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

Not anymore.



Aelin knew that one word from her, and Lorcan would rip out Vernon’s throat. Or perhaps begin with snapping bones.

Or skin him alive, as Rowan had done with Cairn.

As she followed Elide, the Lady of Perranth’s head still high, Aelin forced her own breathing to remain steady. To brace herself for what was to come. She could get through it. Push past the shaking in her hands, the cold sweat down her back. To learn what they needed, she could find some way to endure this next task.

Elide halted in the hall, Gavriel, Rowan, and Fenrys taking a step closer. No sign of Nesryn, Chaol, or Sartaq, though one shout would likely summon them in this festering warren.

Gods, the stench of this place. The feel of it.

She’d been debating for the past hour whether it was worth it to her sanity and stomach to shift back into her human form—to the blessed lesser sense of smell it offered.

Elide said to none of them in particular, “I don’t care what you do with him.”

“Do you care if he walks out alive?” Lorcan said with deadly calm.

Elide studied the male whose heart she held. “No.” Good, Aelin almost said. Elide added, “But make it quick.” Lorcan opened his mouth. Elide shook her head. “My father would wish it so.”

Punish them all, Kaltain had made Aelin once promise. And Vernon, from what Elide had told Aelin, seemed likely to have been at the top of Kaltain’s list.

“We need to question him first,” Rowan said. “See what he knows.”

“Then do it,” Elide said. “But when it’s time, make it quick.”

“Quick,” Fenrys mused, “but not painless?”

Elide’s face was cold, unyielding. “You can decide.”

Lorcan’s brutal smile told Aelin enough. So did the hatchet, twin to Rowan’s, gleaming at his side.

Her palms turned sweaty. Had been sweating since they’d bound up Vernon, since she’d seen the iron chains.

Aelin reached for her magic. Not the raging flame, but the cooling droplet of water. She listened to its silent song, letting it wash through her. And in its wake, she knew what she wished to do.

Lorcan took a step toward the chamber door, but Aelin blocked his path. She said, “Torture won’t get anything out of him.”

Even Elide blinked at that.

Aelin said, “Vernon likes to play games. Then I’ll play.”

Rowan’s eyes guttered. As if he could scent the sweat on her hands, as if he knew that doing it the old-fashioned way … it’d send her puking her guts up over the edge of the Northern Fang.

“Never underestimate the power of breaking a few bones,” Lorcan countered.

“See what you can get out of him,” Rowan said to her instead. Lorcan whirled, mouth opening, but Rowan snarled, “We can decide, here and now, what we wish to be as a court. Do we act like our enemies? Or do we find alternative methods to break them?”

Her mate met her stare, understanding shining there.

Lorcan still seemed ready to argue.

Above the phantom sting of chains on her wrists, the weight of a mask on her face, Aelin said, “We do it my way first. You can still kill him, but we try my way first.” When Lorcan didn’t object, she said, “We need some ale.”



Aelin slid the tankard of chilled ale across the table to where Vernon now sat, chains loosened enough for him to use his hands.

One false move, and her fire would melt him.

Only the Lion and Fenrys stood in the chamber, stationed by the doors.

Rowan and Lorcan had snarled at her order to stay in the hall, but Aelin had declared that they would only hinder her efforts here.

Aelin sipped from her own tankard and hummed. “An odd day, when one has to compliment their enemy’s good taste in ale.”

Vernon frowned at the tankard.

“It’s not poisoned,” Aelin said. “It’d defeat the purpose if it was.”

Vernon took a small sip. “I suppose you think plying me with ale and talking like we’re steadfast friends will get you what you want to know.”

“Would you prefer the alternative?” She smiled slightly. “I certainly don’t.”

“The methods may differ, but the end result will be the same.”

“Tell me something interesting, Vernon, and maybe it will change.”

His eyes swept over her. “Had I known you’d grow into such a queen, perhaps I would not have bothered to kneel for Adarlan.” A sly smile. “So different from your parents. Did your father ever torture a man?”

Ignoring the taunt, Aelin drank, swishing the ale in her mouth, as if it could wash away the taint of this place. “You tried and failed to win power for yourself. First by stealing it from Elide, then by trying to sell her to Erawan. Morath has sacked Perranth, and no doubt marches on Orynth, and yet we find you here. Hiding.” She drank again. “One might think Erawan’s favor had shifted elsewhere.”

“Perhaps he stationed me here for a reason, Majesty.”

Her magic had already felt him out. To make sure no heart of iron or Wyrdstone beat in his chest.

“I think you were cast aside,” she said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “I think you outlived your usefulness, especially after you failed to recapture Elide, and Erawan didn’t feel like entirely ridding himself of a lackey, but also didn’t want you skulking about. So here you are.” She waved a hand to the chamber, the mountain above them. “The lovely Ferian Gap.”