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

So Aelin sketched a bow to Erawan and said with every remaining scrap of bravado she possessed, “We’ve met a few times, but never as we truly are.” She winked at him. Even as her knees quaked, she winked at him. “Pretty as this form is, Erawan, I think I miss Perrington. Just a little bit.”

Maeve’s nostrils flared.

But Erawan’s eyes slitted in amusement. “Was it fate, you think, that we encountered each other in Rifthold without recognizing the other?”

Such casual, easy words from such horrible, corrupt filth. Aelin made herself shrug. “Fate, or luck?” She gestured to the battlefield, her wrecked city. “This is a far grander setting for our final confrontation, don’t you think? Far more worthy of us.”

Maeve let out a hiss. “Enough of this.”

Aelin arched a brow. “I’ve spent the past year of my life—ten years, if you consider it another way—building to this moment.” She clicked her tongue. “Forgive me if I want to savor it. To talk with my great enemy for longer than a moment.”

Erawan chuckled, and the sound grated down her bones. “One might think you were trying to delay us, Aelin Galathynius.”

She beckoned to the city walls behind her. “From what? The keys are gone, the gods with them.” She threw them a smile. “You did know that, didn’t you?”

The amusement faded from Erawan’s face. “I know.” Death—such terrible death beckoned in his voice at that.

Aelin shrugged again. “I did you a favor, you know.”

Maeve murmured, “Don’t let her talk. We end this now.”

Aelin laughed. “One would think you were afraid, Maeve. Of any sort of delay.” She turned to Erawan once again. “The gods had planned to drag you with them. To rip you apart.” Aelin gave him a half smile. “I asked them not to. So you and I might have this grand duel of ours.”

“How is it that you survived?” Maeve demanded.

“I learned to share,” Aelin purred. “After all this time.”

“Lies,” Maeve spat.

“I do have a question for you,” Aelin said, glancing between the two dark rulers, separated from her by only the swirling snow. “Will you be sharing power? Now that you’re both trapped here.” She gestured to Maeve with her burning shield. “Last I heard, you were hell-bent on sending him home. And had gathered a little army of healers in Doranelle so you might destroy him the moment you got the chance.”

Erawan blinked slowly.

Aelin smiled. “What will you do with all those healers now, Maeve? Have you two discussed that?”

Darkness swirled around Maeve’s fingers. “I have endured enough of this prattling.”

“I have not,” Erawan said, his golden eyes blazing.

“Good,” Aelin said. “I was her prisoner, you know. For months. You’d be surprised how much I picked up. About her husband—your brother. About the library in his castle, and how Maeve learned so many interesting things about world-walking. Will you share that knowledge, Maeve, or is that not part of your bargain?”

Doubt. That was doubt beginning to darken Erawan’s eyes.

Aelin pressed, “She wants you out, you know. Gone. What did she even tell you when your Wyrdkey went missing? Let me guess: the King of Adarlan snuck into Morath, killed the girl you’d enslaved to be your living gate, destroyed your castle, and Maeve arrived just in time to try to stop him—but failed? Did you know that she worked with him for days and days? Trying to get the key from you?”

“That is a lie,” Maeve snapped.

“Is it? Shall I repeat some of the things you said in your most private meetings with Lord Erawan here? The things the King of Adarlan told me?”

Erawan’s smile grew. “You always had a flair for the dramatic. Perhaps you are lying, as my sister claims.”

“Perhaps I am, perhaps I am not. Though I think the truth of your new ally’s backstabbing is far more interesting than any lie I might invent.”

“Shall we tell you another truth, then?” Maeve crooned. “Do you wish to know who killed your parents? Who killed Lady Marion?”

Aelin stilled.

Maeve waved a hand to Erawan. “It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even the King of Adarlan. No, he sent a low-ranking Valg prince to do it. He couldn’t even be bothered to go himself. Didn’t think anyone important was really necessary to do the deed.”

Aelin stared at the queen. At the Valg king.

And then arched a brow. “Is that some attempt to unnerve me? You’re thousands of years old, and that is all you can think of to say?” She laughed again, and pointed to Erawan with Goldryn. She could have sworn he flinched away from the flaming blade. “I feel sorry for you, you know. That you’ve now shackled yourself to that immortal bore.” She sucked on a tooth. “And when Maeve sells you out, I suppose I’ll feel a little bit sorry for you then, too.”

“See how she talks?” Maeve hissed. “That has always been her gift: to distract and babble while—”

“Yes, yes. But, as I said: you have the field. There’s nothing left that can really stop you.”

“Except for you,” Erawan said.

Aelin pressed her shield against her chest. “I’m flattered you think so.” She flicked up her brows. “Though I think the two hundred healers we’ve got in the city right now might be a little offended that you forgot them. Especially when I’ve watched them so diligently expel your Valg grunts from the hosts they infected.”