Page 154 of Kingdom of Ash

A member of this court. Her court. Forever.

He and Aelin certainly hadn’t warmed toward each other. No, only Rowan and Gavriel really spoke to him. Fenrys, despite his promise to Aelinnotto fight with Lorcan, ignored him most of the time. And Elide … She’d made herself scarce often enough that Lorcan hadn’t bothered to approach her.

Good. It was good. Even if she sometimes found herself opening her mouth to speak to him. Watching him as he listened to Aelin’s lessons on the Wyrdmarks. Or while he trained with the queen, the rare moments when the two of them weren’t at each other’s throats.

Aelin had been returned to them. Was recovering as best she could.

Elide didn’t taste her next bite of porridge. Gavriel, thankfully, said nothing.

And Anneith didn’t speak, either. Not a whisper of guidance.

It was better that way. To listen to herself. Better that Lorcan kept his distance, too.

Elide ate the rest of her porridge in silence.

Rowan was right: she nearly vomited after breakfast. Five minutes in the courtyard and she’d had to stop, that miserable gruel rising in her throat.

Rowan had chuckled when she’d clapped a hand over her mouth. And then shifted into his hawk form to sail for the nearby coast and their awaiting ship, to check in with its captain.

Rolling her shoulders, she’d watched him vanish into the clouds. He was right, of course. About letting herself rest.

Whether the others knew what propelled her, they hadn’t said a word.

Aelin sheathed Goldryn and loosed a long breath. Deep down, her power grumbled.

She flexed her fingers.

Maeve’s cold, pale face flashed before her eyes.

Her magic went silent.

Blowing out another shuddering breath, shaking the tremor from her hands, Aelin aimed for the inn’s open gates. A long, dusty road stretched ahead, the fields beyond barren. Unimpressive, forgotten land. She’d barely glimpsed anything on her run at dawn beyond mist and a few sparrows bobbing amongst the winter-dry grasses.

Fenrys sat in wolf form at the edge of the nearest field, staring out across the expanse. Precisely where he’d been before dawn.

She let him hear her steps, his ears twitching. He shifted as she approached, and leaned against the half-rotted fence surrounding the field.

“Who’d you piss off to get the graveyard shift?” Aelin asked, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Fenrys snorted and ran a hand through his hair. “Would you believe I volunteered for it?”

She arched a brow. He shrugged, watching the field again, the mists still clinging to its farthest reaches. “I don’t sleep well these days.” He cut her a sidelong glance. “I don’t suppose I’m the only one.”

She picked at the blister on her right hand, hissing. “We could start a secret society—for people who don’t sleep well.”

“As long as Lorcan isn’t invited, I’m in.”

Aelin huffed a laugh. “Let it go.”

His face turned stony. “I said I would.”

“You clearly haven’t.”

“I’ll let it go when you stop running yourself ragged at dawn.”

“I’m not running myself ragged. Rowan is overseeing it.”

“Rowan is the only reason you’re not limping everywhere.”

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