Kingdom of Ash

Rowan knew this day would be hard for her.

For all of them, who had become so close these weeks and months.

Yet a week after Aelin’s coronation, they gathered again. This time not to celebrate, but to say farewell.

The day had dawned, clear and sunny, yet still brutally cold. As it would be for a time.

Aelin had asked them all to stay last night. To wait out the winter months and depart in the spring. Rowan knew she’d been aware her request was unlikely to be granted.

Some had seemed inclined to think it over, but in the end, all but Rolfe had decided to go.

Today—as one. Scattering to the four winds. The Ironteeth and Crochans had left before first light, vanishing swiftly and quietly. Heading westward toward their ancient home.

Rowan stood beside Aelin in the castle courtyard, and he could feel the sorrow and love and gratitude that flowed through her as she took them in. The khaganate royals and rukhin had already said their good-byes, Borte the most reluctant to say farewell, and Aelin’s embrace with Nesryn Faliq had been long. They had whispered together, and he’d known what Aelin offered: companionship, even from thousands of miles away. Two young queens, with mighty kingdoms to rule.

The healers had gone with them, some on horseback with the Darghan, some in wagons, some with the rukhin. Yrene Westfall had sobbed as she had embraced the healers, the Healer on High, one last time. And then sobbed into her husband’s arms for a good while after that.

Then Ansel of Briarcliff, with what remained of her men. She and Aelin had traded taunts, then laughed, and then cried, holding each other. Another bond that would not be so easily broken despite the distance.

The Silent Assassins left next, Ilias smiling at Aelin as he rode off.

Then Prince Galan, whose ships remained under the watch of Ravi and Sol in Suria and who would ride there before departing to Wendlyn. He had embraced Aedion, then clasped Rowan’s hand before turning to Aelin.

His wife, his mate, his queen had said to the prince, “You came when I asked. You came without knowing any of us. I know I’ve already said it, but I will be forever grateful.”

Galan had grinned. “It was a debt long owed, cousin. And one gladly paid.”

Then he, too, rode off, his people with him. Of all the allies they’d cobbled together, only Rolfe would remain for the winter, as he was now Lord of Ilium. And Falkan Ennar, Lysandra’s uncle, who wished to learn what his niece knew of shape-shifting. Perhaps build his own merchant empire here—and assist with those foreign trade agreements they’d need to quickly make.

More and more departed under the winter sun until only Dorian, Chaol, and Yrene remained.

Yrene embraced Elide, the two women swearing to write frequently. Yrene, wisely, just nodded to Lorcan, then smiled at Lysandra, Aedion, Ren, and Fenrys before she approached Rowan and Aelin.

Yrene remained smiling as she looked between them. “When your first child is near, send for me and I will come. To help with the birth.”

Rowan didn’t have words for the gratitude that threatened to bow his shoulders. Fae births … He didn’t let himself think of it. Not as he hugged the healer.

For a moment, Aelin and Yrene just stared at each other.

“We’re a long way from Innish,” Yrene whispered.

“But lost no longer,” Aelin whispered back, voice breaking as they embraced. The two women who had held the fate of their world between them. Who had saved it.

Behind them, Chaol wiped at his face. Rowan, ducking his head, did the same.

His good-bye to Chaol was quick, their embrace firm. Dorian lingered longer, graceful and steady, even as Rowan found himself struggling to speak past the tightness in his throat.

And then Aelin stood before Dorian and Chaol, and Rowan stepped back, falling into line beside Aedion, Fenrys, Lorcan, Elide, Ren, and Lysandra. Their fledgling court—the court that would change this world. Rebuild it.

Giving their queen space for this last, hardest good-bye.

She felt as if she had been crying without end for minutes now.

Yet this parting, this final farewell …

Aelin looked at Chaol and Dorian and sobbed. Opened her arms to them, and wept as they held each other.

“I love you both,” she whispered. “And no matter what may happen, no matter how far we may be, that will never change.”

“We will see you again,” Chaol said, but even his voice was thick with tears.

“Together,” Dorian breathed, shaking. “We’ll rebuild this world together.”

She couldn’t stand it, this ache in her chest. But she made herself pull away and smile at their tear-streaked faces, a hand on her heart. “Thank you for all you have done for me.”

Dorian bowed his head. “Those are words I’d never thought I’d hear from you.”

She barked a rasping laugh, and gave him a shove. “You’re a king now. Such insults are beneath you.”

He grinned, wiping at his face.

Aelin smiled at Chaol, at his wife waiting beyond him. “I wish you every happiness,” she said to him. To them both.

Such light shone in Chaol’s bronze eyes—that she had never seen before. “We will see each other again,” he repeated.

Then he and Dorian turned toward their horses, toward the bright day beyond the castle gates. Toward their kingdom to the south. Shattered now, but not forever.

Not forever.

Aelin was quiet for a long time afterward, and Rowan stayed with her, following as she strode up to the castle battlements to watch Chaol, Dorian, and Yrene ride down the road that cut through the savaged Plain of Theralis. Until even they had vanished over the horizon.

Rowan kept his arm around her, breathing in her scent as she rested her head against his shoulder.

Rowan ignored the faint ache that lingered there from the tattoos she’d helped him ink the night before. Gavriel’s name, rendered in the Old Language. Exactly how the Lion had once tattooed the names of his fallen warriors on himself.

Fenrys and Lorcan, a tentative peace between them, also now bore the tattoo—had demanded one as soon as they’d caught wind of what Rowan planned to do.

Aedion, however, had asked Rowan for a different design. To add Gavriel’s name to the Terrasen knot already inked over his heart.

Aedion had been quiet while Rowan had worked—quiet enough that Rowan had begun telling him the stories. Story after story about the Lion. The adventures they’d shared, the lands they’d seen, the wars they’d waged. Aedion hadn’t spoken while Rowan had talked and worked, the scent of his grief conveying enough.

It was a scent that would likely linger for many months to come.

Aelin let out a long sigh. “Will you let me cry in bed for the rest of today like a pathetic worm,” she asked at last, “if I promise to get to work on rebuilding tomorrow?”

Rowan arched a brow, joy flowing through him, free and shining as a stream down a mountain. “Would you like me to bring you cakes and chocolate so your wallowing can be complete?”

“If you can find any.”

“You destroyed the Wyrdkeys and slew Maeve. I think I can manage to find you some sweets.”

“As you once said to me, it was a group effort. It might also require one to acquire cakes and chocolate.”

Rowan laughed, and kissed the top of her head. And for a long moment, he just marveled that he could do it. Could stand with her here, in this kingdom, this city, this castle, where they would make their home.

He could see it now: the halls restored to their splendor, the plain and river sparkling beyond, the Staghorns beckoning. He could hear the music she’d bring to this city, and the laughter of the children in the streets. In these halls. In their royal suite.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, peering up at his face.

Rowan brushed a kiss to her mouth. “That I get to be here. With you.”

“There’s lots of work to be done. Some might say as bad as dealing with Erawan.”

“Nothing will ever be that bad.”

She snorted. “True.”

He tucked her in closer. “I am thinking about how very grateful I am. That we made it. That I found you. And how, even with all that work to be done, I will not mind a moment of it because you are with me.”

She frowned, her eyes dampening. “I’m going to have a terrible headache from all this crying, and you’re not helping.”

Rowan laughed, and kissed her again. “Very queenly.”

She hummed. “I am, if anything, the consummate portrait of royal grace.”

He chuckled against her mouth. “And humility. Let’s not forget that.”

“Oh yes,” she said, winding her arms around his neck. His blood heated, sparking with a power greater than any force a god or Wyrdkey could summon.

But Rowan pulled away, just far enough to rest his brow against hers. “Let’s get you to your chambers, Majesty, so you can commence your royal wallowing.”

She shook with laughter. “I might have something else in mind now.”

Rowan let out a growl, and nipped at her ear, her neck. “Good. I do, too.”

“And tomorrow?” she asked breathlessly, and they both paused to look at each other. To smile. “Will you work to rebuild this kingdom, this world, with me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, and every day after that.” For every day of the thousand blessed years they were granted together. And beyond.

Aelin kissed him again and took his hand, guiding him into the castle. Into their home. “To whatever end?” she breathed.

Rowan followed her, as he had his entire life, long before they had ever met, before their souls had sparked into existence. “To whatever end, Fireheart.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Can I give you a suggestion for what we should rebuild first?”

Aelin smiled, and eternity opened before them, shining and glorious and lovely. “Tell me tomorrow.”