Page 323 of Kingdom of Ash

So Dorian said to them both, “Yes.”

Aelin closed her eyes, and he couldn’t tell if it was from relief or regret. He laid a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t want to know what the argument had been like between her and Rowan to get her to agree, to accept this. For Aelin to have even said yes …

Her eyes opened, and only bleak resolve lay within. “We do it now,” she said hoarsely. “Before the others. Before good-byes.”

Dorian nodded. She only asked, “Do you want Chaol to be there?”

He thought about saying no. Thought about sparing his friend from another good-bye, when there was such joy on Chaol’s face, such peace.

But Dorian still said, “Yes.”

CHAPTER 93

The four of them strode in silence through the trees. Down the ancient road to the salt mines.

It was the only place the scouts weren’t watching.

Every step closer made her queasy, a slow sweat breaking down her spine. Rowan kept his hand gripped around hers, his thumb brushing over her skin.

Here, in this horrible, dead place of so much suffering—here was where she would face her fate. As if she had never escaped it, not really.

Under the cover of darkness, the mountains in which the mines were carved were little more than shadows. The great wall that surrounded the death camp was nothing but a stain of blackness.

The gates had been left open, one broken on its hinges. Perhaps the freed slaves had tried to rip it down on their way out.

Aelin’s fingers tightened on Rowan’s as they passed beneath the archway and entered the open grounds of the mines. There, in the center—therestood the wooden posts where she had been whipped. On her first day, on so many days.

And there, in the mountain to her left—that was where the pits were. The lightless pits they’d shoved her into.

The buildings of the mines’ overseers were dark. Husks.

It took all her self-control to keep from looking at her wrists, where the shackle scars had been. To not feel the cold sweat sliding down her back and know no scars lay there, either. Just Rowan’s tattoo, inked over smooth skin.

As if this place were a dream—some nightmare conjured by Maeve.

The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d escaped shackles twice now—only to wind up back here. A temporary freedom. Borrowed time.

She’d left Goldryn in their tent. The sword would be of little use where they were going.

“I never thought we’d see this place again,” Dorian murmured. “Certainly not like this.” None of the king’s steps faltered, his face somber as he gripped Damaris’s hilt. Ready to meet whatever awaited them.

The pain she knew was coming.

No, she had not ever really escaped at all, had she?

They halted near the center of the dirt yard. Elena had walked her through forging the Lock, putting the keys back into the gate. Though there would be no great display of magic, no threat to any around them, she had wanted to be away. Far from anyone else.

In the moonlight, Chaol’s face was pale. “What do you need us to do?”

“Be here,” Aelin said simply. “That is enough.”

It was the only reason she was still able to endure standing here, in this hateful place.

She met Dorian’s inquiring stare and nodded. No use in wasting time.

Dorian embraced Chaol, the two of them speaking too quietly for Aelin to hear.

Aelin only began to sketch a Wyrdmark in the dirt, large enough forher and Dorian to stand in. There would be two, overlapping with each other: Open. Close.

---