See you next book
Fight it, he willed her, sending the words down the bond—the mating
bond, which perhaps had settled into place that first moment they’d become
carranam, hidden beneath flame and ice and hope for a better future. Fight
her. I am coming for you. Even if it takes me a thousand years. I will find
you, I will find you, I will find you.
Only salt and wind and water answered him.
Rowan rose to his feet. And slowly turned to face them.
But their attention snagged on the ships now sailing out of the west—
from the battle site. His cousins’ ships, with what remained of the fleet
Ansel of Briarcliff had won for them, and Rolfe’s three ships.
But it was not those boats that made him pause.
It was the one that rounded the eastern tip of the land—a longboat. It
swept closer on a phantom wind, too fast to be natural.
Rowan braced himself. The boat’s shape didn’t belong to any of the
fleets assembled. But its style nagged at his memory.
From their own fleet, Ansel of Briarcliff and Enda were soaring over the
waves in a longboat, aiming for this beach.
But Rowan and the others watched in silence as the foreign boat crested
through the surf and slid onto the sand.
Watched the olive-skinned sailors haul it up the beach. A broadshouldered young man nimbly leaped out, his slightly curling dark hair
tossed in the sea breeze.
He did not emit a whiff of fear as he stalked for them—didn’t even go
for the comforting touch of the fine sword at his side.
“Where is Aelin Galathynius?” the stranger asked a bit breathlessly as
he scanned them.
And his accent …
“Who are you,” Rowan ground out.
But the young man was now close enough that Rowan could see the
color of his eyes. Turquoise—with a core of gold.
Aedion breathed as if in a trance, “Galan.”
They have Won
“We’re done being squashed by the House of Morgan and their goldsoaked nobles,” Brados says, “while we starve. We’re taking power for
ourselves.”
At my side, Malleus draws his sword. “Just try.”
Talan raises his hand. “Enough. Put your sword away. You look like an
idiot.”
Malleus flushes and sheathes his sword.
Talan meets Brados’s stare. “You’re right. This country shouldn’t be
ruled by the House of Morgan. In fact, the House of Morgan has never ruled
this kingdom.”
Brados stares at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Auberon lied. The throne was never his. Mordred is not his father. He
descends from Merlin.”
“Do we really need to worry about old history?” Aedan blusters.
“It’s true,” I say. “Mordred, son of Morgan, is still alive on Avalon. I am
his daughter. He told me this himself.”
“You’re lying,” Brados says coldly.
“Ask your advisor,” I say calmly. “She saw Mordred only yesterday.
They got along very well, actually.”
Brados turns to Nivene in shock. She purses her lips and gives him a
tiny nod.
“Well, then this makes it even clearer,” Brados says. “We’re not going
to let Mordred, whom none of us has seen in over a millennium, rule over
us. And we definitely won’t let a family of liars rule, either.”
“Neither will we,” Aedan says, his oily voice sharp and dangerous.
“Clearly, the strongest noble family should take charge. Farmers and
peasants don’t know how to run a kingdom.”
“The most powerful noble family?” Malleus raises his voice. “And who
would that be? My father holds the largest army—”
“Your father has the plague, boy,” Aedan spits.
“He’s already getting better—”
His Plan
“Lord Aedan!” Auberon whirls. “Get your bannermen here and arrest
Malleus. My son as well. And then we will deal with the human-loving
peasant mob outside.”
Aedan lifts his chin. “I think I prefer to stay out of this, Your Majesty.
Like the Dream Stalker, I have a great aversion to unnecessary death.”
As he speaks, I recall the poisons in his bedroom with a shudder. Man
loves his poisons.
Auberon pounds the table. “My son thrives on death. What is the
meaning of this?”
Aedan stands. “I tend to agree with Prince Talan. The kingdom has been
mismanaged, and that is the cause of the unrest now.”
Every word planted in his brain by Talan long ago.
“This is treason!” Arwenna’s father, the Marquis de Bosclair, gets to his
feet. “You will do as our king demands.”
“I will not.” Aedan looks resolute. “It is time to take a stand.”
The marquis’s cheeks turn pink. “Once we’ve dealt with the
commoners, I will march my own armies against any noble who refused to
obey His Majesty. The king is correct. Any commoners marching on the
king are trying to aid our enemies. They’re working for the filthy humans
who spread the famine. They’re our enemy within our kingdom, and we
must deal with them the way we do any threat to the crown.”
“That’s nonsense.” Ker-Ys’s shrill voice rises. “They’re not helping the
humans, and they’re not demi-Fey. They’re just starving. I stand with Prince
Talan.”
And here before me, each strand of Talan’s plan weaves together in
perfect precision.
Months of whispering dreams into nobles’ ears, of sowing thoughts like
threads—now, his schemes stitch themselves into place, a tapestry worthy
of Elaine of Shalott’s loom. He’s even managed to construct it so that KerYs has looked like his enemy. For months, he’s been controlling Ker-Ys to
oppose him. Now, I realize, it
Sword Buddies
“Nia.” Raphael takes a step closer, his sword drawn. He looks
confused, his dark eyebrows drawn together. A faint look of hurt
shines in his silver eyes.
I swallow. “Raphael.”
Talan unsheathes his own sword, the scrape of metal piercing the tense
silence.
I hold up my hand again. “Don’t, Talan.”
“It’s true,” Raphael says in a voice rough as broken glass. “You’re
working for this living nightmare.”
“Not working for me.” Talan’s smooth, silky voice echoes off the highvaulted ceiling. “I’m a terrible boss, ask anyone. She’s my wife. But I do
recognize you. The Pendragon agent who broke out of our dungeons. With
Nia’s help, of course. So lucky, having her watching over you.”
“This bejeweled psychopath is your rebound, Nia? Really?” Venom
drips from Raphael’s voice. “How unfortunate for you.”
“You told me about him, didn’t you, Nia?” Talan says quietly, his eyes
aglow with mockery. “The ex-lover who has a bad habit of running away
from things. The one who chose his work over you. I believe I said he
sounded fucking boring. And I must admit he has pretty eyes, but he is very
tightly wound. Must be exhausting.”
Raphael’s jaw tightens. “I’m not a Pendragon agent. I’m the boy your
army left for dead, the one whose mother your army killed in her kitchen
while she begged for our lives. That’s who I am.”
“I know.” My voice wavers. “But that wasn’t Talan’s order. He tried to
save the demi-Fey, you know that. Ask Ysolde about the Blue Dragon
Project later, if we make it out of here. We don’t have time for this
argument right now.”
He doesn’t lower his sword.
I take a step closer to him. “Listen, the Pendragons have created a
plague to annihilate all Fey and demi-Fey. I have it here in my bag, and I
want to destroy it. Talan is here to help us save the Fey. That includes
A Brother's Reunion with his sister
“Your brother will be here soon.” I gesture at a wooden table and chairs
in the center of the room. “Please, sit down.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll remain standing,” she says, leaning against the
wall. She’s casual, but I note how she eyes the door, her body alert. She
doesn’t trust me. She thinks this might be a trap. Of course she does. I
couldn’t expect her to fully trust me.
“Whatever you prefer.” I shrug, sitting back down.
The door swings open, and Raphael steps in, dressed in a gray cloak, his
dark hair wet with rain. It’s grown back a little from the rough job they did
on it in the dungeons.
My throat tightens when I see him, and sadness sings in my chest.
There’s the man who chose Avalon Tower over me.
But he’s not looking at me, of course. He’s looking at the sister he’s
missed and longed to see since he was a little boy.
Ysolde stares at him, frozen, then darts forward and grabs him in a
desperate hug, her body racked with sobs.
I wait patiently. Time is short, but I have to give them at least a few
minutes after all those years. How would it feel to be reunited with a sibling
that you grew up with, that you spent so many years missing? I imagine for
a moment having a brother or sister.
Raphael’s eyes are closed as he hugs Ysolde. She’s stopped sobbing and
leans her head against his chest, tears running down her cheek. Finally, they
break apart.
“What happened to you all these years?” Ysolde asks him.
“I will tell you everything,” Raphael says, his voice cracking slightly.
“Later, when we’re alone. Nia probably doesn’t have much time.” He
glances at me, his eyebrows knit together.
Ysolde sits in a chair next to me. “So, her name is Nia? She told me that
you’re a wanted man here. I mean, more than a regular demi-Fey.”
Raphael sits, too, and scrubs a hand over
His well laid trap
skin.
I feel strangely protective toward him, which is insane. I’m specifically
here to help plan his assassination.
But I have more questions about him than I started with, and I won’t
ever have another opportunity like this, with him in a drug-induced sleep.
He won’t wake easily or sense me at all.
I wait until I’m sure he’s asleep, his breathing slow and his body
relaxed, and touch his shoulder. It happens without effort when my fingers
touch his skin. Unlike my encounters with others, there’s no pain, and his
thoughts drift closer to me like toy sailboats floating on a stream. It’s
effortless.
In his mind, I see a woman standing over him, her eyes dark as his, her
hair streaming over a white gown. Behind her is a tapestry of a weeping
willow.
His mother.
Now, a raging storm clouds the sky, lightning igniting the landscape.
Thunder rumbles over the horizon.
She’s led to a wooden scaffold, her hair draped over a long, thin gown.
Her arms are tied behind her back. Wind tears at the landscape, rain
hammering, as she’s bound to a stake with kindling at her feet. A keening
sound rends the air as someone brings a torch to the wood. Talan’s fear cuts
me to the bone.
He wants everyone to feel like he does.
I’m shaking now, but the storm in his mind rages, sweeping the image
away.
He’s alone, wandering through empty gothic halls. It’s like he’s been in
these halls in solitude for centuries.
Finally, I catch a stray thought, more of an image than a sentence. A
map. I recognize it at once. I’ve studied this map myself for weeks,
alongside other agents of Avalon.