Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass #7) by Sarah J. Maas

Healers already made their way over the battlefield, their white banners stark against the sea of black and gold. Those who needed more intensive help were carried off by ruks and brought right to the chaos of the Great Hall.

Atop the blood-slick battlements, their allies and companions around them, Rowan wordlessly passed Aelin the waterskin. She drank deeply, then handed it to Fenrys.

An unleashing and release. That’s what the battle had been for his mate.

“Minimal losses,” Princess Hasar was saying, a hand braced on a small section of the battlement wall that was not coated in black or red gore. “The foot soldiers got hit hardest; the Darghan remain mostly intact.”

Rowan nodded. Impressive—more than impressive. The khagan’s army had been a beautifully coordinated force, moving across the plain as if they were farmers reaping wheat. Had he not been swept into the dance of battle, he might have stopped to marvel at them.

The princess turned to Chaol, seated in a wheeled chair, his face grim. “On your end?”

Chaol glanced to his father, who observed the battlefield with crossed arms. His father said without looking at them, “Many. We’ll leave it at that.”

Pain seemed to flicker in the bastard’s eyes, but he said nothing more.

Chaol gave Hasar an apologetic frown, his hands tightening on the chair’s arms. The soldiers of Anielle, however bravely they’d fought, were not a trained unit. Many of those who had survived were seasoned warriors who’d fought the wild men up in the Fangs, Chaol had told Rowan earlier. Most of the dead had not.

Hasar at last looked Aelin over. “I heard you put on a show today.”

Rowan braced himself.

Aelin turned from the battlefield and inclined her head. “You look as if you did, too.”

Indeed, Hasar’s ornate armor was splattered with black blood. She’d been in the thick of it, atop her Muniqi horse, and had ridden right up to the gates. But the princess made no further comment.

Irritation, deep and nearly hidden, flashed in Aelin’s eyes. Yet she didn’t speak again—didn’t push the princess about their next steps. She just watched the battlefield once more, chewing on her lip.

She’d barely stopped during the battle, halting only when there had been no more Valg left to kill. And in the minutes since the walls had been cleared, she’d remained quiet—distant. As if she was still climbing out of that calm, calculating place she’d descended into while fighting. She hadn’t bothered to remove any of her armor. The bronze battle-crown was caked with blood, her hair matted with it.

Chaol’s father had taken one look at her armor, at Rowan’s, and gone white with rage. Yet Chaol had merely wheeled his chair to his father’s side, snarling something too soft for Rowan to hear, and the man backed off.

For now. They had bigger things to consider. Things that drove his mate to gnaw on her lip. When Prince Kashin’s army might arrive, if they would indeed head northward to Terrasen. If today had been enough to win them over.

Two shapes took form in the sky. Kadara and Salkhi, soaring for the keep at an almost unchecked speed.

People scrambled out of the ruks’ way as Sartaq and Nesryn landed on the battlements, sliding off their saddles and stalking right up to them.

“We have a problem,” Nesryn said, her face ashen.

Indeed, Sartaq’s lips were bloodless. Both of their scents were drenched in fear.

The wheels of Chaol’s chair splashed through puddled blood. “What is it?”

Aelin straightened, Gavriel and Fenrys going still.

Nesryn pointed across the city, to the wall of mountains. “We intercepted a group of Morath soldiers toward the end of the battle—trying to bring that dam down.”

Rowan swore, and Chaol echoed it.

“I’m assuming they didn’t succeed thanks to you,” Aelin said, gazing toward that too-near dam, the raging waters of the upper lake and river it held at bay.

“Partially,” Sartaq said, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “But we arrived after much damage had already been done.”

“Out with it,” Hasar hissed.

Sartaq’s dark eyes flashed. “We need to evacuate our army off the plain. Right now.”

“It’s going to break?” Chaol’s father demanded.

Nesryn winced. “It likely will.”

“It could burst at any moment.” Sartaq gestured to the khagan’s army on the plain. “We need to get them out.”

“There’s nowhere for them to go,” Chaol’s father said. “The water will roar for miles, and this keep cannot hold all your forces.”

Indeed, Rowan realized, the keep, despite its high position, couldn’t fit the size of the army on the plain. Not even close. And the keep, towering high above, would be the only thing that could withstand the tidal wave of freezing water that would sweep from the mountains and across the plain. Obliterating everything in its path.

Hasar fixed her burning stare on Chaol. “Where do we tell them to run?”

“Summon the ruks,” Chaol said. “Have them gather up as many as they can, fly them out to this peak behind us.” He motioned to the small mountain into which the keep had been built. “Put them on the rocks, put them anywhere.”

“And those that don’t make it to the ruks?” the princess pressed, something like panic cracking through her fierce face.