Page 350 of Kingdom of Ash

It was an effort not to look to the sealed doors to the chamber. Where Asterin and Sorrel should have been waiting. Defending.

Instead, Petrah and Bronwen stood there. Not as her new Second and Third, but just representatives from their own factions.

“Let’s say we make the arrows last for four days,” Ansel of Briarcliff said, frowning deeply. “And make the firelances last for three, if used conservatively. Once they’re out, what remains?”

“The catapults still work,” provided one of the silver-haired Fae royals. The female one.

“They’re for inflicting damage far out on the field, though,” said Prince Galan, who, like Aedion, bore Aelin’s eyes. “Not close fighting.”

“Then we have our swords,” Aedion said hoarsely. “Our courage.”

The latter, Manon knew, was running low, too.

“We can keep the Ironteeth at bay,” Manon said, “but cannot also aid you at the walls.”

They were indeed fighting a relentless tide that did not diminish.

“So is this the end, then?” Ansel asked. “In four, five days, we offer our necks to Morath?”

“We fight to the last of us,” Aedion growled. “To the very last one.”

Even Lord Darrow did not object to that. So they departed, meeting over.

There wasn’t anything else to discuss. Within a few days, they’d all be a grand feast for the crows.

CHAPTER 103

The storm had halted their army entirely.

On the first morning, it raged so fiercely that Rowan hadn’t been able to see a few feet before him. Ruks had been grounded, and only the hardiest of scouts had been sent out—on land.

So the army sat there. Not fifty miles over Terrasen’s border. A week from Orynth.

Had Aelin possessed her full powers—

Not her full powers. Not anymore, Rowan reminded himself as he sat in their war tent, his mate and wife and queen on the low-lying sofa beside him.

Aelin’s full powers were now … he didn’t quite know. Where they’d been at Mistward, perhaps. When she still had that self-inflicted damper. Not as little as when she’d arrived, but not as much as when she’d encircled all of Doranelle with her flame.

Certainly not enough to face Erawan and walk away. And Maeve.

He didn’t care. Didn’t give a shit whether she had all the power of the sun, or not an ember.

It had never mattered to him anyway.

Outside, the wind howled, the tent shuddering.

“Is it always this bad?” Fenrys asked, frowning at the shaking tent walls.

“Yes,” Elide and Aelin said, then shared a rare smile.

A miracle, that smile on Aelin’s mouth.

But Elide’s faded as she said, “This storm could last days. It could dump three feet.”

Lorcan, lingering near the brazier, grunted. “Even once the snow stops, there will be that to contend with. Soldiers losing toes and fingers to the cold and wet.”

Aelin’s smile vanished entirely. “I’ll melt as much as I can.”

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