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

All of it for Terrasen, she had said that day she’d revealed she’d schemed her way into getting Arobynn’s fortune. And Rowan knew that every step she had taken, every plan and calculation, every secret and desperate gamble …

For Terrasen. For them. For a better world.

Aelin Galathynius had raised an army not just to challenge Morath … but to rattle the stars.

She’d known that she would not get to lead it. But she would still hold true to her promise to Darrow: I promise you on my blood, on my family’s name, that I will not turn my back on Terrasen as you have turned your back on me.

And the last piece of it … if Chaol Westfall and Nesryn Faliq could rally forces from the southern continent …

Aedion at last looked up at him, eyes wide as he came to the same realization.

A chance. His wife, his mate, had bought them a fool’s shot at this war.

And she did not believe that they would come for her.

“Galan?”

Rowan went still as death at the voice that floated over the dunes. At the golden-haired woman who wore the skin of his beloved.

Aedion shot to his feet, about to snarl, when Rowan gripped his arm.

When Lysandra, as Aelin, as she had promised, swept for them, grinning wide.

That smile … It punched a hole through his heart. Lysandra had taught herself Aelin’s smile, that bit of wickedness and delight, honed with that razor edge of cruelty.

Lysandra’s acting, honed in the same hellhole Aelin had learned hers, was flawless as she spoke to Galan. As she spoke to Ilias, embracing him like a long-lost friend, and a relieved ally.

Aedion was trembling beside him. But the world could not know.

Their allies, their enemies, could not know that the immortal fire of Mala had been stolen. Leashed.

Galan said to the one whom he believed to be his cousin, “Where now?”

Lysandra looked to him, then to Aedion, not a sign of regret or guilt or doubt on her face. “We go north. To Terrasen.”

Rowan’s stomach turned leaden. But Lysandra caught his eye, and said steadily and casually, “Prince—I need you to retrieve something for me before you join us in the North.”

Find her, find her, find her, the shifter seemed to beg.

Rowan nodded, at a loss for words. Lysandra took his hand, squeezed it once in thanks, a polite, public farewell between a queen and her consort, and stepped away.

“Come,” Lysandra said to Galan and Ilias, motioning them toward where a white-faced Ansel and frowning Enda waited. “We have matters to discuss before we head out.”

Then their little company was alone once more.

Aedion’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as he gazed after the shape-shifter wearing Aelin’s skin, leading their allies down the beach. To give them privacy.

An army to take on Morath. To give them a fighting chance …

Sand whispered behind him as Lorcan stepped up to his side. “I will go with you. I will help you get her back.”

Gavriel rasped, “We’ll find her.” Aedion at last looked away from Lysandra at that. But he said nothing to his father—had said nothing to him at all since they’d landed on the beach.

Elide took a limping step closer, her voice as raw as Gavriel’s. “Together. We’ll go together.”

Lorcan gave the Lady of Perranth an assessing look that she made a point to ignore. His eyes flickered as he said to Rowan, “Fenrys is with her. He’ll know we’re coming for her—try to leave tracks if he can.”

If Maeve didn’t have him on lockdown. But Fenrys had battled the blood oath every day since swearing it. And if he was all that now stood between Cairn and Aelin … Rowan didn’t let himself think about Cairn. About what Maeve had already had him do, or would do to her before the end. No—Fenrys would fight it. And Aelin would fight it.

Aelin would never stop fighting.

Rowan faced Aedion, and the warrior-prince again peeled his attention away from Lysandra long enough to meet his eyes. Aedion understood the look, and put a hand on the Sword of Orynth’s hilt. “I’ll go north. With—her. To oversee the armies, make sure it’s all in place.”

Rowan clasped Aedion’s forearm. “The lines have to hold. Buy us whatever time you can, brother.”

Aedion gripped his forearm in return, eyes burning bright. Rowan knew how much it killed him. But if the world believed Aelin was returning north, then one of her generals had to be at her side to lead her armies. And since Aedion commanded the loyalty of the Bane … “Bring her back, Prince,” Aedion said, voice cracking. “Bring her home.”

Rowan held his brother’s stare and nodded. “We will see you again. All of you.”

He did not waste words persuading the warrior-prince to forgive the shifter. He wasn’t entirely sure what to even make of Aelin and Lysandra’s plan. What his role would have been in it.

Dorian stepped forward, but glanced to Manon, who was staring toward the sea as if she could see wherever Maeve had spirited away her ship. Using that cloaking power she’d wielded to hide Fenrys and Gavriel in Skull’s Bay—hide her armada from the eyes of Eyllwe. “The witches fly north,” Dorian said. “And I will go with them. To see if I can do what needs to be done.”

“Stay with us,” Rowan offered. “We’ll find a way to deal with the keys and the Lock and the gods—all of it.”