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

You left me, she had said to him. That was when he’d snapped—the wounds of centuries ago rising up to swallow him as viciously as her own past consumed her.

“I was gone for months, winning all that glory I so foolishly sought. And then we got word that our enemies had been secretly trying to gain entrance to Doranelle through the mountain passes.” Her stomach dropped to her feet. Rowan ran a hand through his hair, scratched at his face. “I flew home. As fast as I’d ever flown. When I got there, I found that… found she had been with child. And they had slaughtered her anyway, and burnt our house to cinders.

“When you lose a mate, you don’t…” A shake of the head. “I lost all sense of self, of time and place. I hunted them down, all the males who hurt her. I took a long while killing them. She was pregnant—had been pregnant since I’d left her. But I’d been so enamored with my own foolish agenda that I hadn’t scented it on her. I left my pregnant mate alone.”

Her voice broke, but she managed to say, “What did you do after you killed them?”

His face was stark and his eyes focused on some far-off sight. “For ten years, I did nothing. I vanished. I went mad. Beyond mad. I felt nothing at all. I just… left. I wandered the world, in and out of my forms, hardly marking the seasons, eating only when my hawk told me it needed to feed or it would die. I would have let myself die—except I… couldn’t bring myself…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “I might have stayed that way forever, but Maeve tracked me down. She said it was enough time spent in mourning, and that I was to serve her as prince and commander—to work with a handful of other warriors to protect the realm. It was the first time I had spoken to anyone since that day I found Lyria. The first time I’d heard my name—or remembered it.”

“So you went with her?”

“I had nothing. No one. At that point, I hoped serving her might get me killed, and then I could see Lyria again. So when I returned to Doranelle, I wrote the story of my shame on my flesh. And then I bound myself to Maeve with the blood oath, and have served her since.”

“How—how did you come back from that kind of loss?”

“I didn’t. For a long while I couldn’t. I think I’m still… not back. I might never be.”

She nodded, lips pressed tight, and glanced toward the window.

“But maybe,” he said, quietly enough that she looked at him again. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were inquisitive. “Maybe we could find the way back together.”

He would not apologize for today, or yesterday, or for any of it. And she would not ask him to, not now that she understood that in the weeks she had been looking at him it had been like gazing at a reflection. No wonder she had loathed him.

“I think,” she said, barely more than a whisper, “I would like that very much.”

He held out a hand. “Together, then.”

She studied the scarred, callused palm, then the tattooed face, full of a grim sort of hope. Someone who might—who did understand what it was like to be crippled at your very core, someone who was still climbing inch by inch out of that abyss.

Perhaps they would never get out of it, perhaps they would never be whole again, but… “Together,” she said, and took his outstretched hand.

And somewhere far and deep inside her, an ember began to glow.





Part Two


Heir of Fire





Chapter 36


“Things are ready for your meeting tonight with Captain Westfall?” Aedion could have sworn Ren Allsbrook bristled as he bit out the name.

Seated beside the young lord on the ledge of the roof of the warehouse apartment, Aedion considered Ren’s tone, decided it wasn’t enough of a challenge to warrant a verbal slap, and gave a nod as he went back to cleaning his nails with one of his fighting knives.

Ren had been recovering for days now, after the captain had set him up in the guest room of the apartment. The old man had refused to take the main bedroom, saying he’d prefer the couch, but Aedion wondered what exactly Murtaugh had observed when they arrived in the apartment. If he suspected who the owner was—Celaena or Aelin or both—he revealed nothing.

Aedion hadn’t seen Ren since the opium den, and didn’t really know why he’d bothered to come tonight. He said, “You’ve managed to build yourself a network of lowlifes here. That’s a far cry from the lofty towers of Allsbrook Castle.”

Ren’s jaw tightened. “You’re a far cry from the white towers of Orynth, too. We all are.” A breeze ruffled Ren’s shaggy hair. “Thank you. For—helping that night.”

“It was nothing,” Aedion said coolly, giving him a lazy smile.

“You killed for me, then hid me. That isn’t nothing. I owe you.”

Aedion was plenty used to accepting gratitude from other men, from his men, but this… “You should have told me,” he said, dropping the grin as he watched the golden lights twinkling across the city, “that you and your grandfather had no home.” Or money. No wonder Ren’s clothes were so shabby. The shame Aedion had felt that night had almost overwhelmed him—and had haunted him for the past few days, honing his temper to a near-lethal edge. He’d tried working it off with the castle guards, but sparring with the men who protected the king had only sharpened it.