“There’s no plan. That’s the fuckin’ plan!”
Reklam
Nox Owen Knows
“So, Erawan knows you’re not Aelin.”
She whipped her head to him. “What?” A quick, vague question to
buy herself time. Had Aedion risked telling him the truth?
Nox gave her a half smile. “I figured as much when I saw the surprise
on that demon’s face.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Am I? Or do you not remember me at all?”
She did her best to look down her nose at him, even as the messengerthief towered over her. Aelin had never mentioned a Nox Owen. “Why
should I remember one of Darrow’s lackeys?”
“A decent attempt, but Celaena Sardothien looked a little more
amused when she cut men into ribbons.”
He knew—who Aelin was, what she’d been. Lysandra said nothing,
and kept walking toward her tent. If she told Aedion, how quickly could
Nox be buried under the frozen earth?
“Your secret is safe,” Nox murmured. “Celaena—Aelin was a friend.
Is still one, I’d hope.”
“How.” She’d admit no more than that regarding her role in this.
“We fought in the competition together at the glass castle.” He
snorted. “I had no idea until today. Gods, I was there for Minister Joval
as a spy for the rebels. It was my first time out of Perranth. My first time,
and I wound up unwittingly training alongside my queen.” He laughed,
low and amazed. “I’d been working with the rebels for years, even as a
thief. They wanted me to be their inside eyes on the castle, the king’s
plans. I reported the strange goings-on until it became too dangerous.
Until Cel—Aelin warned me to run. I listened, and came back here.
Joval is dead. Fell in a skirmish with a band of rebels by the border this
spring. Darrow plucked me up to be his own messenger and spy. So here
I am.” A sidelong glance at her, awe still on his face. “I am at your
disposal, even if you’re not … you.” He angled his head. “Who are
Travelling alone is a few notches above even the highest level of honbab. In addition to eating alone, you have to plan your own route, get around, make decisions and deal with said decisions with no one else to consult. Whenever my friends were too busy, I’d go on trips by myself. Slowly, I became a pro at being alone. I quite enjoyed the rush of making decisions on the move – Which museum should I see? Which tourist spots to skip? Should I take the straight road to get there quicker, or the seaside road for the view? At some point I started to believe that aloneness resembled order – efficient, comfortable, beautiful.
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 are accually looking for one person
“I’ve been running for weeks,” she said. “Apparently, I’ve barely
covered half the distance.”
“To where?”
Marion looked northward. “Terrasen.”
Lorcan stifled a snarl. “You’re not missing much.”
“Have you news of it?” Alarm filled those eyes.
“No,” he said, shrugging. She finished rubbing her foot and ankle.
“What’s in Terrasen? Your family?” He had not asked why she’d been
brought to Morath. He didn’t particularly care to hear her sad story.
Everyone had one, he’d found.
The girl’s face tightened. “I owe a debt to a friend—someone who
helped me get out of Morath. She bade me to find someone named Celaena
Sardothien. So that is my first task: learning who she is, where she is.
Terrasen seems like a better place to start than Adarlan.”
No guile, no whisper of this meeting being anything but chance.
“And then,” the girl went on, the brightness in her eyes growing, “I
need to find Aelin Galathynius, the Queen of Terrasen.”
It was an effort not to go for his sword. “Why?”
Marion glanced toward him, as if she’d somehow even forgotten he was
there. “I heard a rumor that she’s raising an army to stop the one in Morath.
I plan to offer my services.”
Reklam
Reklam