Page 298 of Kingdom of Ash

Those eyes went wide as an arrow broke the skin of his throat. Right above the collar.

The prince gagged, whirling toward the arrow that had come not from Aedion, but from behind. Right into the path of Ren Allsbrook and the firelance he bore in his arms.

Ren slammed his hand into the release hatch, and flame erupted.

Aedion ducked, coiling his body beneath his shield as the flame threatened to melt his own bones.

The world was heat and light. Then nothing. Only the shouts of battle and dying men.

Aedion managed to lower his shield.

Where the Valg prince had been, a pile of ashes and a black Wyrdstone collar remained.

Aedion panted, a hand going to his bleeding side. “I had him.”

Ren only shook his head, and pivoted on a boot, unleashing the firelance upon the nearest Valg soldiers.

The Lord of Allsbrook turned back to him, mouth open to say something. But Aedion’s head swam, his body plunging into a coldness he’d never known. Then there was nothing.

The battle was so much worse than Evangeline had imagined.

The sound alone made her quake in her bones, and only delivering messages to Lord Darrow where he stood on one of the higher castle balconies saved her from curling into a ball.

Her breath was a ragged, dry thing as she raced back onto the balcony, to where Darrow stood by the stone railing, two other Terrasen lordsbeside him. “From Kyllian,” Evangeline managed to say, bobbing a curtsy, as she had each time she’d delivered a message.

Battles were no place for manners, she knew—Aelin certainly would have said that. But she kept doing it, the curtsying, even when her legs trembled. Couldn’t stop herself.

Kyllian’s messenger had met her at the castle stairs, and now waited for Darrow’s reply. It was as close to the fighting as she’d gotten. Not that being up here was any better.

Pressing herself against the stones of the tower wall, Evangeline let Darrow read the letter. The Crochans and wyverns were so much closer up here. This high, she stood on their level, the world a blur below. Evangeline laid her palms flat against the icy stones, as if she could draw some strength from them.

Even with the roar of battle, she heard Darrow declare to the other lords, “Aedion has been wounded.”

Evangeline’s stomach dropped, nausea—oily and thick—surging. “Is he all right?”

The two other lords ignored her, but Darrow looked her way. “He has lost consciousness, and they have moved him into a building near the wall. Healers are working on him as we speak. They will move him here as soon as he is capable of withstanding it.”

Evangeline staggered to the balcony rail, as if she might see that building amid the sea of chaos by the city walls.

She had never had a brother, or a father. She hadn’t yet decided which one she would like Aedion to be. And if he was so injured that it warranted a message to Darrow—

She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to contain the bile that burned her throat.

Murmuring sounded, and then there was a hand on her shoulder. “Lord Gunnar will see to delivering my reply,” Darrow said. “You will remain here with me. I might have need of you.”

The words were stern, but the hand on her shoulder was kind.

Evangeline only nodded, sick and miserable, and clung to the balcony rail, as if her grip might somehow keep Aedion on this side of life.

“Hot refreshments, Sloane,” Darrow ordered, his voice brooking no room for argument.

The other lord peeled away. Evangeline didn’t know how long passed after that. How long it took until the lord arrived, and Darrow pressed a scalding mug into her fingers. “Drink.”

Evangeline obeyed, finding it to be broth of some sort. Beef, maybe. She didn’t care.

Her friends were down there. Her family, the one she’d made.

Far out, near the river, a blur of motion was her only indication that Lysandra still lived.

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