Rolfe fixed his sea-green stare upon the man. “That you do.”

Darrow sat again, the other lords following suit. “And you are?”

“Privateer Rolfe,” the pirate said smoothly. “Commander in Her Majesty’s Armada. And Heir to the Mycenian people.”

The other lords straightened. “The Mycenians vanished an age ago,” Lord Sloane said. But the man noted the sword at Rolfe’s side, the sea dragon pommel. Had no doubt spied the fleet creeping up the Florine.

“Vanished, but did not die out,” Rolfe countered. “And we have come to fulfill an old debt.”

Darrow rubbed at his temple. Old—Darrow truly looked his age as he leaned against the table edge. “Well, we have the gods to thank for that.”

Lysandra said, simmering with rage, “You have Aelin to thank for that.”

The man narrowed his eyes, and Aedion’s temper honed itself into something lethal. But Darrow’s voice was exhausted—heavy, as he asked, “Not pretending today, Lady?”

Lysandra only pointed to Rolfe, then Ansel, then Galan. Swept her arm to the windows, to where the Fae royals and Ilias of the Silent Assassins tended to their own on the castle grounds. “All of them. All of them came here because of Aelin. Not you. So before you sneer that there is no Her Majesty’s Armada, allow me to tell you that there is. And you are not a part of it.”

Darrow let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple again. “You are dismissed from this room.”

“Like hell she is,” Aedion growled.

But Murtaugh cut in, “There is someone, Lady, who would like to see you.” Lysandra raised her brows, and the old man winced. “I did not wish to risk leaving her in Allsbrook alone. Evangeline is in the northern tower—in my former granddaughter’s bedroom. She spotted your approach from the window and it was all I could do to convince her to wait.”

A polite, clever way to defuse the brewing storm. Aedion debated telling Lysandra that she could stay, but Lysandra was already moving, dark hair flowing behind her.

When she’d left, Aedion said, “She’s fought on the front lines at every battle. Nearly died against our enemies. I didn’t see any of you bothering to do the same.”

The group of old lords frowned with distaste. Yet it was Darrow who shifted in his seat—slightly. As if Aedion had struck upon a festering wound. “To be too old to fight,” Darrow said quietly, “while younger men and women die is not as easy as you would think, Aedion.” He glanced down, to the nameless sword at Aedion’s side. “It is not easy at all.”

Aedion debated telling him to ask the people who’d died if that wasn’t easy, either, but Prince Galan cleared his throat. “What preparations are under way for a siege?”

The Terrasen lords didn’t seem to appreciate being questioned, but they opened their hateful mouths and spoke.

An hour later, the others seen to their rooms, then to baths and hot meals, Aedion found himself following her scent.

She had gone not to the north tower and the ward who awaited her, but to the throne room.

The towering oak doors were cracked, the two rearing stags carved on them staring him down. Once, gold filigree had covered the immortal flame shining between their proud antlers.

During the past decade, someone had peeled off the gold. Either for spite or quick coin.

Aedion slipped through the doors, the cavernous chamber like the ghost of an old friend.

How many times had he bemoaned being forced to dress in his finery and stand beside the thrones atop the dais at the far back of the pillar-lined room? How many times had he caught Aelin nodding off during an endless day of pageantry?

Then, the banners of all the Terrasen territories had hung from the ceiling. Then, the pale marble floors had been so polished he could see his reflection in them.

Then, an antler throne had sat upon the dais, towering and primal. Built from the shed horns of the immortal stags of Oakwald.

Stags now butchered and burned, as the antler throne had been after the battle of Theralis. The king had ordered it done right on the battlefield.

It was before that empty dais that Lysandra stood. Staring at the white marble as if she could see the throne that had once been there. See the other, smaller thrones that had sat beside it.

“I hadn’t realized that Adarlan wrecked this place so thoroughly,” she said, either scenting him or recognizing the cadence of his footsteps.

“The bones of it are still intact,” Aedion said. “For how much longer that will remain true, I don’t know.”

Lysandra’s green eyes slid toward him, dim with exhaustion and sorrow. “Deep down,” she said quietly, “some part of me thought I’d live to see her sitting here.” She pointed to the dais, to where the antler throne had once been. “Deep down, I thought we might actually make it somehow. Even with Morath, and the Lock, and all of it.”

There was no hope in her face.

It was perhaps because of it that she bothered to speak to him.

“I thought so, too,” Aedion said with equal quiet, though the words echoed in the vast, empty chamber. “I thought so, too.”

CHAPTER 70

The Queen of the Fae had come to Morath.

Dorian forced his heartbeat to calm, his breathing to steady as Maeve sipped from her wine.

“You do not know me, then,” the Fae Queen said, studying the Valg king.

Erawan paused, goblet half-raised to his lips. “Are you not Maeve, Queen of Doranelle?”

Aelin. Had Maeve brought Aelin here? To be sold to Erawan?

Gods, gods—

Maeve tipped back her head and laughed. “Millennia apart, and you have forgotten even your own sister-in-law.”

Dorian was glad he was small and quiet and unmarked. He might have very well swayed.

Erawan went still. “You.”

Maeve smiled. “Me.”

Those golden eyes roved over the Fae Queen. “In a Fae skin. All this time.”

“I’m disappointed you did not figure it out.”

The pulse of Erawan’s power slithered over Dorian. So similar—so terribly similar to the oily power of that Valg prince. “Do you know what you have—” The Valg king silenced himself. Straightened his shoulders.

“I suppose I should thank you, then,” Erawan said, mastering himself. “Without you betraying my brother, I would not have discovered this delightful world. And would not stand primed to conquer it.” He sipped from his goblet. “But the question remains: Why come here? Why reveal yourself now? My ancient enemy—perhaps enemy no longer.”

“I was never your enemy,” Maeve said, her voice unruffled. “Your brothers, however, were mine.”

“And yet you married Orcus knowing full well what he is like.”

“Perhaps I should have married you when you offered.” A small smile—coy and horrible. “But I was so young then. Easily misled.”

Erawan let out a low laugh that made Dorian’s stomach turn. “You were never those things. And now here we are.”

If Aelin was here, if Dorian could find her, perhaps they could take on the Valg queen and king …

“Here we are,” Maeve said. “You, poised to sweep this continent. And me, willing to help you.”

Erawan crossed an ankle over a knee. “Again: Why?”

Maeve’s fingers smoothed over the facets of her goblet. “My people have betrayed me. After all I have done for them, all I have protected them, they rose up against me. The army I had gathered refused to march. My nobles, my servants, refused to kneel. I am Queen of Doranelle no longer.”

“I can guess who might be behind such a thing,” Erawan said.

Darkness flickered in the room, terrible and cold. “I had Aelin of the Wildfire contained. I had hoped to bring her here to you when she was … ready. But the sentinel I assigned to oversee her care made a grave error. I myself will admit that I was deceived. And now she is again free. And took it upon herself to dispatch letters to some influential individuals in Doranelle. She is likely already on this continent.”

Relief shuddered through him.

Erawan waved a hand. “In Anielle. Expending her power carelessly.”