and reached for the bandages. The puncture wounds were deep, but not bad enough to warrant stiches. “Is your broken kingdom worth it?” Elide dared to ask.
Those burnt-gold eyes shifted toward the darkened window.
“I do not expect a human to understand what it is like to be an immortal with no homeland. To be cursed with eternal exile.” Cold, distant words.
Elide said, “My kingdom was conquered by the King of Adarlan, and everyone I loved was executed. My father’s lands and my title were stolen from me by my uncle, and my best chance of safety now lies in sailing to the other end of the world. I understand what it is like to wish—to hope.”
“It is not hope. It is survival.”
Elide gently rolled a bandage around the witch’s forearm. “It is hope for your homeland that guides you, that makes you obey.”
“And what of your future? For all your talk of hope, you seem resigned to fleeing. Why not return to your kingdom—to fight?”
Perhaps the horror she’d witnessed today gave her the courage to say, “Ten years ago, my parents were murdered. My father was executed on a butchering block in front of thousands. But my mother … My mother died defending Aelin Galathynius, the heir to the throne of Terrasen. She bought Aelin time to run. They followed Aelin’s tracks to the frozen river, where they said she must have fallen in and drowned.
“But you see, Aelin had fire magic. She could have survived the cold. And Aelin … Aelin never really liked me or played with me because I was so shy, but … I never believed them when they said she was dead. Every day since then, I’ve told myself that she got away, and that she’s still out there, biding her time. Growing up, growing strong, so that she might one day come to save Terrasen. And you are my enemy—because if she returns, she will fight you.
“But for ten years, until I came here, I endured Vernon because of her. Because of the hope that she got away, and my mother’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. I thought that one day, Aelin would come to save me—would remember I existed and rescue me from that tower.” There it was, her great secret, which she had never dared tell anyone, even her nursemaid. “Even though … even though she never came, even though I’m here now, I can’t let go of that. And I think that is why you obey. Because you have been hoping every day of your miserable, hideous life that you’ll get to go home.”
Elide finished wrapping the bandage and stepped back. Manon was staring at her now.
“If this Aelin Galathynius were indeed alive, would you try to run to her? Fight with her?”
“I would fight with tooth and claw to get to her. But there are lines I would not cross. Because I don’t think I could face her if … if I couldn’t face myself for what I’d done.”
Manon said nothing. Elide stepped away, heading to the bathing room to wash her hands.
The Wing Leader said from behind her, “Do you believe monsters are born, or made?”
From what she’d seen today, she would say some creatures were very much born evil. But what Manon was asking … “I’m not the one who needs to answer that question,” Elide said.
CHAPTER
41
The oil was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, gleaming like amber in the afternoon light.
Naked, Aelin stood before it, unable to reach for the bottle.
It was what Arobynn wanted—for her to think of him as she rubbed the oil into every inch of her skin. For her breasts, her thighs, her neck to smell like almond—his chosen scent.
His scent, because he knew that a Fae male had come to stay with her, and all signs pointed to their being close enough for scent to matter to Rowan.
She closed her eyes, steeling herself.
“Aelin,” Rowan said through the door.
“I’m fine,” she said. Only a few more hours. And then everything would change.
She opened her eyes and reached for the oil.
It took Rowan a jerk of his chin to get Aedion to follow him to the roof. Aelin was still in her room dressing, but Rowan wasn’t going far. He would hear any enemies on the street long before they had a chance to get into the apartment.
Despite the Valg prowling the city, Rifthold was one of the milder capitals he’d encountered—its people mostly prone to avoiding trouble. Perhaps from fear of being noticed by the monster who dwelled in that godawful glass castle. But Rowan would keep his guard up all the same—here, in Terrasen, or wherever else their paths might lead.
Aedion was now lounging in a small chair one of them had dragged up here at some point. Gavriel’s son—a surprise and a shock every time he saw that face or caught a whiff of his scent. Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if Aelin had sent the Wyrdhounds hunting after Lorcan not just to keep him from tracking her and to pave the way for her to free magic but also to keep him from getting close enough to Aedion to detect his lineage.
Aedion crossed his legs with a lazy grace that probably served to hide his speed and strength from opponents. “She’s going to kill him tonight, isn’t she?”
“After the d
inner and whatever Arobynn plans to do with the Valg commander. She’s going to circle back and put him down.”
Only a fool would think Aedion’s grin sprang from amusement. “That’s my girl.”
“And if she decides to spare him?”
“It’s her decision to make.”
Smart answer. “What if she were to say we could take care of it?”
“Then I’d hope you’d join me for a hunt, Prince.”
Another smart answer, and what he’d been waiting to hear. Rowan said, “And when the time comes?”
“You took the blood oath,” Aedion said, and there wasn’t any hint of a challenge in his eyes—only the truth, spoken warrior to warrior. “I get Arobynn’s killing blow.”
“Fair enough.”
Primal wrath flickered in Aedion’s face. “It’s not going to be quick, and it’s not going to be clean. That man has many, many debts to pay before he meets his end.”
By the time Aelin emerged, the males were talking in the kitchen, already dressed. On the street outside the apartment, the Valg commander was bound, blindfolded, and locked in the trunk of the carriage Nesryn had acquired.
Aelin squared her shoulders, shaking loose the breath that had become a tight knot in her chest, and crossed the room, each step bringing her too quickly toward their inevitable departure.
Aedion, facing her in a fine tunic of deep green, was the first to notice. He let out a low whistle. “Well, if you didn’t already scare the living shit out of me, you’ve certainly done it now.”
Rowan turned to her.
He went completely and utterly still as he took in the dress.
The black velvet hugged every curve and hollow before pooling at her feet, revealing each too-shallow breath as Rowan’s eyes grazed over her body. Down, then up—to the hair she’d swept back with golden bat-wing-shaped combs that rose above either side of her head like a primal headdress; to the face she’d kept mostly clean, save for a sweep of kohl along her upper eyelid and the deep red lips she’d painstakingly colored.
With the burning weight of Rowan’s attention upon her, she turned to show them the back—the roaring golden dragon clawing up her body. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Rowan’s eyes again slide south, and linger.