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

Elide swallowed hard enough to make her throat bob rather pathetically. “I—I hate to bother you,” she demurred. “But you all looked very k-k-kind.”

One of the males muttered something about getting another round of drinks, and two of his companions decided to join him. The two males who lingered seemed inclined to go as well, but a sharp look from their commander had them staying.

“It’s not a bother,” the beauty said, waving a manicured hand. She was as short as Elide, though she carried herself like a queen. “Would you like us to fetch you some refreshments?”

People were easy to flatter, easy to trick, regardless of whether they had pointy ears or round.

Elide stepped closer. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to trouble y-you.”

The female’s nostrils flared as Elide halted close enough to touch them. No doubt smelling the weeks on the road. But she politely said nothing, though her eyes roved over Elide’s face.

“Your friend’s name,” the commander urged, her gruff voice the opposite of her sister’s.

“Cairn,” Elide whispered. “His name is Cairn.”

One of the males swore; the other scanned Elide from head to toe.

But the two females had gone still.

“H-he serves the queen,” Elide said, eyes leaping from face to face, the portrait of hope. “Do you know him?”

“We know him,” the commander said, her face dark. “You—you are his lover?”

Elide willed her face to redden, thinking of all the mortifying moments on the road: her cycle, having to explain when she needed to relieve herself … “I need to speak with him,” was all Elide said. Learning Maeve’s whereabouts would come later.

The dark-haired beauty said a shade too quietly, “What is your name, child?”

“Finnula,” Elide lied, naming her nursemaid.

“Here’s a bit of advice,” the second male drawled, sipping from his ale. “If you escaped Cairn, don’t go looking for him again.”

His commander shot him a look. “Cairn is blood-sworn to our queen.”

“Still makes him a prick,” the male said.

The female growled, viciously enough that the male wisely went to see about their drinks.

Elide made her shoulders curve inward. “You—you know him, then?”

“Cairn was supposed to meet you here?” the beauty asked instead.

Elide nodded.

The two females exchanged glances. The commander said, “We don’t know where he is.”

Lie. She saw the look between them, between sisters. The decision to not tell her, either to protect the helpless mortal girl they believed her to be, or out of some loyalty to him. Or perhaps to all Fae who decided to find beds in mortal realms and then ignore the consequences months later. Lorcan had been the result of such a union, and then discarded to the mercy of these streets.

The thought was enough to set her grinding her teeth, but Elide kept her jaw relaxed.

Don’t be angry, Finnula had taught her. Be smart.

She made note of that. Not to appear too pathetic at the next tavern. Or like a jilted lover who might be carrying his child.

For she’d have to go to another one. And if she got an answer the next time, she’d have to go to another after that to confirm it.

“Is—is the queen in residence?” Elide said, that beseeching, whining voice grating on her own ears. “He s-s-said he travels with her now, but if she is not here—”

“Her Majesty is not at home,” the commander said, sharply enough that Elide knew her patience was wearing thin. Elide didn’t allow her knees to buckle, didn’t allow her shoulders to sag with anything but what they took to be disappointment. “But where Cairn is, as I said, we do not know.”

Maeve was not here. They had that in their favor, at least. Whether it was luck or due to their own scheming, she didn’t care. But Cairn … She’d learn nothing more from these females. So Elide bowed her head. “Th-thank you.”

She backed away before the females could say more, and made a good show of waiting by the fountain for five minutes. Fifteen. The clock on the square struck the hour, and she knew they were still watching as she did her best attempt at a dejected walk to the other entrance to the square.

She kept it up for a few blocks, wandering with no direction, until she ducked into a narrow pass-through and heaved a breath.

Maeve was not in Doranelle. How long would that remain true?

She had to find Cairn—swiftly. Had to make her next performance count.

She’d need to be less pathetic, less needy, less weepy. Perhaps she’d added too much redness around her eyes.

Elide fished out the mirror. Swiping her pinky under one eye, she rubbed at some of the red stain. It didn’t budge. Moistening the tip of her pinky with her tongue, she ran her finger across her lower lid again. It lessened—slightly.

She was about to do it again when movement flashed in the mirror.

Elide whirled, but too late.

The dark-haired beauty from the tavern was standing behind her.



Lorcan had never felt the weight of the hours so heavily upon him.

While he scouted the southern border of that army, watching the soldiers on their rotations, noting the main arteries of the camp, he kept one eye upon the city.

His city—or it had been. He’d never imagined, even during the childhood he’d spent surviving in its shadows, that it would become an enemy stronghold. That Maeve, while she’d whipped and punished him for any defiance or for her own amusement, would become as great a foe as Erawan. And to send Elide into Maeve’s clutches—it had taken all of his will to let her walk away.