Page 369 of Kingdom of Ash

Dorian was nearly slumped in his saddle, shield strapped over his back, Damaris sheathed at his side.

“You look how I feel,” Chaol managed to say.

Dorian slid sapphire eyes toward him, a spark of humor lighting the haunted depths. “I know a king shouldn’t slouch,” he said, rubbing at his blood-and-dirt-splattered face. “But I can’t bring myself to care.”

Chaol smiled grimly. “We have worse to worry about.”

Much worse.

They hurried toward the castle, turning up the hill that would take them to its doors, when a horn cut across the battlefield.

A warning.

With the view the hill offered, they could clearly see it. What sent the soldiers racing toward them with renewed urgency.

Morath was picking up speed.

As if realizing that their prey was on its last legs and not wishing to let them recover.

Chaol glanced to Dorian, and they reined their horses back toward the city walls. The khagan’s soldiers did so as well, running down the hills they’d been scaling.

Back toward the battlements. And the hell soon to be unleashed upon it once more.

Slumped against a dead wyvern, Aelin drained the last of her waterskin.

Beside her, Ansel of Briarcliff panted through her gritted teeth while healer’s magic pulled the edges of her wound together. A nasty, deep slice to Ansel’s arm.

Bad enough that Ansel hadn’t been able to hold a weapon. So they had halted, just as the tide of the battle had shifted, their enemy now fleeing Orynth’s walls.

Aelin’s head swam, her magic down to the dregs, her limbs leaden. The roar of battle still buzzed in her ears.

Covered in gore and mud, no one recognized either queen where they’d fallen to their knees, so close to the southern gates. Soldiers ran past, trying to get into the city before the army at their backs arrived.

Just a minute. She needed to only catch her breath for a minute. Then they’d hurry to the southern gate. Into Orynth.

Into her home.

Ansel swore, swaying, and the healer shot out a hand to brace her.

Not good. Not at all.

Aelin knew what and who marched toward them.

Lysandra had returned to the skies long ago, rejoining the rebel Ironteeth and Crochans. Where Rowan now was, where the cadre was, she didn’t know. Had lost them hours or days or lifetimes ago.

Rowan was safe—the mating bond told her enough. No mortal wounds. And through the blood oath, she knew Fenrys and Lorcan still breathed.

Whether she could say that for the rest of her friends, she didn’t know. Didn’t want to know, not yet.

The healer finished Ansel, and when the woman turned, Aelin held up a hand. “Go help someone who needs it,” Aelin rasped.

The healer didn’t hesitate before she hurried off, sprinting toward the sound of screaming.

“We need to get into the city,” Ansel murmured, leaning her head against the ironclad hide behind her. “Before they shut the gate.”

“We do,” Aelin said, willing strength to her exhausted legs so she might stand. Assess how far away that final, crushing host was.

A plan. She’d had a plan for this. They all had.

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