Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass #3) by Sarah J. Maas

The pirates had scattered, actually. The Pirate Lord Rolfe had taken half of them south; some had gone east; and some had made the fatal mistake of sailing to Terrasen’s north coast.

Murtaugh sagged against the buffet table. “Captain?”

“I’m afraid I know even less than Aedion,” Chaol said.

Murtaugh rubbed his eyes, and Ren pulled out a chair at the table for his grandfather. The old man slid into it with a small groan. It was a miracle the bag of bones was still breathing. Aedion shoved down a flicker of regret. He’d been raised better than that—he knew better than to act like an arrogant, hotheaded prick. Rhoe would have been ashamed of him for speaking to an elder in that manner. But Rhoe was dead—all the warriors he’d loved and worshipped were ten years dead, and the world was worse for it. Aedion was worse for it.

Murtaugh sighed. “I fled here as quickly as I could. I have not rested for more than a few hours this past week. Narrok’s fleet is gone. Captain Rolfe is again Pirate Lord of Skull’s Bay, though not more than that. His men do not venture into the eastern Dead Islands.”

Despite the hint of shame, Aedion ground his teeth when Murtaugh didn’t immediately get to the point. “Why?” he demanded.

The lines of Murtaugh’s face deepened in the light of the fire. “Because the men who go into the eastern islands do not come back. And on windy nights, even Rolfe swears he can hear… roaring, roaring from the islands; human, but not quite.

“The crew that hid in the islands during Narrok’s occupation claim it’s quieted down, as if he took the source of the sound with him. And Rolfe…” Murtaugh rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He told me that on the night they sailed back into the islands, they saw something standing on an outcropping of rocks, just on the border of the eastern islands. Looked like a pale man, but… not. Rolfe might be in love with himself, but he’s not a liar. He said whatever—whoever—it was felt wrong. Like there was a hole of silence around it, at odds with the roaring they usually hear. And that it just watched them sail past. The next day, when they returned to the same spot, it was gone.”

“There have always been legends of strange creatures in the seas,” the captain said.

“Rolfe and his men swore that this was nothing from legend. It was made, they said.”

“How did they know?” Aedion asked, eyeing the captain, whose face was still bone-white.

“It bore a black collar—like a pet. It took a step toward them, as if to go into the sea and hunt them down, but it was yanked back by some invisible hand—some hidden leash.”

Ren raised his scarred brow. “The Pirate Lord thinks there are monsters in the Dead Islands?”

“He thinks, and I also believe, that they were being made there. And Narrok took some of them with him.”

It was Chaol who asked, “Where did Narrok go?”

“To Wendlyn,” Murtaugh said. Aedion’s heart, damn him, stopped. “Narrok took the fleet to Wendlyn—to launch a surprise attack.”

“That’s impossible,” the captain said, shooting to his feet. “Why? Why now?”

“Because someone,” the old man said, sharper than Aedion had ever heard him, “convinced the king to send his Champion there to kill the royal family. What better time to try out these alleged monsters than when the country is in chaos?”

Chaol gripped the back of a chair. “She’s not actually going to kill them—she would never. It—it was all a ruse,” he said. Aedion supposed that was all he would tell the Allsbrook men, and all they really needed to know right now. He ignored the wary glance Ren tossed him, no doubt to see how he would react to news of his Ashryver kin having targets on their backs. But they’d been dead to him for ten years already, from the moment they refused to send aid to Terrasen. Gods help them if he ever set foot in their kingdom. He wondered what Aelin thought of them—if she thought Wendlyn might be convinced of an alliance now, especially with Adarlan launching a larger-scale assault on their borders. Perhaps she would be content to let them all burn, as the people of Terrasen had burned. He wouldn’t mind either way.

“It doesn’t matter if they are assassinated or not,” Murtaugh said. “When these things arrive, I think the world will soon learn what our queen is up against.”

“Can we send a warning?” Ren demanded. “Can Rolfe get word to Wendlyn?”

“Rolfe will not get involved. I offered him promises of gold, of land when our queen returns… nothing can sway him. He has his territory back, and he will not risk his men again.”

“Then there has to be some blockade runner, some message we can smuggle,” Ren went on. Aedion debated informing Ren that Wendlyn hadn’t bothered to help Terrasen, but decided he didn’t particularly feel like getting into an ethical debate.

“I have sent a few that way,” Murtaugh said, “but I do not have much faith in them. And by the time they arrive, it may be too late.”

“So what do we do?” Ren pushed.

Murtaugh sipped his brandy. “We keep looking for ways to help here. Because I do not believe for one moment that His Majesty’s newest surprises were located only in the Dead Islands.”

That was an interesting point. Aedion took a sip from the brandy, but set it down. Alcohol wouldn’t help him sort through the jumble of forming plans. So Aedion half listened to the others as he slipped into the steady rhythm, the beat to which he calculated all his battles and campaigns.