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

That was miles away. How the hell had they gotten there?

“How do you know?” Lysandra demanded, tying back her hair with bloody fingers.

“Because I can feel something out there,” Dorian said. “Flame and shadow and death. Like Lorcan and Aelin and someone else. Someone ancient. Powerful.” Rowan braced himself for it, but he still wasn’t ready for the pure terror when Dorian added, “And female.”

Maeve had found them.

The battle had not been for any sort of victory or conquest.

But a distraction. While Maeve slipped away to get the real prize.

They’d never arrive fast enough. If he flew on his own, his magic already drained to the breaking point, he would be of little help. They stood a better chance, Aelin stood a better chance, if they were all there.

Rowan whirled to the horizon behind them—to the wyverns destroying the remnants of the fleet. Rowing would take too long; his magic was gutted. But a wyvern … That might do.





71


The Queen of the Fae was exactly as Aelin remembered. Swirling dark robes, a beautiful pale face beneath onyx hair, red lips set in a faint smile … No crown adorned her head, for all who breathed, even the dead who slumbered, would know her for what she was.

Dreams and nightmares given form; the dark face of the moon.

And kneeling before Maeve, a stone-faced sentry holding a blade to her bare throat, Elide trembled. Her guards, all men in Ansel’s armor, had likely been killed before they could shout a warning. From the weapons that were only half out of their sheaths, they hadn’t even had the chance to fight.

Manon had gone still as death at the sight of Elide, her iron nails sliding free.

Aelin forced a half smile to her mouth, shoved her raw, bleeding heart into a box deep inside her chest. “Not as impressive as Doranelle, if you ask me, but at least a swamp really reflects your true nature, you know? It’ll be a wonderful new home for you. Definitely worth the cost of coming all this way to conquer it.”

At the edge of the hill that flowed down to the beach a small party of Fae warriors monitored them. Male and female, all armed, all strangers. A massive, elegant ship idled in the calm bay beyond.

Maeve smiled slightly. “What a joy, to learn that your usual good spirits remain undimmed in such dark days.”

“How could they not, when so many of your pretty males are in my company?”

Maeve cocked her head, her heavy curtain of dark hair sliding off a shoulder. And as if in answer, Lorcan appeared at the edge of the dunes, panting, wild-eyed, sword out. His focus—and horror, Aelin realized—on Elide. On the sentry holding the blade against her white neck. Maeve gave a little smile to the warrior, but looked to Manon.

With her attention elsewhere, Lorcan took up a place at Aelin’s side—as if they were somehow allies in this, would fight back-to-back. Aelin didn’t bother to say anything to him. Not as Maeve said to the witch, “I know your face.”

That face remained cold and impassive. “Let the girl go.”

A small, breathy laugh. “Ah.” Aelin’s stomach clenched as that ancient focus shifted to Elide. “Claimed by queen, and witch, and … my Second, it seems.”

Aelin tensed. She didn’t think Lorcan was breathing beside her.

Maeve toyed with a strand of Elide’s limp hair. The Lady of Perranth shook. “The girl who Lorcan Salvaterre summoned me to save.”

That ripple of Lorcan’s power the day Ansel’s fleet had closed in … She’d known it was a summoning. The same way she’d summoned the Valg to Skull’s Bay. She’d refused to immediately explain Ansel’s presence, wanting to enjoy the surprise of it, and he had summoned Maeve’s armada to take on what he’d believed to be an enemy fleet. To save Elide.

Lorcan just said, “I’m sorry.”

Aelin didn’t know if it was to her or Elide, whose eyes now widened with outrage. But Aelin said, “You think I didn’t know? That I didn’t take precautions?”

Lorcan’s brows furrowed. Aelin shrugged.

But Maeve went on, “Lady Elide Lochan, daughter of Cal and Marion Lochan. No wonder the witch itches to retrieve you, if her bloodline runs in your veins.”

Manon snarled a warning.

Aelin drawled to the Fae Queen, “Well, you didn’t drag your ancient carcass all the way here for nothing. So let’s get on with it. What do you want for the girl?”

That adder’s smile curled Maeve’s lips again.





Elide was trembling; every bone, every pore was trembling in terror at the immortal queen standing above her, at the guard’s blade at her throat. The rest of the queen’s escort remained distant—but it was to the escort that Lorcan kept glancing, his face tight, his own body near-shaking with restrained wrath.

This was the queen to whom he’d given his heart? This cold creature who looked at the world with mirthless eyes? Who had killed those soldiers without a blink of hesitation?

The queen whom Lorcan had summoned for her. He’d brought Maeve to save her—

Elide’s breath turned sharp in her throat. He’d betrayed them. Betrayed Aelin for her—

“What should I demand as payment for the girl?” Maeve mused, taking a few steps toward them, graceful as a moonbeam. “Why doesn’t my Second tell me? So busy, Lorcan. You’ve been so, so busy these months.”