Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass #6) by Sarah J. Maas

His chest began to heave in an uneven rhythm as he nodded.

Yrene whispered, “I think I can heal them. I think the Valg … I think they are parasites, and I can treat the people they infect.”

“Then everyone Erawan has captured, held with those rings and collars—”

“We could potentially free them.”

He squeezed her hand. “But you’d have to get close to them. And their power, Yrene—”

“I would assume that is where Aelin and Dorian would come in. To hold them down.”

“There’s no way to test this, though. Without considerable risk.” His jaw tightened. “It has to be why Erawan’s agent is hunting you. To erase the knowledge of that. To keep you from realizing it by healing me. And relaying it to other healers.”

“If that is the case, though … Why now? Why wait this long?”

“Perhaps Erawan did not even consider it. Until Aelin purged the Valg from Dorian and the king.” He rubbed at his chest. “But there is a ring. It belonged to Athril, friend to King Brannon and Maeve. It granted Athril immunity from the Valg. It was lost to history—the only one of its kind. Aelin found it. And Maeve wanted it badly enough that she traded Rowan for it. Legend said Mala herself forged it for Athril, but … Mala loved Brannon, not Athril.”

Chaol shot up from the couch, and Yrene watched him pace. “There was a tapestry. In Aelin’s old room. A tapestry that showed a stag, and hid the entrance that led down to the tomb where the Wyrdkey had been hidden by Brannon. It was Aelin’s first clue that set her down this path.”

“And?” The word was a push of air.

“And there was an owl on it amongst the forest animals. It was Athril’s form. Not Brannon’s. All of that was coded—the tapestry, the tomb. Symbols upon symbols. But the owl … We never thought. Never considered.”

“Considered what?”

Chaol halted in the middle of the room. “That the owl might not just be Athril’s animal form, but his sigil because of his loyalty to someone else.”

And despite the warm day, Yrene’s blood chilled as she said, “Silba.”

Chaol nodded slowly. “Goddess of Healing.”

Yrene whispered, “Mala did not make that ring of immunity.”

“No. She didn’t.”

Silba did.

“We need to go to Hafiza,” Yrene said softly. “Even if she won’t let us take the books, we should ask her to look at them—see for ourselves what might have survived all this time. What those Fae healers might have learned in that war.”

He motioned her to rise. “We’ll go now.”

But the suite doors opened, and Hasar breezed in, her gold-and-green dress flowing.

“Well,” she said, smirking at their lack of clothes, their disheveled hair. “At least you two are comfortable.”

Yrene had the sense the world was about to be knocked from beneath her as the princess smiled at Chaol. “We’ve had some news. From your lands.”

“What is it.” The words were ground out.

Hasar picked at her nails. “Oh, just that Queen Maeve’s armada managed to find the host Aelin Galathynius has been so sneakily patching together. There was quite the battle.”





59

Chaol debated strangling the smirking princess. But he managed to keep his hands at his sides, managed to keep his chin high despite the fact that he was only wearing his pants, and said, “What. Happened.”

A naval battle. Aelin against Maeve. He waited for the dangling sword to drop. If he had been too late—

Hasar looked up from her nails. “It was a spectacle, apparently. A Fae armada versus a cobbled-together human force—”

“Hasar, please,” Yrene murmured.

The princess sighed at the ceiling. “Fine. Maeve was trounced.”

Chaol sank onto the sofa.

Aelin—thank the gods Aelin had managed to find a way—

“Though there were some interesting details.” Then the princess rattled off the facts. The numbers. A third of Maeve’s armada, bearing Whitethorn flags, had turned on their own and joined Terrasen’s fleet. Dorian had fought—held the front lines with Rowan. Then a pack of wyverns had soared in from nowhere—to fight for Aelin.

Manon Blackbeak. Chaol would be willing to bet his life that somehow, either through Aelin or Dorian, that witch had done them a favor, and possibly altered the course of this war.

“The magic, they say, was impressive,” Hasar went on. “Ice and wind and water.” Dorian and Rowan. “Even rumor of a shape-shifter.” Lysandra. “But no darkness. Or whatever Maeve fights with. And no flame.”

Chaol braced his forearms on his knees.

“Though some reports claim they spotted flame and shadow on shore—far away. Flickers of both. There and gone. And no one spotted Aelin or the Dark Queen in the fleet.”

It would have been like Aelin, to shift the battle between her and Maeve to the shore. To minimize casualties, so she could unleash her full power without hesitation.

“As I said,” Hasar continued, fluffing the skirts of her dress, “They were victorious. Aelin was spotted returning to her armada hours later. They’ve set sail—north, apparently.”

He muttered a prayer of thanks to Mala. And a prayer of thanks to whatever god watched over Dorian, too. “Any major casualties?”