Queen of Shadows (Throne of Glass #4) by Sarah J. Maas

Aedion had no interest in yielding the honor, even to the legendary warrior-prince.

“Anyway,” Aelin said sharply as they rounded the corner of the roof again, “we’re not going to Terrasen—not yet. Not until you’re well enough to travel hard and fast. Right now, we need to get the Amulet of Orynth from Arobynn.”

Aedion was half tempted to hunt down her former master and rip him to shreds as he interrogated him about where the amulet was kept, but he could play along with her plan.

He was still weak enough that until now, he’d barely been able to stand long enough to piss. Having Aelin help him the first time had been awkward enough that he couldn’t even go until she started singing a bawdy tune at the top of her lungs and turned on the sink faucet, all the while helping him stand over the toilet.

“Give me another day or two, and I’ll help you hunt down one of those demon pricks for him.” Rage slammed into him, as hard as any physical blow. The King of the Assassins had demanded she put herself in such danger—as if her life, as if the fate of their kingdom, were a gods-damned game to him.

But Aelin … Aelin had struck that bargain. For him.

Again, breathing became hard. How many scars would she add to that lithe, powerful body because of him?

Then Aelin said, “You’re not going to hunt the Valg with me.”

Aedion stumbled a step. “Oh, yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “One, you’re too recognizable—”

“Don’t even start.”

She observed him for a long moment, as if assessing his every weakness and strength. At last she said, “Very well.”

He almost sagged in relief. “But after all that—the Valg, the amulet,” Aedion pushed, “will we free magic?” A nod. “I assume you have a plan.” Another nod. He gritted his teeth. “Do you care to share it?”

“Soon,” she said sweetly.

Gods help him. “And after completing your mysterious, wonderful plan, we’ll go to Terrasen.” He didn’t want to ask about Dorian. He’d seen the anguish on her face that day in the garden.

But if she couldn’t put the princeling down, he’d do it. He wouldn’t enjoy it, and the captain might very well kill him in return, but to keep Terrasen safe, he’d cut off Dorian’s head.

Aelin nodded. “Yes, we’ll go, but—you have only one legion.”

“There are men who would fight, and other territories that might come if you call.”

“We can discuss this later.”

He leashed his temper. “We need to be in Terrasen before the summer is out—before the snow starts falling in autumn, or else we wait until spring.” She nodded distantly. Yesterday afternoon, she’d dispatched the letters Aedion had asked her to write to Ren, the Bane, and the remaining loyal lords of Terrasen, letting them know they’d been reunited, and that anyone with magic in their veins was to lie low. He knew the remaining lords—the old, cunning bastards—wouldn’t appreciate orders like that, even from their queen. But he had to try.

“And,” he added, because she really was going to shut him down about this, “we’ll need money for that army.”

She said quietly, “I know.”

Not an answer. Aedion tried again. “Even if men agree to fight on their honor alone, we stand a better chance of having greater numbers if we can pay them. Not to mention feeding our forces, and arming and supplying them.” For years now, he and the Bane had traversed from tavern to tavern, quietly raising funds for their own efforts. It still killed him to see the poorest of his people plunk hard-earned coins into the pans they’d passed around, to see the hope in their gaunt, scarred faces. “The King of Adarlan emptied our royal coffers; it was one of the first things he did. The only money we have comes from whatever our people can donate—which isn’t much—or whatever is granted by Adarlan.”

“Another way of keeping control all these years,” she murmured.

“Our people are beggared. They don’t have two coppers to rub together these days, let alone to pay taxes.”

“I wouldn’t raise taxes to pay for a war,” she said sharply. “And I’d rather not whore ourselves to foreign nations for loans, either. Not yet, anyway.” Aedion’s throat tightened at the bitterness coating her tone as they both considered the other way money and men could be obtained. But he couldn’t bring himself to mention selling her hand in marriage to a wealthy foreign kingdom—not yet.

So he just said, “It’s something to start contemplating. If magic is indeed freed, we could recruit the wielders to our side—offer them training, money, shelter. Imagine a soldier who can kill with blade and magic. It could turn the tide of a battle.”

Shadows flickered in her eyes. “Indeed.”

He weighed her posture, the clarity of her gaze, her tired face. Too much—she’d already faced and survived too much.

He’d seen the scars—the tattoos that covered them—peeking over the collar of her shirt every now and then. He hadn’t yet dared to ask to see them. The bandaged bite on her arm was nothing compared to that pain, and the many others she hadn’t mentioned, the scars all over her. The scars all over both of them.

“And then,” he said, clearing his throat, “there’s the blood oath.” He’d had endless hours in bed to compile this list. She stiffened enough that Aedion quickly added, “You don’t have to—not yet. But when you’re ready, I’m ready.”