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

He’d danced with treason for the past decade. Had made it an art form. Aedion smiled slightly. “Leave that to me.”



The Bane were loyal to none but Aelin Galathynius.

So were the allies she’d gathered. And the forces of Ren Allsbrook and Ravi and Sol of Suria.

And so, apparently, was Nox Owen.

Yet it was Lysandra, not Aedion, who made their flight possible.

She’d been walking back to her own tent—to Aelin’s tent, not fit for a queen, but an army captain—when Nox fell into step beside her. Silent and graceful. Well-trained. And likely more lethal than he appeared.

“So, Erawan knows you’re not Aelin.”

She whipped her head to him. “What?” A quick, vague question to buy herself time. Had Aedion risked telling him the truth?

Nox gave her a half smile. “I figured as much when I saw the surprise on that demon’s face.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“Am I? Or do you not remember me at all?”

She did her best to look down her nose at him, even as the messenger-thief towered over her. Aelin had never mentioned a Nox Owen. “Why should I remember one of Darrow’s lackeys?”

“A decent attempt, but Celaena Sardothien looked a little more amused when she cut men into ribbons.”

He knew—who Aelin was, what she’d been. Lysandra said nothing, and kept walking toward her tent. If she told Aedion, how quickly could Nox be buried under the frozen earth?

“Your secret is safe,” Nox murmured. “Celaena—Aelin was a friend. Is still one, I’d hope.”

“How.” She’d admit no more than that regarding her role in this.

“We fought in the competition together at the glass castle.” He snorted. “I had no idea until today. Gods, I was there for Minister Joval as a spy for the rebels. It was my first time out of Perranth. My first time, and I wound up unwittingly training alongside my queen.” He laughed, low and amazed. “I’d been working with the rebels for years, even as a thief. They wanted me to be their inside eyes on the castle, the king’s plans. I reported the strange goings-on until it became too dangerous. Until Cel—Aelin warned me to run. I listened, and came back here. Joval is dead. Fell in a skirmish with a band of rebels by the border this spring. Darrow plucked me up to be his own messenger and spy. So here I am.” A sidelong glance at her, awe still on his face. “I am at your disposal, even if you’re not … you.” He angled his head. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Aelin.”

Nox smiled knowingly. “Fair enough.”

Lysandra paused before the queen’s too-small tent, nestled between Aedion’s and Ren’s own. “What’s the cost of your silence? Or does Darrow already know?”

“Why would I tell him? I serve Terrasen, and the Galathynius family. I always have.”

“Some might say Darrow has a strong claim to the throne, given his relationship with Orlon.”

“I realized today that the assassin I came to call a friend is actually the queen I believed dead. I think the gods are pointing me in a certain direction, don’t you?”

She lingered between the tent flaps. Delicious warmth beckoned within. “And if I were to tell you we needed your help tonight, and that the risk was being branded a traitor?”

Nox only sketched a bow. “Then I’d say I owe my friend Celaena a favor for her warning at the castle, plus saving my life before that.”

She didn’t know why she trusted him. But she’d developed an instinct for men that had always proved correct, even if she had been unable to act on it in the past. Had only been able to brace herself for them.

But Nox Owen—the kindness in his face was true. His words were true. Another ally Aelin had wrangled for them, this time unwittingly.

She knew Aedion would agree to the plan, even if he still hated her. So Lysandra leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Then listen carefully.”



It was done quietly and without a trace.

Every intricate element played out without issue, as if the gods themselves aided them.

At dinner, Nox Owen laced the wine he’d personally served—as a groveling apology for letting in the Valg soldier—to Lords Darrow, Sloane, Gunnar, and Ironwood. Not to kill them, but to send them into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Even a roaring bear couldn’t wake this lout, Ansel of Briarcliff had sniffed when she’d stood over Lord Gunnar’s cot, lifted his limp arm, and let it drop.

The lord didn’t stir, and Lysandra, wearing a field mouse’s form and tucked into the shadows behind the queen, deemed it proof enough.

The four lords’ loyal banner men also found themselves sleeping deeply that night, courtesy of the wine that Galan Ashryver, Ilias, Ren, and Ravi had made sure was handed out at their fires.

And when they all awoke the next day, there was only whipping snow beyond their tents.

The camp was gone.

The army with it.





CHAPTER 18

No one in Anielle or the gray-stoned keep looming over its southern edge shouted with alarm at the ruk that descended from the skies and alit upon the battlements.

The keep sentries who’d been on watch had only drawn their weapons, one racing into the dim interior, and pointed them at Chaol and Yrene as they slid off the mighty bird.