Page 344 of Kingdom of Ash

It was more power, at least, than Aelin had been left with. Gifted with, it sounded like. Aelin had burned through every ember of her own magic. What she now possessed was all that remained of what Mala had given her to seal the gate—to punish the gods who had betrayed them both.

The idea of it still made Dorian queasy. And the memory of Aelin choosing to throw him out of that non-place still made him grind his teeth. Not at her choice, but that his father—

He’d think about his father later. Never.

His nameless father, who had come for him in the end.

Chaol hadn’t asked about it, hadn’t pushed. And Dorian knew that whenever he was ready to talk about it, his friend would be waiting.

Chaol said, “Aelin didn’t kill Erawan. But at least Erawan can never bring over his brothers. Or use the keys to destroy us all. We have that. She—youbothdid that.”

There would be no more collars. No more rooms beneath a dark fortress to hold them.

Yrene ran her fingers through Chaol’s brown hair, and Dorian tried to fight the ache in his chest at the sight. At the love that flowed so freely between them.

He didn’t resent Chaol for his happiness. But it didn’t stop the sharp slicing in his chest every time he saw them. Every time he saw the Torre healers, and wished Sorscha had found them.

“So the world was only partly saved,” Yrene said. “Better than nothing.”

Dorian smiled at that. He adored his friend’s wife already. Likely would have married her, too, if he’d had the chance.

Even if his thoughts still drifted northward—to a golden-eyed witch who walked with death beside her and did not fear it. Did she think of him? Wonder what had become of him in Morath?

“Aelin and I still have magic,” Dorian said. “Not like it was before, but we still have it. We’re not entirely helpless.”

“Enough to take on Erawan?” Chaol said, his bronze eyes wary. Well aware of the answer. “And Maeve?”

“We’ll have to figure out a way,” Dorian said. He prayed it was true.

But there were no gods left to pray to at all.

Elide kept one eye on Aelin while they washed themselves in the queen’s tent. One eye on the deliciously warm water that had been brought in.

And kept warm by the woman in the tub beside her own.

As if in defiance of the horrible meeting they’d had with the khaganate royals upon Aelin’s unexpected return.

Triumphant. But only in some regards.

One threat defeated. The other fumbled.

Aelin had hid it well, but the queen had her tells, too. Her utter stillness—the predatory angle of her head. The former had been presentthis morning. Utter stillness while she’d been questioned, criticized, shouted at.

The queen had not been this quiet since the day she’d escaped Maeve.

And it was not trauma that bowed her head, but guilt. Dread. Shame.

Nearly shoulder-deep in the high, long tubs, Elide had been the one to suggest a bath. To give Prince Rowan a chance to fly high and wide and take some of the edge off his temper. To give Aelin a moment to settle herself.

She’d planned to bathe this morning anyway. Though she’d imagined a different partner in the bath beside hers.

Not that Lorcan knew that. He’d only kissed her temple before striding off into the morning—to join Fenrys and Gavriel in readying the army to move out. Keep plunging northward.

Aelin scrubbed at her long hair, the flowing mass of it draped over her body. In the light of the braziers, the tattoos on the queen’s back seemed to flow like a living black river.

“So your magic is still there?” Elide blurted.

Aelin slid turquoise eyes over to her. “Is your water warm?”

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