Nesryn didn’t wait for his reply before she said, “Come in.”

“The guards came and went. My father sent them on their way with pastries.”

Chaol glanced up from his own pear tart and scanned the kitchen. Bright tiles accented the walls behind the counters in pretty shades of blue, orange, and turquoise. He’d never been to Sayed Faliq’s house before, but he’d known where it was—just in case.

He’d never let himself consider what that “just in case” might entail. Showing up like a stray dog at the back door hadn’t been it.

“They didn’t suspect him?”

“No. They just wanted to know whether he or his workers saw anyone who looked suspicious before Aedion’s rescue.” Nesryn pushed another pastry—this one almond and sugar—toward him. “Is the general all right?”

“As far as I know.”

He told her about the tunnels, the Valg.

Nesryn only said, “So we’ll find them again. Tomorrow.”

He waited for her to pace, to shout and swear, but she remained steady—calm. Some tight part of him uncoiled.

She tapped a finger on the wooden table—lovingly worn, as if the kneading of a thousand loaves of bread had smoothed it out. “Why did you come here?”

“For distraction.” There was a suspicious gleam in those midnight eyes of hers—enough so that he said, “Not for that.”

She didn’t even blush, though his own cheeks burned. If she had offered, he probably would have said yes. And hated himself for it.

“You’re welcome here,” she said, “but surely your friends at the apartment—the general, at least—would provide better company.”

“Are they my friends?”

“You and Her Majesty have done a great job trying to be anything but.”

“It’s hard to be friends without trust.”

“You are the one who went to Arobynn again, even after she warned you not to.”

“And he was right,” Chaol said. “He said she would promise not to touch Dorian, and then do the opposite.” And he would be forever grateful for the warning shot Nesryn had fired.

Nesryn shook her head, her dark hair glimmering. “Let’s just imagine that Aelin is right. That Dorian is gone. What then?”

“She’s not right.”

“Let’s just imagine—”

He slammed his fist on the table hard enough to rattle his glass of water. “She’s not right!”

Nesryn pursed her lips, even as her eyes softened. “Why?”

He scrubbed at his face. “Because then it’s all for nothing. Everything that happened … it’s all for nothing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I wouldn’t?” A cold question. “You think that I don’t understand what’s at stake? I don’t care about your prince—not the way you do. I care about what he represents for the future of this kingdom, and for the future of people like my family. I won’t allow another immigrant purge to happen. I don’t ever want my sister’s children coming home with broken noses again because of their foreign blood. You told me Dorian would fix the world, make it better. But if he’s gone, if we made the mistake today in keeping him alive, then I will find another way to attain that future. And another one after that, if I have to. I will keep getting back up, no matter how many times those butchers shove me down.”

He’d never heard so many words from her at once, had never … never even known she had a sister. Or that she was an aunt.

Nesryn said, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stay the course, but also plot another one. Adapt.”

His mouth had gone dry. “Were you ever hurt? For your heritage?”

Nesryn glanced toward the roaring hearth, her face like ice. “I became a city guard because not a single one of them came to my aid the day the other schoolchildren surrounded me with stones in their hands. Not one, even though they could hear my screaming.” She met his stare again. “Dorian Havilliard offers a better future, but the responsibility also lies with us. With how common people choose to act.”

True—so true, but he said, “I won’t abandon him.”

She sighed. “You’re even more hardheaded than the queen.”

“Would you expect me to be anything else?”

A half smile. “I don’t think I would like you if you were anything but a stubborn ass.”

“You actually admit to liking me?”

“Did last summer not tell you enough?”

Despite himself, Chaol laughed.

“Tomorrow,” Nesryn said. “Tomorrow, we continue on.”

He swallowed. “Stay the course, but plot a new path.” He could do that; he could try it, at least.

“See you in the sewers bright and early.”

23

Aedion rose to consciousness and took in every detail that he could without opening his eyes. A briny breeze from a nearby open window tickled his face; fishermen were shouting their catches a few blocks away; and—and someone was breathing evenly, deeply, nearby. Sleeping.

He opened an eye to find that he was in a small, wood-paneled room decorated with care and a penchant for the luxurious. He knew this room. Knew this apartment.

The door across from his bed was open, revealing the great room beyond—clean and empty and bathed in sunshine. The sheets he slept between were crisp and silken, the pillows plush, the mattress impossibly soft. Exhaustion coated his bones, and pain splintered through his side, but dully. And his head was infinitely clearer as he looked toward the source of that even, deep breathing and beheld the woman asleep in the cream-colored armchair beside the bed.

Her long, bare legs were sprawled over one of the rolled arms, scars of every shape and size adorning them. She rested her head against the wing, her shoulder-length golden hair—the ends stained a reddish brown, as if a cheap dye had been roughly washed out—strewn across her face. Her mouth was slightly open as she dozed, comfortable in an oversized white shirt and what looked to be a pair of men’s undershorts. Safe. Alive.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Aelin.

He mouthed her name.

As if she heard it, she opened her eyes—coming fully alert as she scanned the doorway, the room beyond, then the bedroom itself for any danger. And then finally, finally she looked at him and went utterly still, even as her hair shifted in the gentle breeze.

The pillow beneath his face had become damp.

She just stretched out her legs like a cat and said, “I’m ready to accept your thanks for my spectacular rescue at any time, you know.”

He couldn’t stop the tears leaking down his face, even as he rasped, “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

A smile tugged at her lips, and her eyes—their eyes—sparkled. “Hello, Aedion.”

Hearing his name on her tongue snapped something loose, and he had to close his eyes, his body barking in pain as it shook with the force of the tears trying to get out of him. When he’d mastered himself, he said hoarsely, “Thank you for your spectacular rescue. Let’s never do it again.”

She snorted, her eyes lined with silver. “You’re exactly the way I dreamed you’d be.”

Something in her smile told him that she already knew—that Ren or Chaol had told her about him, about being Adarlan’s Whore, about the Bane. So all he could say was, “You’re a little taller than I’d imagined, but no one’s perfect.”

“It’s a miracle the king managed to resist executing you until yesterday.”

“Tell me he’s in a rage the likes of which have never been seen before.”

“If you listen hard enough, you can actually hear him shrieking from the palace.”

Aedion laughed, and it made his wound ache. But the laugh died as he looked her over from head to toe. “I’m going to throttle Ren and the captain for letting you save me alone.”

“And here we go.” She looked at the ceiling and sighed loudly. “A minute of pleasant conversation, and then the territorial Fae bullshit comes raging out.”

“I waited an extra thirty seconds.”

Her mouth quirked to the side. “I honestly thought you’d last ten.”

He laughed again, and realized that though he’d loved her before, he’d merely loved the memory—the princess taken away from him. But the woman, the queen—the last shred of family he had …

“It was worth it,” he said, his smile fading. “You were worth it. All these years, all the waiting. You’re worth it.” He’d known the moment she had looked up at him as she stood before his execution block, defiant and wicked and wild.

“I think that’s the healing tonic talking,” she said, but her throat bobbed as she wiped at her eyes. She lowered her feet to the floor. “Chaol said you’re even meaner than I am most of the time.”

“Chaol is already on his way to being throttled, and you’re not helping.”

She gave that half smile again. “Ren’s in the North—I didn’t get to see him before Chaol convinced him to go there for his own safety.”

“Good,” he managed to say, and patted the bed beside him. Someone had stuffed him into a clean shirt, so he was decent enough, but he managed to haul himself halfway into a sitting position. “Come here.”