Dorian whirled to him. Chaol nodded, unable to find the words to convey what flooded his heart.

But Dorian’s smile dimmed as he faced where Aelin now leaned against a tree, Rowan and Elide beside her.

“I know,” Aelin said, and Chaol knew she didn’t mean about the pregnancy.

Dorian closed his eyes, and Chaol laid a hand on his king’s shoulder at whatever burden he was about to reveal.

“I retrieved the third from Morath,” Dorian said.

Chaol’s knees buckled, and Yrene was instantly there, an arm around his waist.

The Wyrdkeys.

Chaol asked Dorian, “You have all three now?”

Dorian nodded once.

A look from Rowan had his cadre peeling off to make sure none from the army got close enough to hear.

“I snuck into Morath to get the third,” Dorian said.

“Holy gods,” Aelin breathed. Chaol just blinked.

“That was the easy part,” Dorian said, paling. The khaganate royals emerged from the ranks, and Dorian smiled at Nesryn. Then nodded to the royals. Introductions would come later.

“Maeve was there,” Dorian said to Aelin.

Flame danced at Aelin’s fingertips as she rested her hand atop Goldryn. The fire seemed to sink into the blade, the ruby flickering. “I know,” she said quietly.

Dorian’s brows rose. Aelin just shook her head, motioning him to continue as the cadre returned.

“Maeve discovered my presence, and …” Dorian sighed, and the whole story came tumbling out.

When he was done, Chaol was glad Yrene had kept her arm around his waist. Silence fell, thick and taut. Dorian had destroyed Morath.

“I have little doubt,” Dorian admitted, “that both Erawan and Maeve survived Morath’s collapsing. It likely only served to enrage them.”

It didn’t stop Chaol from marveling at his friend, the others gawking.

“Well done,” Lorcan said, scanning the king from head to toe. “Well done indeed.”

Aelin let out an impressed whistle. “I wish I could have seen it,” she said to Dorian, shaking her head. Then she turned to Rowan. “Your uncle and Essar came through, then. They kicked Maeve to the curb.”

The Fae Prince snorted. “You said your letter was strongly worded. I should have believed you.” Aelin sketched a bow. Chaol hadn’t the faintest idea what they were talking about, but Rowan went on, “So if Maeve cannot be Queen of the Fae, she will find herself another throne.”

“Bitch,” Fenrys spat. Chaol was inclined to agree.

“Our worst fears have been confirmed, then,” Prince Sartaq said, glancing to his siblings. “A Valg king and queen united.” A nod toward Elide. “Your uncle did not lie.”

“Maeve has no army now,” Dorian reminded them. “Just her power.”

Nesryn cringed. “The hybrids she created with the princesses might be disaster enough.”

Chaol glanced to Yrene, the woman who held the greatest weapon against the Valg within her own body.

“When did you leave Morath?” Rowan asked.

“Three days ago,” Dorian said.

Rowan turned to Aelin, ashen-faced as she remained leaning against the tree. Chaol wondered if she did so only because her own legs might not be able to support her. “Then at least we know that Erawan has not yet come to Terrasen.”

“His Ironteeth host went ahead of him,” Dorian said.

“We know,” Chaol said. “They’re already at Orynth.”

Dorian shook his head. “That’s impossible. They left soon after I did. I’m surprised you didn’t see them flying past in the Ruhnns.”

Silence.

“The full Ironteeth host isn’t yet at Orynth,” Aelin said softly. Too softly.

“I counted over a thousand in the host that I flew with,” Dorian said. “Many bore soldiers with them—all Valg.”

Chaol closed his eyes, and Yrene’s arm tightened around him in silent comfort.

“We knew the rukhin would be outnumbered anyway,” Nesryn said.

“There won’t be anything left of Terrasen for the rukhin to defend,” Prince Kashin said, rubbing his jaw. “Even if the Crochans arrived before us.”

The Queen of Terrasen pushed off from the tree at last. “We have two choices, then,” she said, her voice unwavering despite the hell that swept upon them. “We continue north, as fast as we can. See what there is to fight when we arrive at Terrasen. I might be able to bring down a good number of those wyverns.”

“And the other option?” Princess Hasar asked.

Aelin’s face was stark. “We have the three Wyrdkeys. We have me. I can end this now. Or at least take Erawan out of play before he can find us, steal those keys back, and rule over this world and all others.”

Rowan started, shaking his head. But Aelin held up a hand. And even the Fae Prince stood down. “It’s not my choice alone.”

And Chaol realized that it was indeed a queen standing before them, not the assassin he’d dragged out of a salt mine a few miles down the road. Not even the woman he’d seen in Rifthold.

Dorian squared his shoulders. “The choice is also mine.”

Slowly, so slowly, Aelin looked at him. Chaol braced himself. Her voice was deadly soft as she said to Dorian, “You retrieved the third key. Your role in this is done.”

“Like hell it is,” Dorian said, sapphire eyes flashing. “The same blood, the same debt, flows in my veins.”

Chaol’s hands curled at his sides as he fought to keep his mouth shut. Rowan seemed to be doing the same as the two rulers squared off.

Aelin’s face remained unmoved—distant. “You’re so eager to die?”

Dorian didn’t retreat. “Are you?”

Silence. Utter silence in the clearing.

Then Aelin shrugged, as if the weight of entire worlds didn’t hang in the balance. “Regardless of who will put the keys back into the gate, this is a fate that belongs to all of us. So all of us should decide.” Her chin lifted. “Do we continue on to war, hope we make it to Orynth in time, and then destroy the keys? Or do we destroy the keys now, and then you continue northward.” A pause, horrible and unbearable. “Without me.”

Rowan was shaking, whether with restraint or in dread, Chaol couldn’t tell.

Aelin said, unwavering and calm, “I would like to put it to a vote.”

A vote.

Rowan had never heard of anything so absurd.

Even as part of him glowed with pride that she had chosen now, here, as the moment when that new world she had promised would rise.

A world in which a few did not hold all the power, but many. Beginning with this, this most vital choice. This unbearable fate.

All of them had moved farther down the road, and it was not lost on Rowan that they stood at a crossroads. Or that Dorian and Aelin and Chaol stood in the heart of that crossroads, merely a few miles from the salt mines. Where so much of this had begun, just over a year ago.

There was a dull roar in Rowan’s ears as the debate raged.

He knew he should fall on his knees and thank Dorian for retrieving the third key. But he hated the king all the same.

He hated this path they’d been put on, a thousand years ago. Hated that this choice lay before them, when they had already fought so much, given so much.

Prince Kashin was saying, “We march on a hundred thousand enemy troops, possibly more. That number will not change when the Wyrdgate is closed. We will need the Fire-Bringer to cut through them.”

Princess Hasar shook her head. “But there is the possibility of that army’s collapse should Erawan vanish. Cut off the beast’s head and the body could die.”

“That’s a big risk to take,” Chaol said, his jaw tight. “Erawan’s removal from all this might help, or it might not. An enemy army this big, full of Valg who might be eager to fill his place, could be impossible to stop at this point.”

“Then why not use the keys?” Nesryn asked. “Why not bring the keys north and use them, destroy the army, and—”

“The keys cannot be wielded,” Dorian cut in. “Not without destroying the bearer. We’re not entirely sure a mortal could withstand the power.” He nodded toward Aelin, silent and watchful while it took all of Rowan’s training not to hurl up his guts. “Just putting them back in the gate requires everything.” He added tightly, “From one of us.”