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

“It would take three weeks on foot if we were above,” Gavriel explained, his golden hair silvered by the lantern’s light. “Perhaps longer.”

Elide fiddled with the ring on her finger, twisting the band around and around. She’d rather travel for a month on foot than remain trapped in these dark, airless passages.

But they had no choice. Anneith had not whispered in warning—had not said anything at all before they’d climbed into this boat. Before Aelin had been given an ancient Faerie Queen’s crown, her birthright and heritage.

The queen had stashed Mab’s crown in one of their packs, as if it were no more than an extra sword belt. She hadn’t spoken, and they had not asked her any questions, either.

Instead, she’d spent these past few hours sitting in the back of the boat, studying her unmarked hands, occasionally peering into the black waters beneath them. What she expected to see beyond her own rippling reflection, Elide didn’t want to know. The fell and ancient creatures of these lands were too numerous to count, and most not friendly toward mortals.

Leaning against their pile of packs, Elide glanced to her left. Lorcan had positioned himself there, along the edge of the boat. Closer to her than he’d sat in weeks.

Sensing her attention, his dark eyes slid to her.

For long heartbeats, she let herself look at him.

He’d crawled after Maeve on the beach to save Aelin. And he had found her during her escape—had ensured Aelin made it out. Did it wipe away what he’d done in summoning Maeve in the first place? Even if Maeve had set the trap, even if he hadn’t known what Maeve intended for Aelin, did it erase his decision to call for her?

The last time they’d spoken as friends, it had been aboard that ship in the hours before Maeve’s armada had arrived. He’d told her they needed to talk, and she’d assumed it was about their future, about them.

But perhaps he’d been about to tell her what he’d done, that he’d been wrong in acting before Aelin’s plans played out. Elide stopped twisting the ring.

He’d done it for her. She knew it. He’d summoned Maeve’s armada because he’d believed they were about to be destroyed by Melisande’s fleet. He’d done it for her, just as he’d dropped the shield around them that day Fenrys had ripped a chunk out of her arm, in exchange for Gavriel’s healing her.

But the queen sitting silently behind them, no trace of that sharp-edged fire to be seen, nor that wicked grin she’d flashed at all who crossed her path … Two months with a sadist. With two sadists. That had been the cost, and the burden that Aelin and all of them would bear.

That silence, that banked fire was because of him. Not entirely, but in some ways.

Lorcan’s mouth tightened, as if he read the thoughts on her face.

Elide looked ahead again, to where the cavern ceiling dipped so low she could have touched it if she stood. The space squeezed tighter and tighter—

“It’s likely a pass-through to a larger cavern,” Lorcan murmured, as if he could see that fear on her face, too. Or scent it.

Elide didn’t bother responding. But she couldn’t help the flicker of gratitude.

They continued on into the ancient, silent darkness, and no one spoke for a while after that.



The collar had not been real.

But the army Maeve had summoned was.

And Dorian, Manon with him, was in pursuit of the final Wyrdkey. Should he attain it from Erawan himself, wherever the Valg king stored it, should he gain possession of all three …

The lapping of the river against their boat was the only sound, had been the only sound for a while.

Gavriel kept his watch at the prow, Lorcan monitoring from the starboard side, his jaw tight. Fenrys and Elide dozed, the lady’s head leaning against his flank, inky black hair spilling over a coat of whitest snow.

Aelin glanced to Rowan, seated beside her, but not touching. Her fingers curled in her lap. A blink into the gloom was the only indication that he was aware of her every movement.

Aelin breathed in his scent, let its strength settle into her a bit deeper.

Dorian and Manon might be anywhere. To hunt for the witch and king would be a fool’s errand. Their paths would meet again, or they would not. And if he found the final key and then brought it to her, she would pay what the gods demanded. What she owed Terrasen, the world.

Yet if Dorian chose to end it himself, to forge the Lock … her stomach churned. He had the power. As much as she did, if not more so.

It was meant to be her sacrifice. Her blood shed to save them all. To let him claim it …

She could. She must. With Erawan no doubt unleashing himself on Terrasen, with Maeve’s army likely to cause them untold grief, she could let Dorian do this. She trusted him.

Even if she might never forgive herself for it.

Her debt, it was supposed to have been her debt to pay. Perhaps the punishment for failing to do so would be having to live with herself. Having to live with all that had been done to her these months, too.

The blackness of the subterranean river pressed in, wrapped its arms around her and squeezed.

Different from the blackness of the iron box. The darkness she’d found inside herself.

A place she might never escape, not really.

Her power stirred, awakening. Aelin swallowed, refusing to acknowledge it. Heed it.

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet. Until she was ready.