Page 297 of Kingdom of Ash

Aedion instantly parried, a slash upward that the Valg prince dodged with a hop to the side.

The demon’s eyes were wide as he took in the shield. Then Aedion.

Then the Valg prince hissed, “Fae bastard.”

Aedion didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care as he took another blast upon his shield, the battlements already slick with blood both black and red. If the Mycenian nearby was dead, then there was another down by Ren’s ladder—

The Valg prince unleashed blast after blast of power.

Aedion took each one upon his shield, the prince’s power bouncing off as if it were a spray of water upon stone. And for every burst of power sent his way, Aedion swung his sword.

Steel met steel; darkness clashed with ancient metal. Aedion had the vague sense of soldiers Valg and human alike halting as he and the demon prince battled their way across the city wall.

He kept his feet beneath him, as Rhoe had taught him. As Quinn had taught him, and Cal Lochan. As all his mentors and the warriors he’d admired above all others had taught him. For this moment, when he would be called to defend Orynth’s very walls.

It was for them he swung his sword, for them he took blow after blow.

The Valg prince hissed with every blast, as if enraged that his power could not break that shield.

Rhoe’s shield.

There was no magic in it. Brannon had never borne it. But one of them had forged it, one of the unbroken line of kings and queens who had come after him, who had loved their kingdom more than their own lives. Who had carried this shield into battle, into war, to defend Terrasen.

And as Aedion and the Valg prince fought along the walls, as that ancient shield refused to yield, he wondered if there was a different sort of power in the metal. One that the Valg could never and would never understand. Not true magic, not as Brannon and Aelin had. But something just as strong—stronger.

That the Valg might never break, no matter how they tried.

Aedion’s sword sang, and the Valg prince roared as Aedion connected with his arm, slashing deep.

Black blood sprayed. Aedion leaped upon the advantage, shoving with the shield and stabbing with his blade.

But the prince had been waiting.

Had set a trap, his own body as the bait.

And as Aedion slammed into the Valg prince, the demon drew a dagger from his sword belt and struck. Right where Aedion’s armor exposed just a sliver near his armpit, vulnerable with the outstretched position of his arm.

The knife plunged in, rending flesh and muscle and bone.

Pain, white-hot and blinding, threatened to make him splay his hand, to drop his sword. Only Aedion’s training, only those years of work, kept his feet under him as he leaped back, wrenching free of the knife.

The Valg prince chuckled, and Aedion was dimly aware of the fighting along the walls, the shouting and dying and flares of fire, as the prince smiled down at the bloodied dagger.

Bringing it to his sensual mouth, the prince dragged his tongue along the blade. Licked Aedion’s blood clean off. “Exquisite,” the demon breathed, shuddering with pleasure.

Aedion backed away another step, his arm burning and burning and burning, blood pooling inside his armor.

The prince stalked after him.

A whip of dark power launched for Aedion, and he again took it on his shield. Let it send him tumbling to the ground, landing atop the ironclad body of one of the Bane.

His breath turned sharp as the knife that had stabbed him.

The prince paused before Aedion. “Feasting on you will be a delight.”

Aedion hefted his shield over himself, bracing for the blow.

The prince made to lift the bloodied dagger to his mouth again, eyes rolling back in his head.

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