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

Because if Maeve somehow can claim ownership over Aedion’s life thanks to his bloodline, I can’t do a damn thing to help him.

Aelin shrugged. “Because you sidetracked me.” She gave him a little smile that she knew drove Rowan and Aedion insane, and—yes. It seemed it was a surefire way to piss off any Fae male, because ire flashed across Fenrys’s stupidly perfect face.

She picked at her nails. “I know you two are old and up past your bedtime, so I’ll keep this quick: Maeve’s armada sails for Eyllwe. We are now allies. But my path might take me into direct conflict with that fleet, maybe with her, whether I desire it or not.” Rowan had tensed slightly, and she wished it wouldn’t look weak to glance at him, try to read whatever had sparked the reaction.

Fenrys looked to Rowan—as if it were habit. “I think the bigger concern is whether Maeve sails to join Erawan. She could go either way.”

“Our—her network of information is too vast,” Rowan countered. “There’s not a chance she doesn’t already know the empire’s fleet is camped out in the Gulf of Oro.”

Aelin wondered how often her Fae Prince had to silently correct himself about what terms to use. Our, her … Wondered if he ever missed the two males frowning at them.

“Maeve could be going to intercept it,” Gavriel mused. “Vanquish Morath’s fleet as proof of her intentions to assist you, then … play it into whatever agenda she has beyond that.”

Aelin clicked her tongue. “Even with Fae soldiers on those ships, she couldn’t be stupid enough to risk such catastrophic losses just to get into my good graces again.” No matter that Aelin knew she’d accept any offer of aid from Maeve, risk or no.

Fenrys’s edged smile flashed. “Oh, the losses of Fae lives would be of little concern to her. It likely just increases her excitement about it.”

“Careful,” Gavriel said. Gods, he nearly sounded identical to Aedion with that tone.

Aelin went on, “Regardless. You two know what we face with Erawan; you know what Maeve wanted from me in Doranelle. What Lorcan left to do.” Their faces had resumed their warrior-calm and didn’t so much as flicker as she asked, “Did Maeve give you an order to take those keys from Lorcan as well? And the ring? Or is it just his life you’ll be claiming?”

“If we say she gave us the order to take everything,” Fenrys drawled, bracing his hands behind him on the bed, “will you kill us, Heir of Fire?”

“It’ll depend on how useful you prove to be as an ally,” Aelin simply said.

The weight hanging between her breasts beneath her shirt rumbled as if in answer.

“Rolfe has weapons,” Gavriel said quietly. “Or will be receiving them.”

Aelin lifted a brow. “And will hearing about it cost me?”

Gavriel wasn’t stupid enough to ask for Aedion. The warrior just said, “They’re called firelances. Alchemists in the southern continent developed them for their own territory wars. More than that, we don’t know, but the device can be wielded by one man—to devastating effect.”

And with magic-users still so new to their returned gifts, or mostly dead thanks to Adarlan…

She would not be alone. Not the only fire-wielder on that battlefield.

But only if Rolfe’s armada became hers. If he did what she was carefully, so carefully, guiding him to do. Reaching out to the southern continent could take months she didn’t have. But if Rolfe had already ordered a supply … Aelin nodded at Rowan once more, and they pushed off the wall.

“That’s it?” Fenrys demanded. “Do we get to know what you plan to do with this information, or are we just your lackeys, too?”

“You don’t trust me; I don’t trust you,” Aelin said. “It’s easier that way.” She nudged open the window with her elbow. “But thank you for the information.”

Fenrys’s brows rose high enough that she wondered if Maeve had uttered those words in his hearing. And she honestly wished she’d melted her aunt that day in Doranelle.

She and Rowan leaped and climbed the rooftops of Skull’s Bay, the ancient shingles still slick from the day’s rain.

When the Ocean Rose glittered like a pale jewel a block ahead, Aelin paused in the shadows beside a chimney and murmured, “There is no room for error.”

Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know. We’ll make it count.”

Her eyes burned. “We’re playing a game against two monarchs who have ruled and schemed longer than most kingdoms have existed.” And even for her, the odds of outsmarting and outmaneuvering them … “Seeing the cadre, how Maeve contains them … She came so close to separating us this spring. So close.”

Rowan traced his thumb over her mouth. “Even if Maeve had kept me enslaved, I would have fought her. Every day, every hour, every breath.” He kissed her softly and said onto her lips, “I would have fought for the rest of my life to find a way to return to you again. I knew it the moment you emerged from the Valg’s darkness and smiled at me through your flames.”

She swallowed the tightness in her throat and raised a brow. “You were willing to do that before all this? So few benefits back then.”

Amusement and something deeper danced in his eyes. “What I felt for you in Doranelle and what I feel for you now are the same. I just didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to act on it.”