Page 398 of Kingdom of Ash

No, her prince, her husband, her mate, gazed to the south. To the battlefield.

Even as their power melded, and she burned Maeve into ash and memory, Rowan stared toward the battlefield.

Where line after line after line of Valg soldiers fell to their knees mid-fight with the Fae and wolves and Darghan cavalry.

Where the ruks flapped in amazement as ilken tumbled from the skies, like they had been struck dead.

Far out, several shrill screams rent the air—then fell silent.

An entire army, midbattle, midblow, collapsing.

It rippled outward, that collapsing, the stillness. Until all of Morath’s host lay unmoving. Until the Ironteeth fighting above realized what was happening and veered southward, fleeing from the rukhin and witches who now gave chase.

Until the dark shadow surrounding that fallen army drifted away on the wind, too.

Aelin knew for certain then. Where Erawan had gone.

Who had brought him down at last.

So Aelin wrenched her sword free of the pile of ashes that had been Maeve. She lifted it high to the night sky, to the stars, and let her cry of victory fill the world. Let the name she shouted ring out, the soldiers on the field, in the city, taking up the call until all of Orynth was singing with it. Until it reached the shining stars of the Lord of the North gleaming above them, no longer needed to guide her way home.

Yrene.

Yrene.

Yrene.

CHAPTER 116

Chaol awoke to warm, delicate hands stroking over his brow, his jaw.

He knew that touch. Would know it if he were blind.

One moment, he’d been fighting his way down the battlements. The next—oblivion. As if whatever surge of power had gone through Yrene had not only weakened his spine, but his consciousness.

“I don’t know whether to start yelling or crying,” he said, groaning as he opened his eyes and found Yrene kneeling before him. A heartbeat had him assessing their surroundings: some sort of stairwell, where he’d been sprawled over the lowest steps near a landing. An archway open to the frigid night revealed a starry, clear sky beyond. No wyverns in it.

And cheering. Victorious, wild cheering.

Not one bone drum. Not one snarl or roar.

And Yrene, still stroking his face, was smiling at him. Tears in her eyes.

“Feel free to yell all you like,” she said, some of those tears slipping free.

But Chaol just gaped at her as it hit him what, exactly, had happened. Why that surge of power had happened.

What this remarkable woman before him had done.

For they were calling her name. The army, the people of Orynth were calling her name.

He was glad he was sitting down.

Even if it did not surprise him one bit that Yrene had done the impossible.

Chaol slid his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. “It’s over, then,” he said against her skin, unable to stop the shaking that took over, the mix of relief and joy and lingering, phantom terror.

Yrene just ran her hands through his hair, down his back, and he felt her smile. “It’s over.”

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