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

A paper-thin wall of flame kept that darkness from hitting home. A wall that wavered—

Help. They needed help—

Maeve lashed to the left, and Aelin threw up a hand, fire deflecting.

Aelin didn’t see the blow to the right. Elide screamed in warning, but too late.

A whip of black sliced into Aelin.

She went down.

And Elide thought the impact of Aelin Galathynius’s knees hitting the sand might have been the most horrible sound she’d ever heard.

Maeve did not waste her advantage.

Darkness poured down, pounding again and again. Aelin deflected, but it got past her.

There was nothing Elide could do as Aelin screamed.

As that dark, ancient power struck her like a hammer over an anvil.

Elide begged Manon, now mere feet away, “Do something.”

Manon ignored her, eyes fixed on the battle before them.

Aelin crawled backward, blood sliding from her right nostril. Dripping on her white shirt.

Maeve advanced, the darkness swirling around her like a fell wind.

Aelin tried to rise.

Tried, but her legs had given out. The Queen of Terrasen panted, fire flickering like dying embers around her.

Maeve pointed with a finger.

A black whip, faster than Aelin’s fire, lashed out. Wrapped around her throat. Aelin gripped it, thrashing, her teeth bared, flame flaring over and over.

“Why don’t you use the keys, Aelin?” Maeve purred. “Surely you’d win that way.”

Use them, Elide begged her. Use them.

But Aelin did not.

The coil of darkness tightened around Aelin’s throat.

Flames sparked and died out.

Then the darkness expanded, encompassing Aelin again and squeezing tight, squeezing until she was screaming, screaming in a way that Elide knew meant unfathomable agony—

A low, vicious snarl rippled from nearby, the only warning as a massive wolf leaped through the seagrasses and shifted. Fenrys.

A heartbeat later, a mountain lion charged over a dune, beheld the scene, and shifted as well. Gavriel.

“Let her go,” Fenrys growled at the dark queen, advancing a step. “Let her go now.”

Maeve turned her head, that darkness still lashing Aelin. “Look who finally arrived. Another set of traitors.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her flowing gown. “What a valiant effort you made, Fenrys, delaying your arrival on this beach for as long as you could withstand my summons.” She clicked her tongue. “Did you enjoy playing loyal subject while panting after the young Queen of Fire?”

As if in answer, the darkness squeezed in tight—and Aelin screamed again.

“Stop it,” Fenrys snapped.

“Maeve, please,” Gavriel said, exposing his palms to her.

“Maeve?” the queen crooned. “Not Majesty? Has the Lion gone a bit feral? Perhaps too much time with his unchecked, half-breed bastard?”

“Leave him out of this,” Gavriel said too softly.

But Maeve let the darkness around Aelin part.

She was curled on her side, bleeding from both nostrils now, more blood dribbling from her panting mouth.

Fenrys lunged for her. A wall of black slammed up between them.

“I don’t think so,” Maeve crooned.

Aelin gasped for air, eyes glassy with pain. Eyes that slid to Elide’s. Aelin’s bloody, chapped mouth formed the word again. Run.

She would not. Could not.

Aelin’s arms shook as she tried to raise herself. And Elide knew there was no magic left.

No fire left in the queen. Not one ember.

And the only way Aelin could face this, accept this, was to go down swinging. Like Marion had.

Aelin’s wet, rasping breaths were the only sound above the crashing waves behind them. Even the battle had gone quiet in the distance. Over—or perhaps they were all dead.

Manon still stood there. Still did not move. Elide begged her, “Please. Please.”

Maeve smiled at the witch. “I have no quarrel with you, Blackbeak. Stay out of this and you are free to go where you wish.”

“Please,” Elide pleaded.

Manon’s gold eyes were hard. Cold. She nodded to Maeve. “Agreed.”

Something in Elide’s chest cleaved open.

But Gavriel said from across their little circle, “Majesty—please. Leave Aelin Galathynius to her own war here. Let us return home.”

“Home?” Maeve asked. The black wall between Fenrys and Aelin lowered—but the warrior did not try to cross. He just stared at Aelin, stared at her in that way Elide herself must be looking. He didn’t break that stare until Maeve said to Gavriel, “Is Doranelle still your home?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Gavriel said calmly. “It is an honor to call it such.”

“Honor … ,” Maeve mused. “Yes, you and honor go hand in hand, don’t they? But what of the honor of your vow, Gavriel?”

“I have kept my vow to you.”

“Did I or did I not tell you to execute Lorcan on sight?”

“There were … circumstances that prevented it from happening. We tried.”

“Yet you failed. Am I not supposed to discipline my blood-bonded who fail me?”

Gavriel lowered his head. “Of course—we will accept it. And I will also take on the punishment you intended for Aelin Galathynius.”

Aelin lifted her head slightly, glazed eyes going wide. She tried to speak, but the words had been broken from her, her voice blown out from screaming. Elide knew the word the queen mouthed. No.