Chaol drew in a deep breath, willing his heart to calm. He hadn’t the faintest idea where Dorian might be, if he’d gone with Aelin to Terrasen. The soldiers Nesryn and Sartaq had interrogated had not known. What would his friend have chosen? He could almost hear Dorian yelling at him for even hesitating, hear him ordering Chaol to stop wondering where he’d gone and hurry to Anielle.

“Anielle lies near the Ferian Gap,” Hasar said, “which is also controlled by Morath, and is another outpost for the Ironteeth and their wyverns. By bringing our forces so far inland, we risk not only the army marching for Anielle, but finding a host of witches at our backs.” She met Chaol’s gaze, her face as unflinching as her words. “Would saving the city gain us anything?”

“It is his home,” Yrene said quietly, but not weakly, her chin refusing to dip even an inch in the royals’ presence. “I’d think that would be all the proof we need to defend it.”

Chaol tightened his hand around hers in silent thanks. Dorian would have said the same.

Sartaq studied the map once more. “The Avery splits near Anielle,” he murmured, running a finger along it. “It veers southward to the Silver Lake and Anielle, and then the other branch runs northward, past the Ferian Gap, skirting along the Ruhnns and up to nearly the border of Terrasen itself.”

“I can read a map, brother,” Hasar growled.

Sartaq ignored her, his eyes meeting Chaol’s once more. A spark lit their steady depths. “We avoid the Avery until Anielle. March inland. And when the city is secure, we begin a campaign northward, along the Avery.”

Nesryn pushed off the wall to prowl to the prince’s side. “Into the Ferian Gap? We’d be facing the witches, then.”

Sartaq gave her a half grin. “Then it’s a good thing we have ruks.”

Hasar leaned over the map. “If we secure the Ferian Gap, then we could possibly march all the way to Terrasen, taking the inland route.” She shook her head. “But what of the armada?”

“They wait to intercept Kashin’s fleet,” Sartaq said. “We take the soldiers, the Darghan cavalry, the ruks, and they wait for the rest of the army to arrive and tell them to meet us here.”

Hope stirred in Chaol’s chest.

“But that still leaves us at least a week behind the army marching for Anielle,” Nesryn said.

Truth—they’d never catch up to them in time. Any delay could cost untold lives. “They need to be warned,” Chaol said. “Anielle must be warned, and given time to prepare.”

Sartaq nodded. “I can be there in a few days’ flight.”

“No,” Chaol said, and Yrene lifted a brow. “If you can spare me a ruk and a rider, I’ll go myself. Stay here, and ready the ruks to fly. Tomorrow, if possible. A day or two at most.” He gestured to Hasar. “Dock the ships and lead the troops inland, as swiftly as they can march.”

Yrene’s eyes turned wary, well aware of what and whom he would face in Anielle. The homecoming he had never pictured, certainly not under these circumstances.

“I’m coming with you,” his wife said.

He squeezed her hand again, as if to say, I’m not at all surprised to hear that.

Yrene squeezed right back.

Sartaq and Hasar nodded, and Nesryn opened her mouth as if she’d object, but nodded, too.

They’d leave tonight, under cover of darkness. Finding Dorian again would have to wait. Yrene chewed on her lip, no doubt calculating what they’d need to pack, what to tell the other healers.

He prayed they’d be swift enough, prayed that he could figure out what the hell to say to his father, after the oath he’d broken, after all that lay between them. And more than that, what he’d say to his mother, and the not-so-young brother he’d left behind when he’d chosen Dorian over his birthright.

Chaol had given Yrene the title owed to her in marrying him: Lady Westfall.

He wondered if he could stomach being called Lord. If it mattered at all, given what bore down upon the city on the Silver Lake.

If it would matter at all if they didn’t make it in time.

Sartaq braced a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Hold the defenses for as long as you can, Lord Westfall. The ruks will be a day or so behind you, the foot soldiers a week behind that.”

Chaol clasped Sartaq’s hand, then Hasar’s. “Thank you.”

Hasar’s mouth curved into a half smile. “Thank us if we save your city.”

CHAPTER 12

Everything. She had given everything for this, and had been glad to do it.

Aelin lay in darkness, the slab of iron like a starless night overhead.

She’d awoken in here. Had been in here for … a long time.

Long enough she’d relieved herself. Hadn’t cared.

Perhaps it had all been for nothing. The Queen Who Was Promised.

Promised to die, to surrender herself to fulfill an ancient princess’s debt. To save this world.

She wouldn’t be able to do it. She would fail in that, even if she outlasted Maeve.

Outlasted what she might have glimpsed lay beneath the queen’s skin. If that had been real at all.

Against Erawan, there had been little hope. But against Maeve as well …

Silent tears pooled in her mask.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t leaving this place. This box.

She would never again feel the buttery warmth of the sun on her hair, or a sea-kissed breeze on her cheeks.

She couldn’t stop crying, ceaseless and relentless. As if some dam had cracked open inside her the moment she’d seen the blood dribble down Maeve’s face.

She didn’t care if Cairn saw the tears, smelled them.

Let him break her until she was bloody smithereens on the floor. Let him do it over and over again.

She wouldn’t fight. Couldn’t bear to fight.

A door groaned open and closed. Stalking footsteps neared.

Then a thump on the lid of the coffin. “How does a few more days in there sound to you?”

She wished she could fold herself into the blackness around her.

Cairn told Fenrys to relieve himself and return. Silence filled the room.

Then a thin scraping. Along the top of the box. As if Cairn were running a dagger over it.

“I’ve been thinking how to repay you when I let you out.”

Aelin blocked out his words. Did nothing but gaze into the dark.

She was so tired. So, so tired.

For Terrasen, she had gladly done this. All of it. For Terrasen, she deserved to pay this price.

She had tried to make it right. Had tried, and failed.

And she was so, so tired.

Fireheart.

The whispered word floated through the eternal night, a glimmer of sound, of light.

Fireheart.

The woman’s voice was soft, loving. Her mother’s voice.

Aelin turned her face away. Even that movement was more than she could bear.

Fireheart, why do you cry?

Aelin could not answer.

Fireheart.

The words were a gentle brush down her cheek. Fireheart, why do you cry?

And from far away, deep within her, Aelin whispered toward that ray of memory, Because I am lost. And I do not know the way.

Cairn was still talking. Still scraping his knife over the coffin’s lid.

But Aelin did not hear him as she found a woman lying beside her. A mirror—or a reflection of the face she’d bear in a few years’ time. Should she live that long.

Borrowed time. Every moment of it had been borrowed time.

Evalin Ashryver ran gentle fingers down Aelin’s cheek. Over the mask.

Aelin could have sworn she felt them against her skin.

You have been very brave, her mother said. You have been very brave, for so very long.

Aelin couldn’t stop the silent sob that worked its way up her throat.

But you must be brave a little while longer, my Fireheart.

She leaned into her mother’s touch.

You must be brave a little while longer, and remember …

Her mother placed a phantom hand over Aelin’s heart.

It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.

Aelin managed to slide a hand up to her chest, to cover her mother’s fingers. Only thin fabric and iron met her skin.