Page 400 of Kingdom of Ash

Lorcan and Fenrys fell into step behind them. The latter’s wounds still leaked down his face, but he had refused Aelin and Rowan’s offers to heal him. Had said he wanted a reminder. They hadn’t dared to ask of what—not yet.

Aelin lifted her chin high, shoulders squaring as they neared the archway.

Soldiers already lined either side.

Not the khagan’s soldiers, but men and women in Terrasen armor. And civilians amongst them, too—awe and joy in their faces.

Aelin looked at the threshold of the gate. At the ancient, familiar stones, now caked in blood and gore.

She sent a whisper of flame skittering over them. The last dregs of her power.

When the fire vanished, the stones were again clean. New. As this city would be made anew, brought to greater heights, greater splendors. A beacon of learning and light once more.

Rowan’s fingers tightened around hers, but she did not look at him as they crossed the threshold, passing through the gate.

No, Aelin only looked at her people, smiling broadly and freely, as she entered Orynth, and they began to cheer, welcoming her home at long last.

CHAPTER 117

Aedion had fought until the enemy soldier before him had slumped to his knees as if dead.

But the man, a black ring on his finger, was not dead at all.

Only the demon inside him.

And when soldiers of countless nations began to cheer, when word spread that a Torre Cesme healer had defeated Erawan, Aedion simply turned from the battlements.

He found him by scent alone. Even in death, the scent lingered, a path that Aedion followed through the wrecked streets and throngs of celebrating, weeping people.

A lone candle had been lit in the empty barracks room where they’d set his body atop a worktable.

It was there that Aedion knelt before his father.

How long he stayed there, head bowed, he didn’t know. But the candle had nearly burned down to its base when the door creaked open, and a familiar scent flitted in.

She said nothing as she approached on silent feet. Nothing as she shifted and knelt beside him.

Lysandra only leaned into him, until Aedion put his arm around her, tucking her in tight.

Together, they knelt there, and he knew her grief was as real as his. Knew her grief was for Gavriel, but also for his own loss.

The years he and his father would not have. The years he’d realized hewantedto have, the stories he wished to hear, the male he wished to know. And never would.

Had Gavriel known that? Or had he fallen believing his son wished nothing to do with him?

He couldn’t endure it, that potential truth. Its weight would be unbearable.

When the candle sputtered out, Lysandra rose, and took him with her.

A grand burial, Aedion silently promised. With every honor, every scrap of stately regalia that could be found in the aftermath of this battle. He’d bury his father in the royal graveyard, amongst the heroes of Terrasen. Where he himself would be buried one day. Beside him.

It was the least he could do. To make sure his father knew in the Afterworld.

They stepped into the street, and Lysandra paused to wipe away his tears. To kiss his cheeks, then his mouth. Loving, gentle touches.

Aedion slid his arms around her and held her tightly under the stars and moonlight.

How long they stood in the street, he didn’t know. But then a throat cleared nearby, and they peeled apart to turn toward its source.

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