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

Maeve angled her head. “Do you plan to see Orcus again?”

“Why do you think I have spent so long building this army, preparing this world, if not to greet my brothers once more? If not to impress them with what I have made here?”

Erawan would bring the Valg kings back to Erilea, if given the chance. And if he did—

Maeve studied the seated king. “Tell Orcus that I grew bored of waiting for him to come home from his conquests.” A spider’s smile. “I would much rather have joined him.”

Erawan blinked, the only sign of his surprise. Then he waved an elegant hand, and the doors opened on a phantom wind. “I shall think on this, sister. For your brazenness in approaching me, I will allow you to stay as my guest until I decide.” Two guards appeared in the hall, and Dorian braced himself, paws tensing on the stones. “They will show you to your room.”

To remain in this chamber for too long might lead to his exposure, but he had not sensed the key on the Valg king. Later—he could keep looking later. Contemplate the best way to kill the king, too. If he was foolish enough to risk it. For now …

Maeve gathered her cloak, sweeping it around her, and Dorian rushed forward, ducking into its shadows once more as the Fae Queen prowled out.

The guards led her down a hall, up a winding stair, and into a tower adjacent to Erawan’s. It was well-appointed in polished oak furniture and crisp linen sheets. Likely a remnant of the years this had been a human stronghold and not a home of horrors.

As the door shut behind Maeve, she leaned into the iron-studded wood and sighed.

“Do you plan to hide in that pathetic form all day?”

Dorian lunged for the gap between the door and the floor, but her black-booted foot slammed down upon his tail.

Pain speared through his bones, but her foot remained in place. His magic surged, lashing, but a dark wind wrapped talons around it, choking. Stifling.

The Fae Queen smiled down at him. “You are not a very skilled spy, King of Adarlan.”





CHAPTER 71

Dorian’s magic struggled, roaring as her dark power held him in its net. If he could turn into a wyvern and rip her head off …

But Maeve smiled, weary and amused, and lifted her foot from his poor tail. Then released her grip on his magic.

He shuddered at the dark, festering power as it caressed talons down his magic, brushed the shimmering, raw core, and vanished.

It was an effort not to gag, not to touch the pale band on his neck just to be sure it was gone.

Maeve’s smile remained on her red mouth, his magic still shivering as the feel of her power lingered. The power to break into minds, to rip apart the psyche. A different sort of enemy. One that would require another route. A reckless, fool’s route. A courtier’s route.

So he shifted, fur becoming skin, paws into hands. When he at last stood before the Fae Queen, man once more, her smile grew. “How handsome you are.”

Dorian sketched a bow. He didn’t dare reach for Damaris at his side. “How did you know?”

“You did not think I beheld you, your scent and the feel of your power, in Aelin’s memories?” She angled her head. “Though my spy did not report your interest in shifting.”

Cyrene. Horror crept through him.

Maeve strode deeper into the chamber and took up a seat on the bench before the foot of the bed, as regally as if she sat upon her throne. “How do you think the Matrons knew where to find you?”

“Cyrene was only at the camp for a day,” he managed to say.

“Do you truly believe that there are no other spiders, up there in the mountains? They all answer to her, and to me. She needed only whisper once, to the right ones, and they found me. And found the Ironteeth.” Maeve ran a hand along the lap of her gown. “Whether Erawan knows of your gifts remains to be seen. Before you killed her, Cyrene certainly informed me that you were … different.”

He did not regret killing her one bit.

“But that is neither here nor there. Cyrene is dead, and you are a long way from the arms of Manon Blackbeak.”

Dorian braced a hand on Damaris’s hilt.

Maeve smiled at the ancient sword. “It seems the Queen of Terrasen learned to share. She’s acquired quite the trove, hasn’t she?” Dorian started. If Maeve knew everything Aelin possessed—

“I know that, too,” Maeve said, her dark eyes depthless. Damaris warmed in his grip. “And know the spider did not guess at that truth, at least.” She scanned him. “Where are they now, Dorian Havilliard?”

Something slithering and sharp slid along his mind. Trying to get in—

Dorian’s magic roared. A sheet of ice slammed into those mental talons. Blasted them away.

Maeve chuckled, and Dorian blinked, finding the room also coated with frost. “A dramatic, but effective method.”

Dorian smirked at her, “You think I would be foolish enough to allow you into my mind?” Still keeping one hand on the sword, he slid the other into a pocket, if only to hide its shaking. “Or to tell you where they are hidden?”

“It was worth the attempt,” Maeve said.

“Why not sound the alarm?” was his only reply.

Maeve leaned back, studying him again. “You want what I want. Erawan has it. Does that not make you and I allies of a sort?”

“You must be mad, to think I would ever give you the keys.”