Kingdom of Ash Throne of Glass #7

Shining brighter than the snow outside, Aelin lifted her chin and began her final walk home.

Up the siege ladder still anchored beside the western gate. Onto the walls. Each step heavier than the last. Each step a memory of his friend, an image of the kingdoms they had seen, the enemies they had fought, the quiet moments that no song would ever mention.

"Queen of Witches," Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.

As one people.

“And tomorrow?” she asked breathlessly, and they both paused to look at each other. To smile. “Will you work to rebuild this kingdom, this world, with me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, and every day after that.” For every day of the thousand blessed years they were granted together. And beyond.

Aelin kissed him again and took his hand, guiding him into the castle. Into their home. “To whatever end?” she breathed.

Rowan followed her, as he had his entire life, long before they had ever met, before their souls had sparked into existence. “To whatever end, Fireheart.”

“Thank Anneith for that. Or Silba, I suppose.”

“They’re both gone. Thank yourself.”

Elide waved him off, but Lorcan kissed her.

When he pulled away, Elide breathed, “What was that for?”

“Ask me to stay,” was all he said.

Her heart began racing. “Stay,” she whispered.

Light, such beautiful light filled his dark eyes. “Ask me to come to Perranth with you.”

Her voice broke, but she managed to say, “Come to Perranth with me.”

Lorcan nodded, as if in answer, and his smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. “Ask me to marry you.”

Elide began crying, even as she laughed. “Will you marry me, Lorcan Salvaterre?”

He swept her up into his arms, raining kisses over her face. As if some final, chained part of him had been freed. “I’ll think about it.”

“I suppose I’ll be more entertained when I wipe you from the face of the earth.” She sighed skyward. “Gods above, what a sight that will be.”

Maeve extended a hand before her, darkness swirling in her cupped palm. “There are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.”

Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.”

She unleashed herself upon them.

She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing at those very stars. Fae.

They were Fae, but this was not her world.

She flung out a hand, as if she might signal them, as if they might somehow help her when she was nothing but an invisible speck of power—

The winged male, beautiful beyond reason, snapped his head toward her as she arced across his starry sky.

He lifted a hand, as if in greeting.

A blast of dark power, like a gentle summer night, slammed into her.

Not to attack—but to slow her down.

A wall, a shield, that she tore and plunged through.

But it slowed her. That winged male’s power slowed her, just enough.

Aelin vanished from his world without a whisper.

And there it was.

There it was, the pine and the snow, the snaking spine of the mountains up her continent, the tangle of Oakwald to the right, the Wastes to the left. A land of many peoples, many beings.

Lorcan gritted his teeth around the sharp stab in his back, his stomach. He managed to get onto his elbows, and deemed that progress enough. “It’s been a while since I was so gravely injured. I’d forgotten what an inconvenience it is.”

A faint smile tugged on her mouth.

His heart halted. The first smile she had given him in months and months. Since that day on the ship, when he’d touched her hand as they’d swayed in their hammocks.

Her smile faded, but the color on her cheeks lingered. “Did you mean it? What you said.”

He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he’d ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. “Yes.”

Her mouth tightened, but not in displeasure.

So Lorcan said softly, “I meant every word.” His heart thundered, so wildly it was a wonder she couldn’t hear it. “And I will until the day I fade into the Afterworld.”

Lorcan didn’t breathe as Elide gently reached out her hand. And interlaced their fingers. “I love you,” she whispered.

He was glad he was lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. Even now, he was half inclined to bow before her, the true owner of his ancient, wicked heart.

“I have loved you,” she went on, “from the moment you came to fight for me against Vernon and the ilken.” The light in her eyes stole his breath. “And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered.”

Aelin let out a sob that cracked something in him. “I can’t feel me—myself anymore. It’s like she snuffed it out. Ripped me from it. She, and Cairn, and everything they did to me.” She gulped down air, and Rowan wrapped her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. “I am so tired,” she wept. “I am so, so tired, Rowan.”

“I know.” He stroked her hair. “I know.” It was all there really was to say.

Rowan held her until her weeping eased and she lay still, nestled against his chest.

Aelin’s throat bobbed as she whispered, “I’m so tired, Rowan.”

His heart strained again. “I know, Fireheart.”

“Terrasen is my home,” Aelin said. It was the only answer in her heart.

Darrow smiled-just a bit. "So it is." He bowed his head. Then his body. "Welcome," he said, then added as he rose, "Your Majesty."

But Aelin looked to Evangeline, the girl still beaming.

Win me back my kingdom, Evangeline.

Her order to the girl, all those months ago.

And before them all, sword raised to the sky as that horn blew one last time, the ruby in the blade's pommel smoldering like a small sun.. Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.