Ren only shook his head, and pivoted on a boot, unleashing the firelance upon the nearest Valg soldiers.
The Lord of Allsbrook turned back to him, mouth open to say something. But Aedion’s head swam, his body plunging into a coldness he’d never known. Then there was nothing.
The battle was so much worse than Evangeline had imagined.
The sound alone made her quake in her bones, and only delivering messages to Lord Darrow where he stood on one of the higher castle balconies saved her from curling into a ball.
Her breath was a ragged, dry thing as she raced back onto the balcony, to where Darrow stood by the stone railing, two other Terrasen lords beside him. “From Kyllian,” Evangeline managed to say, bobbing a curtsy, as she had each time she’d delivered a message.
Battles were no place for manners, she knew—Aelin certainly would have said that. But she kept doing it, the curtsying, even when her legs trembled. Couldn’t stop herself.
Kyllian’s messenger had met her at the castle stairs, and now waited for Darrow’s reply. It was as close to the fighting as she’d gotten. Not that being up here was any better.
Pressing herself against the stones of the tower wall, Evangeline let Darrow read the letter. The Crochans and wyverns were so much closer up here. This high, she stood on their level, the world a blur below. Evangeline laid her palms flat against the icy stones, as if she could draw some strength from them.
Even with the roar of battle, she heard Darrow declare to the other lords, “Aedion has been wounded.”
Evangeline’s stomach dropped, nausea—oily and thick—surging. “Is he all right?”
The two other lords ignored her, but Darrow looked her way. “He has lost consciousness, and they have moved him into a building near the wall. Healers are working on him as we speak. They will move him here as soon as he is capable of withstanding it.”
Evangeline staggered to the balcony rail, as if she might see that building amid the sea of chaos by the city walls.
She had never had a brother, or a father. She hadn’t yet decided which one she would like Aedion to be. And if he was so injured that it warranted a message to Darrow—
She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to contain the bile that burned her throat.
Murmuring sounded, and then there was a hand on her shoulder. “Lord Gunnar will see to delivering my reply,” Darrow said. “You will remain here with me. I might have need of you.”
The words were stern, but the hand on her shoulder was kind.
Evangeline only nodded, sick and miserable, and clung to the balcony rail, as if her grip might somehow keep Aedion on this side of life.
“Hot refreshments, Sloane,” Darrow ordered, his voice brooking no room for argument.
The other lord peeled away. Evangeline didn’t know how long passed after that. How long it took until the lord arrived, and Darrow pressed a scalding mug into her fingers. “Drink.”
Evangeline obeyed, finding it to be broth of some sort. Beef, maybe. She didn’t care.
Her friends were down there. Her family, the one she’d made.
Far out, near the river, a blur of motion was her only indication that Lysandra still lived.
No word arrived about Aedion’s fate.
So Evangeline lingered on the tower, Darrow silent beside her, and prayed.
CHAPTER 87
Even moving as fast as they could, the khagan’s army was too slow. Too slow, and too large, to reach Terrasen in time.
In the week that they’d been pushing northward, Aelin begging Oakwald, the Little Folk, and Brannon for forgiveness as she razed a path through the forest, they were only just now nearing Endovier, and the border mere miles beyond it. From there, if they were lucky, it’d be another ten days to Orynth. And would likely become a disaster if Morath had kept forces stationed at Perranth after the city’s capture.
So they’d chosen to skirt the city on its western flank, going around the Perranth Mountains rather than cutting to the lowlands for the easier trek across the land. With Oakwald as their cover, they might be able to sneak up on Morath at Orynth.
If there was anything left of Orynth by the time they arrived. They were still too far for the ruk riders to do any sort of scouting, and no messengers had crossed their paths. Even the wild men of the Fangs, who had remained with them and now swore to march to Orynth to avenge their kin did not know of a faster path.
Aelin tried not to think of it. Or about Maeve and Erawan, wherever they might be. Whatever they might have planned.
Endovier, the only outpost of civilization they’d seen in a week, would be their first news since leaving the Ferian Gap.
She tried not to think of that, either. Of the fact that they would be passing through Endovier tomorrow, or the day after. That she’d see those gray mountains that had housed the salt mines.
Lying on her stomach atop her cot—no point in making anyone set up a royal bed for her and Rowan when they would be marching within a few hours—Aelin winced against the stinging burn along her back.
The clink of Rowan’s tools and the crackle of the braziers were the only sounds in their tent.
“Will it be done tonight?” she asked as he paused to dip his needle in the pot of salt-laced ink.
“If you stop talking,” was his dry reply.
Aelin huffed, rising onto her elbows to peer over a shoulder at him. She couldn’t see what he inked, but knew the design. A replica of what he’d written on her back this spring, the stories of her loved ones and their deaths, written right where her scars had been. Exactly where they’d been, as if he had their memory etched in his mind.
But another tattoo lay there now. A tattoo that sprawled across her shoulder bones as if it were a pair of spread wings. Or so he’d sketched for her.
The story of them. Rowan and Aelin.
A story that had begun in rage and sorrow and become something entirely different.
She was glad to have him leave it at that. At the happiness.
Aelin rested her chin atop her hands. “We’ll be near Endovier soon.”
Rowan resumed working, but she knew he’d listened to every word, thought through his response. “What do you want to do about it?”
She winced at the sting of a particularly sensitive spot near her spine.
“Burn it to the ground. Blast the mountains into rubble.”
“Good. I’ll help you.”
A small smile curved her lips. “The fabled warrior-prince wouldn’t tell me to avoid carelessly expending my strength?”
“The fabled warrior-prince would tell you to stay the course, but if destroying Endovier will help, then he’ll be right there with you.”
Aelin fell silent while Rowan continued working for another few minutes.
“I don’t remember the tattoo taking this long the last time.”
“I’ve made improvements. And you’re getting a whole new marking.”
She hummed, but said nothing more for a time.
Rowan kept at it, wiping away blood when necessary.
“I don’t think I can,” Aelin breathed. “I don’t think I can stand to even look at Endovier, let alone destroy it.”
“Do you want me to?” A calm, warrior’s question. He would, she knew. If she asked him, he’d fly to Endovier and turn it into dust.
“No,” she admitted. “The overseers and slaves are all gone anyway. There’s no one to destroy, and no one to save. I just want to pass it and never think of it again. Does that make me a coward?”
“I’d say it makes you human.” A pause. “Or whatever a similar saying might be for the Fae.”
She frowned at her interlaced fingers beneath her chin. “It seems I’m more Fae these days than anything. I even forget sometimes—when the last time was that I was in my human body.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?” His hands didn’t falter.
“I don’t know. I am human, deep down, Faerie Queen nonsense aside. I had human parents, and their parents were human, mostly, and even with Mab’s line running true … I’m a human who can turn into Fae. A human who wears a Fae body.” She didn’t mention the immortal life span. Not with all they had ahead of them.
“On the other hand,” Rowan countered, “I’d say you were a human with Fae instincts. Perhaps more of them than human ones.” She felt him smirk. “Territorial, dominant, aggressive …”
“Your skills when it comes to complimenting women are unparalleled.”
His laugh was a brush of hot air along her spine. “Why can’t you be both human and Fae? Why choose at all?”
“Because people always seem to demand that you be one thing or another.”
“You’ve never bothered to give a damn what other people demand.”
She smiled slightly. “True.”