Page 178 of Kingdom of Ash

“Is it a sickness?” she demanded. “Is it something broken within you?”

“Elide.” Her name was a rasp on his lips. Lorcan dared reach a hand for her.

But she pulled out of reach. “If you think that because you swore the blood oath to Aelin, it meansanythingfor you and me, you’re sorely mistaken. You’re immortal—I’m human. Let us not forgetthatlittle fact, either.”

Lorcan nearly recoiled at the words, their horrible truth. He was five hundred years old. He should walk away—he shouldn’t be so damned bothered by any of this. And yet Lorcan snarled, “You’re jealous. That’s what truly eats away at you.”

Elide barked a laugh that he’d never heard before, cruel and sharp. “Jealous? Jealous ofwhat? That demon you served?” She squared her shoulders, a wave cresting before it smashed into the shore. “The only thing that I am jealous of, Lorcan, is thatsheis rid of you.”

Lorcan hated that the words landed like a blow. That he had no defenses left where she was concerned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of it, Elide.”

There, he’d said it, and laid it out before her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

But Elide’s face did not warm. “I don’t care,” she said, turning on her heel. “And I don’t care if you walk off that battlefield tomorrow.”

Jealous. The idea of it, of being jealous ofMaevefor commanding Lorcan’s affection for centuries. Elide limped toward the readying party of ruks, grinding her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

She was almost to the first of the saddled birds when a voice said behind her, “You should have ignored him.”

Elide halted, finding Gavriel following. “Pardon me?”

The Lion’s usually warm face was grave—disapproving. “You might as well have kicked a male already down.”

Elide hadn’t uttered a cross word to Gavriel in all the time she’d known him, but she said, “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

“I have never heard Lorcan apologize for anything. Even when Maeve whipped him for a mistake, he did not apologize to her.”

“And that means he earns my forgiveness?”

“No. But you have to realize that he swore the blood oath to Aelin for you. For no one else. So he could remain near you. Even knowing well enough that you will have a mortal lifespan.”

The birds shifted on their feet, rustling their wings in anticipation of flight.

She knew. Had known it the moment he’d knelt before Aelin. Weeks later, Elide hadn’t known what to do with it, the knowledge that Lorcan had done this for her. The longing to talk to him, to work with him as they had. She’d hated herself for it. For not trying to hold on to her anger longer.

It was why she’d gone after him tonight. Not to punish him, but herself. To remind herself of who he’d sold their queen to, how profoundly mistaken she had been.

And her parting line to him … it was a lie. A disgusting, hateful lie.

Elide turned to Gavriel again. “I don’t—”

The Lion was gone. And for the cold flight over the army, then over the sea of darkness spread between it and the ancient city, even that wise voice who had whispered for the entirety of her life had gone quiet.

Nesryn lingered by Salkhi, a hand on her mount’s feathered side, and watched the party soar into the skies. The twenty ruks hadn’t just been bearing Aelin Galathynius and her companions, Chaol and Yrene included,but also more healers, supplies, and a few horses, hooded and corralled into wooden pens that the birds could carry. Including Chaol’s own horse, Farasha.

“I wish I could go with them,” Borte sighed from where she was rubbing down Arcas. “To fight alongside the Fae.”

Nesryn gave her an amused, sidelong glance. “You’ll get that opportunity soon enough, if we march to Terrasen after this.”

Nearby, a distinctly male snort of derision sounded.

“Go eavesdrop on someone else, Yeran,” Borte snapped toward her betrothed.

But the Berlad captain only answered back, “A fine commander you are, mooning over the Fae like a doe-eyed girl.”

Borte rolled her eyes. “When they teach me their killing techniques and I use them to wipe you off the map at our next Gathering, you can tell me all about my mooning.”

The handsome captain stormed over from his own ruk, and Nesryn ducked her head to hide her smile, finding herself immensely interested in brushing Salkhi’s brown feathers. “You’ll be my wife then, according to your bargain with my hearth-mother,” he said, crossing his arms. “It would be unseemly for you to kill your own husband in the Gathering.”

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