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

Manon and the Thirteen, Bronwen and Glennis with them, spent hours organizing the Crochans. Assigning them to certain flanks of the Ironteeth based on Manon’s knowledge of their enemy’s formations.

She’d created those formations. Had planned to lead them.

And when that was done, when the meeting with the mortal rulers was over, all of them still grim-faced but not quite so near panic, Manon and the Thirteen found a chamber in which to sleep.

A few candles burned in the spacious room, but no furniture filled it. Nothing save the bedrolls they brought in. Manon tried not to look too long at hers, to mark the scent that had faded with every mile northward.

Where Dorian was, what he was doing—she didn’t let herself think about.

If only because doing so would send her flying southward again, all the way to Morath.

In the dim room, Manon sat on her bedroll, the Thirteen seated around her, and listened to the chaos of the castle.

The place was little more than a tomb, the ghosts of its riches haunting every corner. She wondered what this room had once been—a meeting room, a place to sleep, a study … There were no indicators.

Manon leaned her head back against the cold stones of the wall behind her, her crown discarded by her boots.

Asterin spoke first, cutting through the silence of the coven. “We know their every move, every weapon. And now the Crochans do, too. The Matrons are likely in a panic.”

She’d never seen her grandmother in a panic, but Manon huffed a dark laugh. “We shall see tomorrow, I suppose.” She surveyed her Thirteen. “You have come with me this far, but tomorrow it will be your own kind that we face. You may be fighting friends or lovers or family members.” She swallowed. “I will not blame you if you cannot do it.”

“We have come this far,” Sorrel said, “because we are all prepared for what tomorrow will bring.”

Indeed, the Thirteen nodded. Asterin said, “We are not afraid.”

No, they were not. Looking at the clear eyes around her, Manon could see that for herself.

“I’d expected at least some,” Vesta groused, “from the Ferian Gap to join us.”

“They don’t understand,” Ghislaine said. “What we even offered them.”

Freedom—freedom from the Matrons who had forged them into tools of destruction.

“A waste,” Asterin grumbled. Even the green-eyed demon twins nodded.

Silence fell again. Despite their clear eyes, her Thirteen were well aware of the limitations of five thousand Crochans against the Ironteeth, and the army beneath it.

So Manon said, looking them each in the eye, “I would rather fly with you than with ten thousand Ironteeth at my side.” She smiled slightly. “Tomorrow, we will show them why.”

Her coven grinned, wicked and defiant, and touched two fingers to their brows in deference.

Manon returned the gesture, bowing her head as she did. “We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”



Evangeline had decided that she no longer wished to be page to Lord Darrow, but rather a Crochan witch.

One of the women even went so far as to give the wide-eyed girl an extra red cloak, which Evangeline was still wearing when Lysandra tucked her into bed. She’d help Darrow tomorrow, Evangeline promised as she nodded off. After she made sure the Crochans had all the help they needed.

Lysandra had smiled at that, despite the odds still stacked so high against them. Manon Blackbeak—now Manon Crochan, she supposed—had been blunt in her assessment. The Crochans could keep the Ironteeth at bay, perhaps defeat them if they were truly lucky, but the hosts of Morath were still there to contend with. Once the army marched again, their plans to defend the walls would remain the same.

Unable and unwilling to fall asleep on the cot beside Evangeline’s bed, Lysandra found herself wandering the halls of the rambling, ancient castle. What a home it would have made for her and Evangeline. What a court.

Perhaps she’d unconsciously followed his scent, but Lysandra wasn’t at all surprised when she entered the Great Hall and found Aedion before the dying fire.

He stood alone, and she had little doubt he’d been that way for a while now.

He turned before she’d barely made it through the doorway. Watched her every step.

Because I am not in love with our other allies. How the words changed everything and yet nothing. “You should be asleep.”

Aedion gave her a half smile. “So should you.”

Silence fell between them as they stared at each other.

She could have spent all night like that. Had spent many nights like that, in another beast’s skin. Just watching him, taking in the powerful lines of his body, the unbreakable will in his eyes.

“I thought we were going to die today,” she said.

“We were.”

“I’m still angry with you,” she blurted. “But …”

His brows rose, light she had not seen for some time shining from his face. “But?”

She scowled. “But I shall think about what you said to me. That’s all.”

A familiar, wicked grin graced his lips. “You’ll think about it?”

Lysandra lifted her chin, looking down her nose at him as much as she could while he towered over her. “Yes, I will think about it. What I plan to do.”