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

But despite the approaching army, Dorian touched Damaris’s hilt and said, “I will take care of it. Of Adarlan. For whatever time I have left. I will not abandon it.”

The sword glowed warm.

And Gavin, despite the loss that loomed for him, smiled slightly. As if he felt the warmth of the sword, too. “I know,” he said. “I have always known that.”

Damaris’s warmth held steady.

Dorian swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “When the Wyrdgate is sealed, will I be able to open this sort of portal again?” Will I be able to see you, seek your counsel?

Gavin faded. “I don’t know.” He added quietly, “But I hope so.”

Dorian put a hand over his heart and bowed deeply.

And as Gavin disappeared into the snow and sun, Dorian could have sworn the king bowed back.

Minutes later, when wings blotted out the sun, no one noticed the lone wyvern that rose from Oakwald and fell into line with the teeming host.





CHAPTER 84

There was no armor left in the castle’s depleted arsenal. And none would have fit wyverns anyway.

What had survived Adarlan’s occupation or been acquired since its fall had been distributed, and though Prince Aedion had offered to have a blacksmith weld sheets of metal to form breastplates, Manon had taken one look at the repurposed doors they’d use and known they would be too heavy. Against the Ironteeth legion, speed and agility would be their greatest allies.

So they would head into battle as they always had: with nothing but their blades, their iron teeth and nails, and their cunning.

Standing on a large balcony atop the uppermost tower of the castle of Orynth, Morath’s army spread far below, Manon watched the rising sun and knew it could very well be her last.

But the Thirteen, many of them leaning against the balcony rail, did not look eastward.

No, their attention was on the enemy, stirring in the rising light. Or on the two Crochans who stood with Manon, brooms in hand and swords already strapped across their backs.

It had not been a shock to see Bronwen arrive this morning dressed for battle. But Manon had paused when Glennis emerged with a sword, hair braided back.

They had already gone over the details. And had done so thrice last night. And now, in the light of the breaking day, they lingered atop the ancient tower.

Far out, deep in Morath’s teeming ranks, a horn rang out.

Slowly, a great beast awakening from a deep sleep, Morath’s host began to move.

“It’s about time,” Asterin muttered beside Manon, her braided hair bound with a strip of leather across her brow.

Ironteeth wyverns became airborne, lumbering against the weight of their armor.

It wouldn’t win the day, though. No, the Ironteeth, after a heavy start, soon filled the skies. A thousand at least. Where the Ferian Gap host was, Manon didn’t want to know. Not yet.

On the towers of the castle, on the roofs of the city and along the battlement walls, the Crochan army straightened their brooms at their sides, ready for the signal to fly.

A signal from Bronwen, from the carved horn at her side. The horn was cracked and browned with age, the symbols carved into it so worn they were barely visible.

Noting Manon’s stare, Bronwen said, “A relic from the old kingdom. It belonged to Telyn Vanora, a young, untried warrior during the last days of the war, who was near the gates when Rhiannon fell. My ancestor.” She ran a hand over the horn. “She blew this horn to warn our people that Rhiannon had been killed, and to flee the city. Just after she got out the warning call, the Blueblood Matron slaughtered her. But it gave our people enough time to run. To survive.” Silver lined Bronwen’s dark eyes. “It is my honor to blow this horn again today. Not to warn our people, but to rally them.”

None of the Thirteen looked Bronwen’s way, but Manon knew they heard each word.

Bronwen put a hand on her leather breastplate. “Telyn is here today. In the hearts of every Crochan who got out, who made it this far. All of them who fell in the witch wars are with us, even if we cannot see them.”

Manon thought of those two presences she’d felt while fighting the Matrons and knew Bronwen’s words to be true.

“It is for them that we fight,” Bronwen said, her stare falling to the approaching army. “And for the future we stand to gain.”

“A future we all stand to gain,” Manon said, and met the eyes of the Thirteen. Though they did not smile, the fierceness in their faces spoke enough.

Manon turned to Glennis. “You truly intend to fight?”

Glennis nodded, firm and unyielding. “Five hundred years ago, my mother chose the future of the royal bloodline over fighting beside her loved ones. And though she never regretted her choice, the weight of what she left behind wore on her. I have carried her burden my entire life.” The crone gestured to Bronwen, then to Asterin. “All of us who fight here today do so with someone standing invisible behind us.”

Asterin’s gold-flecked black eyes softened a bit. “Yes,” was all Manon’s Second said as her hand drifted to her abdomen.

Not in memory of the hateful word branded there, of what had been done to her.

In memory of the stillborn witchling who had been thrown by Manon’s grandmother into the fire before Asterin had a chance to hold her.

In memory of the hunter whom Asterin had loved, as no Ironteeth ever had loved a man, and had never gone back to, for shame and fear. The hunter who had never stopped waiting for her to return, even when he was an old man.