Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5) by Sarah J. Maas

Just the breeze through the stones, Lorcan grumbled that first day.

But she’d seen it in his eyes. He heard the dead, too.

Heard the thunder of the cataclysm that had dropped the land right from underneath them, heard the rushing water that devoured them all before they could run. Curious beasts from sea and swamp and river had converged in the years following, making the ruins a hunting ground, feasting on one another when the waterlogged corpses ran out. Changing, adapting—growing fatter and cleverer than their ancestors had been.

It was thanks to those beasts that it took so long to cross the marshes. Lorcan would scan the too-still water between those islands of safety. Sometimes it was clear to wade through the chest-deep, salty water. Sometimes it was not.

Sometimes even the islands were not safe. Twice now, she’d spotted a long, scaled tail—plated like armor—sliding behind a stone wall or broken pillar. Thrice, she’d seen great golden eyes, slitted down the pupil, watching from the reeds.

Lorcan had hauled her over a shoulder and run whenever they realized they were not alone.

Then there were the snakes—who liked to dangle from the wraithlike trees draining an existence from the islands. And the incessant, biting midges, who were nothing compared to the clouds of mosquitoes that sometimes hounded them for hours. Or until Lorcan sent a wave of his dark power into them and they all dropped to the earth in a dark rain.

But every time he killed … she felt the earth shudder. Not in fear of him … but as if it were awakening. Listening.

Wondering who dared walk across it.

On the fourth night, Elide was so tired, so on edge, she wanted to whimper as they curled into a rare sanctuary: a ruined hall, with part of its mezzanine intact. It was open to the sky, and vines choked the three walls, but the stone stair had been solid—and was high enough off the island that nothing might crawl out of the water to prey upon them. Lorcan had rigged the base and top of the stairs with trip wires of vines and branches—to alert them if any beasts slithered up the steps.

They didn’t dare risk a fire, but it was warm enough that she didn’t miss one. Lying beside Lorcan, his body a solid wall between her and the stone to her left, Elide watched the flickering stars, the drowsy buzz of insects a constant drone in her ears. Something roared in the distance.

The insects paused. The marsh seemed to turn its attention toward that feral, deep roar.

Slowly, life resumed again—though quieter. Lorcan murmured, “Sleep, Elide.”

She swallowed, her fear thick in her blood. “What was that?”

“One of the beasts—either a mating call or territorial warning.”

She didn’t want to know how big they were. Glimpses of eyes and tails were enough.

“Tell me about her,” Elide whispered. “Your queen.”

“I doubt it’ll help you sleep any better.”

She turned onto her other side, finding him lying on his back, watching the sky. “Will she truly kill you for what you’ve done?” A nod. “Yet you risk it—for her sake.” She propped her head up with a fist. “Do you love her?”

Those eyes, darker than the gaps between the stars, slid to her. “I have been in love with Maeve since I first laid eyes on her.”

“Are you—are you her lover?” She had not dared ask it, hadn’t really wanted to know.

“No. I offered once. She laughed at me for the insolence.” His mouth tightened. “So I have made myself invaluable in other ways.”

Again, that roar in the distance that silenced the world for a few heartbeats. Was it closer, or had she imagined it? When she glanced back at him, Lorcan’s eyes were on her mouth.

She said, “Perhaps she uses your love to her own advantage. Perhaps it’s in her best interest to drag you along. Maybe she’ll change her mind when you seem the most likely to … leave.”

“I am blood-sworn to her. I will never leave.”

Her chest hurt at that. “Then she can rest assured knowing you’ll pine after her for eternity.”

The words came out sharper than she intended, and she made to look at the stars, but Lorcan gripped her chin, faster than she could detect. He peered into her eyes, scanning them. “Do not make the mistake of believing me to be a romantic fool. I do not hold any shred of hope for her.”

“Then that does not seem like love at all.”

“And what do you know of love?” He was so close—had neared without her realizing it.

“I think love should make you happy,” Elide said, remembering her mother and father. How often they had smiled and laughed, how they had gazed at each other. “It should make you into the best possible version of yourself.”

“Are you implying I am neither of those things?”

“I don’t think you even know what happiness is.”

His face grew grave—thoughtful. “I do not mind … being around you.”

“Is that a compliment?”

A half smile cut across his granite-hewn face. And she wanted … wanted to touch it. That smile, that mouth. With her fingers, her own lips. It made him younger, made him … handsome.

So she reached up with trembling fingers and touched his lips.

Lorcan froze, still half above her, his eyes solemn and intent.

But she traced the contours of his mouth, finding the skin there soft and warm, such a contrast to the harsh words that usually came out of it.