Formygrandmother,Camilla,whocrossedmountainsandseas,

andwhoseownremarkablestoryismyfavoriteepicofall

BOOKSBYSARAHJ.MAAS

TheThroneofGlassseries

Assassin’sBladeThroneofGlassCrownofMidnight

HeirofFireQueenofShadowsEmpireofStormsTowerofDawn

•TheThroneofGlassColouringBook

ACourtofThornsandRosesseries

ACourtofThornsandRosesACourtofMistandFuryACourtofWingsandRuin

•ACourtofThornsandRosesColouringBook

CONTENTS

Map

PartOne:TheGod-City

ChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFourChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteen

ChapterTwentyChapterTwenty-OneChapterTwenty-TwoChapterTwenty-ThreeChapterTwenty-FourChapterTwenty-FiveChapterTwenty-SixChapterTwenty-SevenChapterTwenty-Eight

PartTwo:MountainsandSeas

ChapterTwenty-NineChapterThirtyChapterThirty-OneChapterThirty-TwoChapterThirty-ThreeChapterThirty-FourChapterThirty-FiveChapterThirty-SixChapterThirty-SevenChapterThirty-EightChapterThirty-NineChapterFortyChapterForty-OneChapterForty-TwoChapterForty-ThreeChapterForty-FourChapterForty-FiveChapterForty-Six

ChapterForty-SevenChapterForty-EightChapterForty-NineChapterFiftyChapterFifty-OneChapterFifty-TwoChapterFifty-ThreeChapterFifty-FourChapterFifty-FiveChapterFifty-SixChapterFifty-SevenChapterFifty-EightChapterFifty-NineChapterSixtyChapterSixty-OneChapterSixty-TwoChapterSixty-ThreeChapterSixty-FourChapterSixty-FiveChapterSixty-SixChapterSixty-SevenChapterSixty-Eight

FireheartAcknowledgments

PARTONETHEGOD-CITY

1

ChaolWestfall,formerCaptainoftheRoyalGuardandnowHandtothenewlycrowned King of Adarlan, had discovered that he hated one sound above allothers.

Wheels.Specifically,theirclatteringalongtheplanksoftheshiponwhichhe’dspent

thepast threeweeks sailing through storm-tossedwaters.Andnow their rattleandthunkovertheshininggreenmarblefloorsandintricatemosaicsthroughouttheKhaganoftheSouthernContinent’sshiningpalaceinAntica.

With nothing to do beyond sit in the wheeled chair that he’d deemed hadbecomebothhisprisonandhisonlypathtoseeingtheworld,Chaoltookinthedetailsof the sprawlingpalaceperchedatoponeof thecapital city’s countlesshills. Every bit of material had been taken from and built in honor of someportionofthekhagan’smightyempire:

Those polished green floors his chair now clattered over were hewn fromquarriesinthesouthwestofthecontinent.Theredpillarsfashionedlikemightytrees,theiruppermostbranchesstretchingacrossthedomedceilingshighabove—all part of one endless receiving hall—had been hauled in from thenortheastern,sand-blasteddeserts.

The mosaics that interrupted the green marble had been assembled bycraftsmenfromTigana,anotherofthekhagan’sprizedcitiesatthemountainoussouthernendofthecontinent.Eachportrayedascenefromthekhaganate’srich,

brutal,gloriouspast:thecenturiesspentasanomadichorse-peopleinthegrassysteppes of the continent’s eastern lands; the emergence of the first khagan, awarlordwho unified the scattered tribes into a conquering force that took thecontinent piece by piece, wielding cunning and strategic brilliance to forge asweepingempire;and thendepictionsof the threecenturiessince—thevariouskhaganswhohadexpandedtheempire,distributing thewealthfromahundredterritoriesacrossthelands,buildingcountlessbridgesandroadstoconnectthemall,rulingoverthevastcontinentwithprecisionandclarity.

Perhaps the mosaics provided a vision of what Adarlan might have been,Chaolmusedasthemurmuringsofthegatheredcourtflittedbetweenthecarvedpillarsandgildeddomesahead.Thatis,ifAdarlanhadn’tbeenruledbyamancontrolledbyademonkinghell-benton turning thisworld intoa feast forhishordes.

Chaol twistedhisheadtopeerupatNesryn,stone-facedbehindhimasshepushed his chair. Only her dark eyes, darting over every passing face andwindow and column, revealed any sort of interest in the khagan’s sprawlinghome.

They’d saved their finest set of clothes for today, and the newly appointedCaptainoftheGuardwasindeedresplendentinhercrimson-and-golduniform.WhereDorianhadduguponeoftheuniformsChaolhadoncewornwithsuchpride,hehadnoidea.

He’dinitiallywantedtowearblack,simplybecausecolor…He’dneverfeltcomfortablewith colors, save the red andgoldof his kingdom.But blackhadbecomethecolorofErawan’sValg-infestedguards.Theyhadwornthoseblack-on-blackuniformsasthey’dterrorizedRifthold.Asthey’droundedup,tortured,andthenbutcheredhismen.

Thenstrungthemalongthepalacegatestoswinginthewind.He’dbarelybeenable to lookat theAnticanguards they’dpassedon their

wayhere,bothinthestreetsandinthisverypalace—standingproudandalert,

swordsattheirbacksandknivesattheirsides.Evennow,heresistedtheurgetoglancetowhereheknewthey’dbestationedinthehall,exactlywherehewouldhavepositionedhisownmen.Wherehehimselfwouldundoubtedlyhavebeenstanding,monitoringall,whileemissariesfromaforeignkingdomarrived.

Nesrynmet his stare, those ebony eyes cool and unblinking, her shoulder-lengthblackhairswayingwitheachstep.Notatraceofnervesflickeredacrossherlovely,solemnface.Noinklingthattheywereabouttomeetoneofthemostpowerful men in the world—a man who could alter the fate of their owncontinentinthewarsurelynowbreakingoutacrossAdarlanandTerrasen.

Chaolfacedforwardwithoutsayingaword.Thewallsandpillarsandarcheddoorwayshadearsandeyesandmouths,she’dwarnedhim.

ItwasthatthoughtalonethatkeptChaolfromfiddlingwiththeclotheshe’dfinally decided upon: light brown pants, knee-high chestnut-colored boots, awhiteshirtoffinestsilk,mostlyconcealedbyadarktealjacket.Thejacketwassimpleenough, thecostof itonlyrevealedby thefinebrassbucklesdownthefront and the glimmer of delicate golden thread skimming the high collar andedges. No sword hung from his leather belt—the absence of that comfortingweightlikesomephantomlimb.

Orlegs.Two tasks.Hehad two taskswhilehere,andhestillwasnotcertainwhich

onewouldprovethemoreimpossible:Convincingthekhaganandhissixwould-beheirstolendtheirconsiderable

armiestothewaragainstErawan…OrfindingahealerintheTorreCesmewhocoulddiscoversomewaytoget

himwalkingagain.To—hethoughtwithnosmallrippleofdisgust—fixhim.Hehatedthatword.Almostasmuchastheclatteringofthewheels.Fix.Even

if that’swhathewasbeseechingthe legendaryhealers todoforhim, thewordstillgrated,madehisgutchurn.

Heshovedthewordand the thoughtfromhismindasNesrynfollowedthenear-silent flock of servants who had led them from the docks, through thewinding and dusty cobblestoned streets of Antica, all the way up the slopedavenuetothedomesandthirty-sixminaretsofthepalaceitself.

Strips of white cloth—from silk to felt to linen—had been hanging fromcountlesswindowsandlanternsanddoorways.Likelybecauseofsomeofficialor distant royal relation dying recently, Nesryn had murmured. Death ritualswerevariedandoftenablendfromthecountlesskingdomsandterritoriesnowgovernedbythekhaganate,butthewhiteclothwasanancientholdoverfromthecenturieswhenthekhagan’speoplehadroamedthesteppesandlaidtheirdeadtorestunderthewatchful,opensky.

Thecityhadbeenhardlygloomy,though,astheytraveledthroughit.Peoplestill hurried about in clothes of various makes, vendors still called out theirwares,acolytesintemplesofwoodorstone—everygodhadahomeinAntica,Nesrynsupplied—stillbeckonedtothoseonthestreet.Allofit,eventhepalace,watchedoverbytheshining,pale-stonedtoweratoponeofitssouthernhills.

The Torre. The tower that housed the finest mortal healers in the world.Chaolhadtriednottolooktoolongatitthroughthecarriagewindows,evenifthemassive towercouldbeseen fromnearlyeverystreetandangleofAntica.Noneoftheservantshadmentionedit,orpointedoutthedominantpresencethatseemedtorivaleventhekhagan’spalace.

No,theservantshadn’tsaidmuchatallonthetrekhere,evenregardingthemourning-bannersflappinginthedrywind.Eachofthemremainedsilent,menandwomenalike,theirdarkhairshiningandstraight,andeachworeloosepantsandflowingjacketsofcobaltandbloodrededgedwithpalegold.Paidservants—but descendants of the slaves who had once been owned by the khagan’sbloodline.Until the previous khagan, a visionary and firebrand, had outlawedslavery a generation ago as one of her countless improvements to the empire.Thekhaganhadfreedherslavesbutkeptthemonaspaidservants—alongwith

theirchildren.Andnowtheirchildren’schildren.Notasingleoneofthemappearedunderfedorundercompensated,andnone

hadshownevenaflickeroffearasthey’descortedChaolandNesrynfromtheship to the palace. The current khagan, it seemed, treated his servants well.Hopefullyhisyet-undecidedHeirwouldaswell.

Unlike Adarlan or Terrasen, inheritance of the empire was decided by thekhagan—notbybirthorderorgender.Havingasmanychildrenaspossible toprovide him or her with a wide pool to choose from made that choice onlysomewhateasier.Andrivalryamongsttheroyalchildren…Itwaspracticallyablood sport. All designed to prove to their parent who was the strongest, thewisest,themostsuitedtorule.

Thekhaganwasrequiredbylawtohaveasealeddocumentlockedawayinanunmarked,hiddentrove—adocumentthatlistedhisorherHeir,shoulddeathsweepuponthembefore itcouldbeformallyannounced.Itcouldbealteredatanytime,butitwasdesignedtoavoidtheonethingthekhaganatehadlivedinfearofsincethatfirstkhaganhadpatchedtogetherthekingdomsandterritoriesofthiscontinent:collapse.Notfromoutsideforces,butfromwarwithin.

Thatlong-agofirstkhaganhadbeenwise.Notonceduringthethreehundredyearsofthekhaganatehadacivilwaroccurred.

And as Nesryn pushed him past the graceful bowing of the servants nowpaused between two enormous pillars, as the lush, ornate throne room spreadbeforethemwithitsdozensofpeoplegatheredaroundthegoldendaisglitteringinthemiddaysun,Chaolwonderedwhichofthefivefiguresstandingbeforetheenthronedmanwouldonedaybechosentorulethisempire.

Theonlysoundscamefromtherustlingclothingofthefourdozenpeople—hecountedinthespanofafewcasualblinks—gatheredalongeithersideofthatglinting dais, forming a wall of silk and flesh and jewels, a veritable avenuethroughwhichNesrynwheeledhim.

Rustling clothing—and the clatter and squeak of the wheels. She’d oiled

them thismorning,butweeksat seahadwornon themetal.Every scrapeandshriekwaslikenailsonstone.

Buthekepthisheadhigh.Shouldersback.Nesrynpausedahealthydistancefromthedais—fromthewalloffiveroyal

children, all in theirprime,male and female, standingbetween themand theirfather.

Defenseoftheiremperor:aprinceorprincess’sfirstduty.Theeasiestwaytoprovetheirloyalty,toangleforbeingtappedHeir.Andthefivebeforethem…

Chaol schooledhis face intoneutralityashecountedagain.Only five.NotthesixNesrynhaddescribed.

Buthedidn’tscan thehall for themissingroyalsiblingashebowedat thewaist.He’dpracticedthemovementoverandoverthisfinalweekatsea,astheweatherhad turnedhotter, theairbecomingdryandsunbaked.Doing it in thechair still felt unnatural, but Chaol bowed low—until he was staring at hisunresponsive legs, at his spotless brown boots and the feet he could not feel,couldnotmove.

Fromthewhisperofclothingtohisleft,heknewNesrynhadcometohissideandwasbowingdeeplyaswell.

TheyhelditforthethreebreathsNesrynclaimedwererequired.Chaol used those three breaths to settle himself, to shut out the weight of

whatwasuponthemboth.He had once been skilled at maintaining an unfaltering composure. He’d

servedDorian’sfatherforyears,hadtakenorderswithoutsomuchasblinking.Andbeforethat,he’denduredhisownfather,whosewordshadbeenascuttingashisfists.ThetrueandcurrentLordofAnielle.

TheLordnowinfrontofChaol’snamewasamockery.AmockeryandaliethatDorianhadrefusedtoabandondespiteChaol’sprotests.

LordChaolWestfall,HandoftheKing.He hated it.More than the sound of wheels.More than the body he now

couldnotfeelbeneathhiships,thebodywhosestillnessstillsurprisedhim,evenalltheseweekslater.

HewasLordofNothing.LordofOath-Breakers.LordofLiars.AndasChaol liftedhis torsoandmet theupswepteyesof thewhite-haired

manon that throne,as thekhagan’sweatheredbrownskincrinkled inasmall,cunningsmile…Chaolwonderedifthekhaganknewitaswell.

2

Thereweretwopartsofher,Nesrynsupposed.Thepart thatwasnowCaptainofAdarlan’sRoyalGuard,whohadmadea

vowtoherkingtoseethatthemaninthewheeledchairbesideherwashealed—andtomusteranarmyfromthemanenthronedbeforeher.ThatpartofNesrynkept her head high, her shoulders back, her hands within a nonthreateningdistanceoftheornateswordatherhip.

Thentherewastheotherpart.Thepartthathadglimpsedthespiresandminaretsanddomesofthegod-city

breaking over the horizon as they’d sailed in, the shining pillar of the Torrestanding proud over it all, and had to swallow back tears. The part that hadscentedthesmokypaprikaandcrisptangofgingerandbeckoningsweetnessofcuminassoonasshehadclearedthedocksandknew,deepinherbones,thatshewashome.That, yes, she lived and served andwould die forAdarlan, for thefamilystillthere,butthisplace,whereherfatherhadoncelivedandwhereevenherAdarlan-bornmotherhadfeltmoreatease…Thesewereherpeople.

Theskininvaryingshadesofbrownandtan.Theabundanceofthatshiningblackhair—her hair.The eyes that ranged fromuptilted towide and round toslender, inhuesof ebonyandchestnut andeven the rarehazel andgreen.Herpeople.Ablendofkingdomsandterritories,yes,but…Heretherewerenoslurshissedinthestreets.Heretherewouldbenorocksthrownbychildren.Herehersister’schildrenwouldnotfeeldifferent.Unwanted.

And thatpartofher…Despiteher thrown-backshouldersand raisedchin,herkneesindeedquakedatwho—atwhat—stoodbeforeher.

Nesrynhadnotdaredtellherfatherwhereandwhatshewasleavingtodo.OnlythatshewasoffonanerrandoftheKingofAdarlanandwouldnotbebackforsometime.

Herfatherwouldn’thavebelievedit.Nesryndidn’tquitebelieveitherself.Thekhaganhadbeenastorywhisperedbeforetheirhearthonwinternights,

his offspring legends told while kneading endless loaves of bread for theirbakery.Theirancestors’bedsidetalestoeitherlullherintosweetsleeporkeepherupallnightinbone-deepterror.

Thekhaganwasalivingmyth.Asmuchofadeityasthethirty-sixgodswhoruledoverthiscityandempire.

TherewereasmanytemplestothosegodsinAnticaasthereweretributestothevariouskhagans.More.

They called it the god-city for them—and for the living god seated on theivorythroneatopthatgoldendais.

Itwasindeedpuregold,justasherfather’swhisperedlegendsclaimed.And the khagan’s six children … Nesryn could name them all without

introduction.AfterthemeticulousresearchChaolhaddonewhileontheirship,shehadno

doubthecouldaswell.Butthatwasnothowthismeetingwastogo.Forasmuchasshehadtaughttheformercaptainaboutherhomelandthese

weeks, he’d instructed her on court protocol. He had rarely been so directlyinvolved,yes,buthehadwitnessedenoughofitwhileservingtheking.

Anobserverofthegamewhowasnowtobeaprimeplayer.Withthestakesunbearablyhigh.

Theywaitedinsilenceforthekhagantospeak.She’dtriednottogawkwhilewalkingthroughthepalace.Shehadneverset

foot inside it during her few visits to Antica over the years. Neither had herfather,orhisfather,oranyofherancestors.Inacityofgods,thiswastheholiestoftemples.Anddeadliestoflabyrinths.

Thekhagandidnotmovefromhisivorythrone.Anewer,widerthrone,datingfromahundredyearsago—whentheseventh

khaganhadchuckedouttheoldonebecausehislargeframedidn’tfitinit.He’deatenanddrunkhimselftodeath,historyclaimed,butatleasthadthegoodsensetonamehisHeirbeforeheclutchedhischestonedayandslumpeddead…rightinthatthrone.

Urus, thecurrentkhagan,wasnomore than sixty, and seemed in farbettercondition. Though his dark hair had long since gone as white as his carvedthrone,thoughscarspepperedhiswrinkledskinasaremindertoallthathehadfought for this throne in the final days of hismother’s life…His onyx eyes,slenderanduptilted,werebrightasstars.Awareandall-seeing.

Atop his snowy head sat no crown. For gods amongmortals did not needmarkersoftheirdivinerule.

Behindhim,stripsofwhitesilktiedtotheopenwindowsflutteredinthehotbreeze.Sendingthethoughtsofthekhaganandhisfamilytowherethesoulofthedeceased—whoevertheymightbe,someoneimportant,nodoubt—hadnowrejoinedtheEternalBlueSkyandSlumberingEarththatthekhaganandallhisancestors still honored in lieu of the pantheon of thirty-six gods their citizensremainedfreetoworship.

Oranyothergodsoutsideofit,shouldtheirterritoriesbenewenoughtonotyet have had their gods incorporated into the fold.There had to be several ofthose, since during his three decades of rule, theman seated before themhadaddedahandfulofoverseaskingdomstotheirborders.

Akingdomforeveryringadorninghisscar-fleckedfingers,preciousstonesglintingamongthem.

Awarrior bedecked in finery.Those hands slid from the arms of his ivory

throne—assembled from the hewn tusks of themighty beasts that roamed thecentral grasslands—and settled in his lap, hidden beneath swaths of gold-trimmed blue silk. Indigo dye from the steamy, lush lands in the west. FromBalruhn,whereNesryn’sownpeoplehadoriginallyhailed,beforecuriosityandambition drove her great-grandfather to drag his family over mountains andgrasslandsanddesertstothegod-cityinthearidnorth.

TheFaliqs had long been tradesmen, and not of anything particularly fine.Justsimple,goodclothandhouseholdspices.Herunclestilltradedsuchthingsand, through various lucrative investments, had become amoderatelywealthyman, his family now dwelling in a beautiful home within this very city. Adefinitive step up from a baker—the path her father had chosen upon leavingtheseshores.

“It is not every day that a new king sends someone so important to ourshores,” the khagan said at last, using their own tongue and not Halha, thelanguageofthesoutherncontinent.“Isupposeweshoulddeemitanhonor.”

His accent was so like her father’s—but the tone lacked the warmth, thehumor.Amanwhohadbeenobeyedhisentirelife,andfoughttoearnhiscrown.Andexecuted twoof the siblingswhoproved tobe sore losers.The survivingthree…one had gone into exile, and the other two had sworn fealty to theirbrother.ByhavingthehealersoftheTorrerendertheminfertile.

Chaolinclinedhishead.“Thehonorismine,GreatKhagan.”NotMajesty—thatwasforkingsorqueens.Therewasnotermhighorgrand

enoughforthismanbeforethem.Onlythetitlethatthefirstofhisancestorshadborne:GreatKhagan.

“Yours,” the khaganmused, those dark eyes now sliding to Nesryn. “Andwhatofyourcompanion?”

Nesrynfoughttheurgetobowagain.DorianHavilliardwastheoppositeofthisman,she realized.AelinGalathynius,however…Nesrynwondered if theyoungqueenmighthavemoreincommonwiththekhaganthanshedidwiththe

Havilliard king. Or would, if Aelin survived long enough. If she reached herthrone.

Nesryn shoved those thoughts down as Chaol peered at her, his shoulderstightening.Notatthewords,notatthecompany,butsimplybecausesheknewthat themere actofhaving to lookup, facing thismightywarrior-king in thatchair…Todaywouldbeahardoneforhim.

Nesryninclinedherheadslightly.“IamNesrynFaliq,CaptainoftheRoyalGuardofAdarlan.AsLordWestfalloncewasbeforeKingDorianappointedhimas his Hand earlier this summer.” She was grateful that years spent living inRiftholdhad taughthernot to smile, not to cringeor show fear—grateful thatshe’dlearnedtokeephervoicecoolandsteadyevenwhileherkneesquaked.

Nesryn continued, “My family hails from here, Great Khagan. Antica stillownsapieceofmysoul.”Sheplacedahandoverherheart,thefinethreadsofhergold-and-crimsonuniform,thecolorsoftheempirethathadmadeherfamilyoften feel hunted and unwanted, scraping against her calluses. “The honor ofbeinginyourpalaceisthegreatestofmylife.”

Itwas,perhaps,true.Ifshefoundtimetovisitherfamilyinthequiet,garden-filledRunniQuarter

—home mostly to merchants and tradesmen like her uncle—they wouldcertainlyconsideritso.

Thekhaganonlysmiledabit.“Thenallowmetowelcomeyoutoyourtruehome,Captain.”

Nesrynfelt,morethansaw,Chaol’sflickerofannoyance.Shewasn’tentirelycertainwhathadtriggeredit:theclaimonherhomeland,ortheofficialtitlethathadnowpassedtoher.

ButNesrynbowedherheadagaininthanks.ThekhagansaidtoChaol,“Iwillassumeyouareheretowoomeintojoining

thiswarofyours.”Chaol countered a shade tersely, “We’re here at the behest ofmyking.”A

note of pride at that word. “To begin what we hope will be a new era ofprosperoustradeandpeace.”

Oneofthekhagan’soffspring—ayoungwomanwithhairlikeflowingnightandeyeslikedarkfire—exchangedawrylookwiththesiblingtoherleft,amanperhapsthreeyearsherelder.

Hasar and Sartaq, then. Third and secondborn, respectively. Each woresimilarloosepantsandembroideredtunics,withfineleatherbootsrisingtotheirknees.Hasarwasnobeauty,butthoseeyes…Theflamedancinginthemassheglancedtoherelderbrothermadeupforit.

AndSartaq—commanderofhisfather’srukriders.Therukhin.Thenorthern aerial cavalryofhispeoplehad longdwelled in the towering

Tavan Mountains with their ruks: enormous birds, eagle-like in shape, largeenough to carry off cattle and horses.Without the sheer bulk and destructiveweight of the Ironteeth witches’ wyverns, but swift and nimble and clever asfoxes.Theperfectmountsforthelegendaryarcherswhoflewthemintobattle.

Sartaq’sfacewassolemn,hisbroadshouldersthrownback.Amanperhapsasill at ease in his fine clothes asChaol. Shewondered if his ruk,Kadara,wasperchedononeofthepalace’sthirty-sixminarets,eyeingthecoweringservantsandguards,waitingimpatientlyforhermaster’sreturn.

That Sartaqwas here…They had to have known, then.Well in advance.ThatsheandChaolwerecoming.

The knowing glance that passed between Sartaq and Hasar told Nesrynenough:they,atleast,haddiscussedthepossibilitiesofthisvisit.

Sartaq’sgazeslidfromhissistertoNesryn.She yielded a blink. His brown skinwas darker than the others’—perhaps

fromall that time in the skiesandsunlight—hiseyesa solidebony.Depthlessand unreadable. His black hair remained unbound save for a small braid thatcurvedoverthearchofhisear.Therestofhishairfelltojustpasthismuscledchest, and swayed slightly as he gave what Nesryn could have sworn was a

mockinginclineofhishead.Aragtag,humbledpair,Adarlanhadsent.Theinjuredformercaptain,andthe

common-bredcurrentone.Perhaps thekhagan’s initialwordsabouthonor hadbeenaveiledmentionofwhatheperceivedasaninsult.

Nesryndraggedherattentionawayfromtheprince,evenasshefeltSartaq’skeenstarelingeringlikesomephantomtouch.

“WearrivebearinggiftsfromHisMajesty,theKingofAdarlan,”Chaolwassaying, and twisted in his chair to motion the servants behind them to comeforward.

QueenGeorginaandhercourthadpracticallyraidedtheroyalcoffersbeforethey’d fled to their mountain estates this spring. And the former king hadsmuggledoutmuchofwhatwasleftduringthosefinalfewmonths.Butbeforethey’dsailedhere,Dorianhadventuredintothemanyvaultsbeneaththecastle.Nesryn still could hear his echoed curse, filthier than she’d ever heard himspeak,ashefoundlittlemorethangoldmarkswithin.

Aelin,asusual,hadaplan.NesrynhadbeenstandingbesidehernewkingwhenAelinhadflippedopen

twotrunksinherchambers.Jewelryfitforaqueen—foraQueenofAssassins—hadsparkledwithin.I’veenoughfundsfornow,AelinhadonlysaidtoDorianwhenhebeganto

object.GivethekhagansomeofAdarlan’sfinest.Intheweekssince,NesrynhadwonderedifAelinhadbeengladtoberidof

whatshe’dpurchasedwithherbloodmoney.ThejewelsofAdarlan,itseemed,wouldnottraveltoTerrasen.

Andnow,astheservantslaidoutthefoursmallertrunks—dividedfromtheoriginal two tomake it seem likemore,Aelin had suggested—as they flippedopenthelids,thestill-silentcourtpressedintosee.

Amurmurwentthroughthemattheglisteninggemsandgoldandsilver.“A gift,” Chaol declared as even the khagan himself leaned forward to

examine the trove. “From King Dorian Havilliard of Adarlan, and AelinGalathynius,QueenofTerrasen.”

PrincessHasar’seyessnappedtoChaolatthesecondname.Prince Sartaq only glanced back at his father. The eldest son, Arghun,

frownedatthejewels.Arghun—thepoliticianamongst them,belovedbythemerchantsandpower

brokers of the continent. Slender and tall, hewas a scholarwho traded not incoinandfinerybutinknowledge.PrinceofSpies,theycalledArghun.Whilehistwobrothershadbecomethe

finest ofwarriors,Arghun had honed hismind, and now oversaw his father’sthirty-sixviziers.Sothatfrownatthetreasure…

Necklacesofdiamondand ruby.Braceletsofgoldandemerald.Earrings—veritable small chandeliers—of sapphire and amethyst. Exquisitely wroughtrings, somecrownedwith jewelsas largeasaswallow’segg.Combsandpinsandbrooches.Blood-gained,blood-bought.

Theyoungestoftheassembledroyalchildren,afine-boned,comelywoman,leanedtheclosest.Duva.Athicksilverringwithasapphireofnear-obscenesizeadorned her slender hand, pressed delicately against the considerable swell ofherbelly.

Perhaps sixmonths along, though the flowing clothes—she favored purpleand rose—and her slight build could distort that. Certainly her first child, theresultofherarrangedmarriagetoaprincehailingfromanoverseasterritorytothefareast,asouthernneighborofDoranellethathadnotedtherumblingsofitsFaeQueenandwantedtosecuretheprotectionofthesouthernempireacrosstheocean. Perhaps the first attempt, Nesryn and others had wondered, of thekhaganategreatlyexpandingitsownconsiderablecontinent.

Nesryn didn’t let herself look too long at the life growing beneath thatbejeweledhand.

ForifoneofDuva’ssiblingswerecrownedkhagan,thefirsttaskofthenew

ruler—afterhisorhersufficientoffspringwereproduced—wouldbetoeliminateany other challenges to the throne. Starting with the offspring of his or hersiblings,iftheychallengedtheirrighttorule.

ShewonderedhowDuvawasabletoendureit.Ifshehadcometolovethebabe growing in her womb, or if she was wise enough to not allow such afeeling.Ifthefatherofthatbabewoulddoeverythinghecouldtogetthatchildtosafetyshoulditcometothat.

Thekhaganat last leanedback inhis throne.His childrenhad straightenedagain,Duva’shandfallingbackatherside.

“Jewels,”Chaolexplained,“setbythefinestofAdarlaniancraftsmen.”Thekhagan toyedwith a citrine ringonhisownhand. “If theycame from

AelinGalathynius’strove,Ihavenodoubtthattheyare.”AbeatofsilencebetweenNesrynandChaol.Theyhadknown—anticipated

—thatthekhaganhadspiesineveryland,oneverysea.ThatAelin’spastmightbejustataddifficulttoworkaround.

“For you are not onlyAdarlan’sHand,” the khaganwent on, “but also theAmbassadorofTerrasen,areyounot?”

“IndeedIam,”Chaolsaidsimply.The khagan rosewith only the slightest stiffness, his children immediately

steppingasidetoclearapathforhimtostepoffthegoldendais.The tallest of them—strapping and perhaps more unchecked than Sartaq’s

quiet intensity—eyed up the crowd as if assessing any threatswithin.Kashin.Fourthborn.

IfSartaqcommandedtheruksinthenorthernandcentralskies,thenKashincontrolledthearmiesonland.Footsoldiersandthehorse-lords,mostly.Arghunheldswayovertheviziers,andHasar,rumorclaimed,hadthearmadasbowingtoher.Yet there remainedsomething lesspolishedaboutKashin,hisdarkhairbraidedbackfromhisbroad-planedface.Handsome,yes—but itwasas if lifeamongsthistroopshadrubbedoffonhim,andnotnecessarilyinabadway.

Thekhagandescendedthedais,hiscobaltrobeswhisperingalongthefloor.Andwithevery stepover thegreenmarble,Nesryn realized that thismanhadindeedoncecommandednotjusttheruksintheskies,butalsothehorse-lords,and swayed thearmadas to joinhim.And thenUrusandhiselderbrotherhadgonehand-to-handincombatat thebehestof theirmotherwhileshelaydyingfromawastingsicknessthateventheTorrecouldnotheal.Thesonwhowalkedoffthesandwouldbekhagan.

The former khagan had a penchant for spectacle. And for this final fightbetween her two selected offspring, she had placed them in the greatamphitheater in the heart of the city, the doors open to any who could clawinsidetofindaseat.Peoplehadsatuponthearchwaysandsteps,withthousandscramming the streets that flowed to thewhite-stoned building.Ruks and theirriders had perched on the pillars crowning the uppermost level, more rukhincirclingintheskiesabove.

Thetwowould-beHeirshadfoughtforsixhours.Not just against each other, but also against the horrors their mother

unleashed to test them:greatcats sprangfromhiddencagesbeneath thesandyfloor; iron-spikedchariotswith spear-throwershad charged from thegloomofthetunnelentrancestorunthemdown.

Nesryn’sfatherhadbeenamongstthefrenziedmobinthestreets,listeningtotheshoutedreportsfromthosedanglingoffthecolumns.

Thefinalblowhadn’tbeenanactofbrutalityorhate.Thenow-khagan’selderbrother,Orda,hadtakenaspeartothesidethanksto

oneofthosecharioteers.Aftersixhoursofbloodybattleandsurvival,theblowhadkepthimdown.

AndUrushadsetasidehissword.Absolutesilencehadfallen in thearena.SilenceasUrushadextendedabloodiedhandtohisfallenbrother—tohelphim.

OrdahadsentahiddendaggershootingforUrus’sheart.Ithadmissedbytwoinches.

AndUrushadrippedthatdaggerfree,screaming,andplungedit rightbackintohisbrother.

Urusdidnotmissashisbrotherhad.Nesrynwondered ifascarstillmarred thekhagan’schestashenowstrode

toward her andChaol and the jewels displayed. If that long-dead khagan hadweptforherfallensoninprivate,slainbytheonewhowouldtakehercrownina matter of days. Or if she had never allowed herself to love her children,knowingwhatmustbefallthem.

Urus,Khaganof theSouthernContinent,stoppedbeforeNesrynandChaol.HetoweredoverNesrynbyagoodhalffoot,hisshouldersstillbroad,spinestillstraight.

He bentwith only a touch of age-granted strain to pluck up a necklace ofdiamondandsapphirefromthechest.Itglitteredlikealivingriverinhisscar-flecked,bejeweledhands.

“My eldest,Arghun,” said the khagan, jerking his chin toward the narrow-faced prince monitoring all, “recently informed me of some fascinatinginformationregardingQueenAelinAshryverGalathynius.”

Nesrynwaitedfortheblow.ChaoljustheldUrus’sgaze.But thekhagan’sdarkeyes—Sartaq’seyes,sherealized—dancedashesaid

toChaol,“Aqueenatnineteenwouldmakemanyuneasy.DorianHavilliard,atleast, hasbeen trained sincebirth to takeuphis crown, to control a court andkingdom.ButAelinGalathynius…”

Thekhaganchuckedthenecklaceintothechest.Itsthunkwasasloudassteelonstone.

“Isupposesomewouldcalltenyearsasatrainedassassintobeexperience.”Murmurs again rippled through the throne room. Hasar’s fire-bright eyes

practicallyglowed.Sartaq’sfacedidnotshiftatall.Perhapsaskilllearnedfromhis eldest brother—whose spies had to be skilled indeed if they’d learned ofAelin’s past. Even though Arghun himself seemed to be struggling to keep a

smugsmilefromhislips.“WemaybeseparatedbytheNarrowSea,”thekhagansaidtoChaol,whose

features did not so much as alter, “but even we have heard of CelaenaSardothien.Youbringmejewels,nodoubtfromherowncollection.Yettheyarejewelsforme,whenmydaughterDuva”—aglancetowardhispregnant,prettydaughterstandingcloselybesideHasar—“hasyettoreceiveanysortofweddinggift fromeitheryournewkingor returnedqueen,while everyother ruler senttheirsnearlyhalfayearago.”

Nesryn hid her wince. An oversight that could be explained by so manytruths—butnotones that theydaredvoice,nothere.Chaoldidn’toffer anyofthemasheremainedsilent.

“But,”thekhaganwenton,“regardlessofthejewelsyou’venowdumpedatmyfeet likesacksofgrain, Iwouldstill ratherhave the truth.EspeciallyafterAelinGalathyniusshatteredyourownglasscastle,murderedyourformerking,andseizedyourcapitalcity.”

“If PrinceArghun has the information,”Chaol said at lastwith unfalteringcoolness,“perhapsyoudonotneeditfromme.”

Nesrynstifledhercringeatthedefiance,thetone—“Perhaps not,” the khagan said, even as Arghun’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“ButIthinkyoushouldlikesometruthfromme.”Chaoldidn’taskforit.Didn’tlookremotelyinterestedbeyondhis,“Oh?”Kashinstiffened.Hisfather’sfiercestdefender,then.Arghunonlyexchanged

glanceswithavizierandsmiledtowardChaollikeanadderreadytostrike.“HereiswhyIthinkyouhavecome,LordWestfall,HandtotheKing.”Onlythegullswheelinghighabovethedomeofthethroneroomdaredmake

anynoise.Thekhaganshutlidafterlidonthetrunks.“Ithinkyouhavecometoconvincemetojoinyourwar.Adarlaniscleaved,

Terrasenisdestitute,andwillnodoubthavesomeissueconvincinghersurviving

lords to fight for an untried queen who spent ten years indulging herself inRifthold,purchasing these jewelswithbloodmoney.Your listofallies isshortandbrittle.DukePerrington’s forces are anythingbut.Theother kingdomsonyour continent are shattered and separated from your northern territories byPerrington’sarmies.Soyouhavearrivedhere,fastastheeightwindscancarryyou, tobegme tosendmyarmies toyourshores.Toconvinceme tospillourbloodonalostcause.”

“Somemightconsideritanoblecause,”Chaolcountered.“Iamnotdoneyet,”thekhagansaid,liftingahand.Chaolbristledbutdidnotspeakoutofturnagain.Nesryn’sheartthundered.“Manywouldargue,” thekhagan said,waving thatupraisedhand towarda

fewviziers,towardArghunandHasar,“thatweremainoutofit.Orbetteryet,allywiththeforcesuretowin,whosetradehasbeenprofitableforusthesetenyears.”

Awaveofthathandtowardsomeothermenandwomeninthegoldrobesofviziers. Toward Sartaq and Kashin and Duva. “Some would say that we riskallyingwith Perrington only to potentially face his armies in our harbors oneday.ThattheshatteredkingdomsofEyllweandFenharrowmightagainbecomewealthyundernewrule,andfillourcofferswithgoodtrade.Ihavenodoubtyouwill promiseme that it shall be so.Youwill offerme exclusive tradingdeals,likelytoyourowndisadvantage.Butyouaredesperate,andthereisnothingyoupossessthatIdonotalreadyown.ThatIcannottakeifIwish.”

Chaolkepthismouthshut, thankfully.Evenashisbrowneyessimmeredatthequietthreat.

The khagan peered into the fourth and final trunk. Jeweled combs andbrushes, ornate perfume bottles made by Adarlan’s finest glassblowers. Thesame who had built the castle Aelin had shattered. “So, you have come toconvinceme to join your cause. And I shall consider it while you stay here.Sinceyouhaveundoubtedlycomeforanotherpurpose,too.”

Aflickofthatscarred,jeweledhandtowardthechair.ColorstainedChaol’stancheeks,buthedidnotflinch,didnotcower.Nesrynforcedherselftodothesame.

“Arghun informedmeyour injuries arenew—that theyhappenedwhen theglasscastleexploded. It seems theQueenofTerrasenwasnotquite socarefulaboutshieldingherallies.”

A muscle feathered in Chaol’s jaw as everyone, from prince to servant,lookedtohislegs.

“BecauseyourrelationswithDoranellearenowstrained,alsothankstoAelinGalathynius,Iassumetheonlypathtowardhealingthatremainsopentoyouishere.AttheTorreCesme.”

The khagan shrugged, the only reveal of the irreverent warrior-youth he’doncebeen.“MybelovedwifewillbedeeplyupsetifIweretodenyaninjuredmana chance at healing”—the empresswasnowhere tobe seen in this room,Nesrynrealizedwithastart—“soI,ofcourse,shallgrantyoupermissiontoentertheTorre.Whetheritshealerswillagreetoworkuponyoushallbeuptothem.EvenIdonotcontrolthewilloftheTorre.”

TheTorre—theTower.ItdominatedthesouthernedgeofAntica,nestledatopits highest hill to overlook the city that sloped down toward the green sea.Domain of its famed healers, and tribute to Silba, the healer-goddess whoblessedthem.Ofthethirty-sixgodsthisempirehadwelcomedintothefoldoverthecenturies, fromreligionsnearand far, in thiscityofgods…Silba reignedunchallenged.

Chaollookedlikehewasswallowinghotcoals,buthemercifullymanagedtobowhishead.“Ithankyouforyourgenerosity,GreatKhagan.”

“Resttonight—Iwillinformthemthatyoushallbereadytomorrowmorning.Sinceyoucannotgotothem,onewillbesenttoyou.Iftheyagree.”

Chaol’s fingers shifted in his lap, but he did not clench them.Nesryn stillheldherbreath.

“Iamattheirdisposal,”Chaolsaidtightly.The khagan shut the final trunk of jewels. “You may keep your presents,

HandoftheKing,AmbassadortoAelinGalathynius.Ihavenouseforthem—andnointerest.”

Chaol’s head snapped up, as if something in the khagan’s tone had snaredhim.“Why.”

Nesryn barely hid her cringe. More of a demand than anyone ever daredmake of theman, judging by the surprised anger in the khagan’s eyes, in theglancesexchangedbetweenhischildren.

ButNesryncaughttheflickerofsomethingelsewithinthekhagan’seyes.Aweariness.

Something oily slid into her gut as she noted thewhite banners streamingfromthewindows,alloverthecity.Asshelookedtothesixheirsandcountedagain.

Notsix.Five.Onlyfivewerehere.Death-bannersattheroyalhousehold.Alloverthecity.Theywerenotamourningpeople—notinthewaytheycouldbeinAdarlan,

dressingall inblackandmopingformonths.Evenamongstthekhagan’sroyalfamily,lifepickedupandwenton,theirdeadnotstuffedinstonecatacombsorcoffins,butshroudedinwhiteandlaidbeneaththeopenskiesoftheirsealed-off,sacredreserveonthedistantsteppes.

Nesrynglanceddown the line of five heirs, counting.The eldest fivewerepresent.AndjustassherealizedthatTumelun,theyoungest—barelyseventeen—wasnotthere,thekhagansaidtoChaol,“Yourspiesareindeeduselessifyouhavenotheard.”

Withthat,hestrodeforhisthrone,leavingSartaqtostepforward,thesecond-eldest prince’s depthless eyes veiledwith sorrow. Sartaq gaveNesryn a silentnod.Yes.Yes,hersuspicionswereright—

Sartaq’s solid, pleasant voice filled the chamber. “Our beloved sister,Tumelun,diedunexpectedlythreeweeksago.”

Oh,gods.Somanywordsandritualshadbeenpassedover;merelycomingheretodemandtheiraidinwarwasuncouth,untoward—

Chaol said into the fraught silence, meeting the stares of each taut-facedprinceandprincess,thenfinallytheweary-eyedkhaganhimself,“Youhavemydeepestcondolences.”

Nesrynbreathed,“Maythenorthernwindcarryhertofairerplains.”OnlySartaqbotheredtonodhisthanks,whiletheothersnowturnedcoldand

stiff.NesrynshotChaolasilent,warninglooknottoaskaboutthedeath.Heread

theexpressiononherfaceandnodded.Thekhaganscratchedatafleckonhisivorythrone,thesilenceasheavyas

oneofthecoatsthehorse-lordsstillworeagainstthatbitternorthernwindonthesteppesandtheirunforgivingwoodensaddles.

“We’ve been at sea for threeweeks,”Chaol tried to offer, his voice softernow.

Thekhagandidnotbothertoappearunderstanding.“Thatwouldalsoexplainwhy you are so unaware of the other bit of news, andwhy these cold jewelsmight beofmoreuse foryou.” The khagan’s lips curled in amirthless smile.“Arghun’s contacts also brought word from a ship this morning. Your royalcoffers in Rifthold are no longer accessible. Duke Perrington and his host offlyingterrorshavesackedRifthold.”

Silence,pulsingandhollow,sweptthroughNesryn.Shewasn’tsureifChaolwasbreathing.

“WedonothavewordonKingDorian’slocation,butheyieldedRiftholdtothem. Fled into the night, if rumor is to be believed. The city has fallen.EverythingtothesouthofRiftholdbelongstoPerringtonandhiswitchesnow.”

Nesrynsawthefacesofherniecesandnephewsfirst.

Thenthefaceofhersister.Thenherfather.Sawtheirkitchen,thebakery.Thepeartartscoolingonthelong,woodentable.

Dorianhad left them.Left themall to… todowhat?Findhelp?Survive?RuntoAelin?

Had the royal guard remained to fight? Had anyone fought to save theinnocentsinthecity?

Herhandswereshaking.Shedidn’tcare.Didn’tcareifthesepeoplecladinrichessneered.

Hersister’schildren,thegreatjoyinherlife…Chaolwasstaringupather.Nothingonhisface.Nodevastation,noshock.Thatcrimson-and-golduniformbecamestifling.Strangling.Witchesandwyverns.Inhercity.Withthoseironteethandnails.Shredding

andbleedingandtormenting.Herfamily—herfamily—“Father.”Sartaqhadsteppedforwardoncemore.ThoseonyxeyesslidbetweenNesryn

and thekhagan. “It hasbeen a long journey forourguests.Politics aside,”hesaid,givingadisapprovingglanceatArghun,whoseemedamused—amusedatthisnewshe’dbrought,thathadsetthegreenmarblefloorsroilingbeneathherboots—“wearestillanationofhospitality.Let themrestforafewhours.Andthenjoinusfordinner.”

HasarcametoSartaq’sside,frowningatArghunwhileshedid.Perhapsnotfrom reprimand like her brother, but simply forArghunnot tellingher of thisnewsfirst.“Letnoguestpassthroughourhomeandfinditscomfortslacking.”Eventhoughthewordswerewelcoming,Hasar’stonewasanythingbut.

Their father gave them a bemused glance. “Indeed.” Urus waved a handtowardtheservantsbythefarpillars.“Escortthemtotheirrooms.Anddispatchamessage to theTorre to send their finest—Hafiza, if she’ll comedown fromthattower.”

Nesrynscarcelyheardtherest.Ifthewitchesheldthecity,thentheValgwho

hadinfesteditearlierthissummer…Therewouldbenoonetofightthem.Noonetoshieldherfamily.

Iftheyhadsurvived.Shecouldn’tbreathe.Couldn’tthink.Sheshouldnothaveleft.Shouldnothavetakenthisposition.Theycouldbedead,orsuffering.Dead.Dead.ShedidnotnoticethefemaleservantwhocametopushChaol’schair.Barely

noticedthehandChaolreachedouttotwinethroughherown.Nesryndidn’tsomuchasbowtothekhaganastheyleft.Shecouldnotstopseeingtheirfaces.Thechildren.Hersister’ssmiling,round-belliedchildren.Sheshouldnothavecome.

3

Nesrynhadgoneintoshock.AndChaolcouldnotgotoher,couldnotscoopherintohisarmsandholdher

close.Not when she had walked, silent and drifting like a wraith, right into a

bedroomofthelavishsuitethey’dbeenappointedonthefirstfloorofthepalace,andshut thedoorbehindher.As ifshehadforgottenanyoneelse in theworldexisted.

Hedidn’tblameher.Chaollettheservant,afine-bonedyoungwomanwithchestnuthairthatfell

in heavy curls to her narrowwaist, wheel him into the second bedroom. Thesuiteoverlookedagardenoffruittreesandburblingfountains,cascadesofpinkand purple blossoms hanging from potted plants anchored into the balconyabove.Theyprovided livingcurtainsbeforehis toweringbedroomwindows—doors,herealized.

The servant mumbled something about drawing a bath, her use of hislanguageunwieldycomparedtotheskillofthekhaganandhischildren.Notthathe was in any position to judge: he was barely fluent in any of the otherlanguageswithinhisowncontinent.

Sheslippedbehindacarvedwoodenscreenthatnodoubtledintohisbathingchamber,andChaolpeeredthroughhisstill-openbedroomdoor,acrossthepalemarblefoyer,totheshutdoorsofNesryn’sbedroom.

Theyshouldnothaveleft.He couldn’t have done anything, but … He knew what the not-knowing

woulddotoNesryn.Whatitwasalreadydoingtohim.Dorianwasnotdead,hetoldhimself.Hehadgottenout.Fled.Ifhewerein

Perrington’s grip—Erawan’s grip—they would have known. Prince Arghunwouldhaveknown.

His city, sackedby thewitches.Hewondered ifManonBlackbeakhad ledtheattack.

Chaoltriedandfailedtorecountwherethedebtswerestackedbetweenthem.Aelin had sparedManon’s life at Temis’s temple, butManon had given themvitalinformationaboutDorianundertheValgthrall.Diditmakethemeven?Ortentativeallies?

ItwasawastetohopethatManonwouldturnagainstMorath.ButhesentupasilentprayertowhatevergodmightbelisteningtoprotectDorian,toguidehiskingtofriendlierharbors.

Dorianwouldmake it.Hewas too clever, toogifted, not to.Therewasnootheralternative—none—thatChaolwouldaccept.Dorianwasalive, andsafe.Oronhiswaytosafety.AndwhenChaolgotamoment,hewasgoingtosqueezethe information out of the eldest prince.Mourning or no. Everything Arghunknew, he would know. And then he’d ask that servant girl to comb everymerchantshipforinformationabouttheattack.

Noword—therehadbeennowordaboutAelin.Where shewasnow,whatshe’d been doing.Aelin,whomight verywell be the thing that cost him thisalliance.

Hegroundhis teeth, andwas still grinding themas the suite doors openedandatall,broad-shoulderedmanstrodeinasifheownedtheplace.

Chaol supposed he did. Prince Kashin was alone and unarmed, though hemovedwiththeeaseofapersonconfidentinhisbody’sunfailingstrength.

How, Chaol supposed, he himself had once walked about the palace in

Rifthold.Chaol lowered his head in greeting as the prince shut the hall door and

surveyed him. It was a warrior’s assessment, frank and thorough. When hisbrowneyesatlastmetChaol’s,theprincesaidinAdarlan’stongue,“Injurieslikeyoursarenotuncommonhere,andIhaveseenmanyofthem—especiallyamongthehorse-tribes.Myfamily’speople.”

Chaoldidn’tparticularlyfeellikediscussinghisinjurieswiththeprince,withanyone,soheonlynodded.“I’msureyouhave.”

Kashincockedhishead,scanningChaolagain,hisdarkbraidslippingoverhismuscled shoulder. Reading, perhaps, Chaol’s desire not to start down thisparticular road. “My father indeed wishes you both to join us at dinner. Andmorethanthat,tojoinuseverynightafterwardwhileyouarehere.Andsitatthehightable.”

It wasn’t a strange request of a visiting dignitary, and it was certainly anhonor to sit at the khagan’s own table, but to send his son to do it…Chaolconsidered his nextwords carefully, then simply chose themost obvious one.“Why?”

Surely the family wished to keep close to one another after losing theiryoungestmember.Invitingstrangerstojointhem—

Theprince’s jaw tightened.Not amanused to veilinghis emotions, as histhreeeldersiblingswere.“ArghunreportsourpalaceissafeofspiesfromDukePerrington’s forces, that his agentshavenotyet come. I amnotof that belief.And Sartaq—” The prince caught himself, as if not wanting to bring in hisbrother—orpotentialally.Kashingrimaced.“TherewasareasonIchosetoliveamongstsoldiers.Thedouble-talkofthiscourt…”

Chaolwas tempted tosayheunderstood.Had felt thatway formostofhislife.Butheasked,“YouthinkPerrington’sforceshaveinfiltratedthiscourt?”

HowmuchdidKashin, orArghun,knowofPerrington’s forces—know thetruth of the Valg king who wore Perrington’s skin? Or the armies he

commanded, worse than any their imaginations might conjure? But thatinformation…He’dkeep that tohimself.See if it could somehowbeused, ifArghunandthekhagandidnotknowofit.

Kashin rubbed at his neck. “I do not know if it is Perrington, or someonefromTerrasen,orMelisande,orWendlyn.All Iknow is thatmy sister isnowdead.”

Chaol’sheartstumbledabeat.Buthedaredask,“Howdiditcomeabout?”Grief flickered inKashin’seyes.“Tumelunwasalwaysabitwild, reckless.

Prone to moods. One day, happy and laughing; the next, withdrawn andhopeless.They…”His throatbobbed.“Theysayshe leapedfromherbalconybecauseofit.Duvaandherhusbandfoundherlaterthatnight.”

Anydeath ina familywasdevastating,butasuicide…“I’msorry,”Chaolofferedquietly.

Kashinshookhishead,sunlightfromthegardendancingonhisblackhair.“Idonotbelieveit.MyTumelunwouldnothavejumped.”My Tumelun. The words told enough about the prince’s closeness to his

youngersister.“Yoususpectfoulplay?”“AllIknowisthatnomatterTumelun’smoods…Iknewher.AsIknowmy

ownheart.”Heputahandoverit.“Shewouldnothavejumped.”Chaolconsideredhiswordscarefullyonceagain.“AssorryasIamforyour

loss, do you have any reason to suspect why a foreign kingdom might haveengineeredit?”

Kashin paced a few steps. “No one within our lands would be stupidenough.”

“Well,noonewithinTerrasenorAdarlanwouldeverdosuchathing—eventomanipulateyouintothiswar.”

Kashinstudiedhimforaheartbeat.“Evenaqueenwhowasonceanassassinherself?”

Chaoldidn’tletoneflickerofemotionshow.“Assassinshemighthavebeen,butAelinhadhardlinesthatshedidnotcross.Killingorharmingchildrenwasoneofthem.”

Kashinpausedbeforethedresseragainstthegardenwall,adjustingagildedboxonitspolisheddarksurface.“Iknow.Ireadthatinmybrother’sreports,too.Details of her kills.” Chaol could have sworn the prince shuddered before headded,“Ibelieveyou.”

Nodoubtwhytheprincewasevenhavingthisconversationwithhim.Kashinwenton,“Whichleavesnotmanyotherforeignpowerswhomightdo

it—andPerringtonatthetopofthatshortlist.”“Butwhytargetyoursister?”“Idonotknow.”Kashinpacedanotherfewsteps.“Shewasyoung,guileless

—sherodewithmeamongsttheDarghan,ourmother-clans.Hadnosuldeofherownyet.”

AtChaol’s narrowed brows, the prince clarified, “It is a spear allDarghanwarriorscarry.Webindstrandsofourfavoredhorse’shairtotheshaft,beneaththeblade.Ourancestorsbelievedthatwherethosehairswavedinthewind,thereourdestinieswaited.Someofusstillbelieveinsuchthings,buteventhosewhothinkitmeretradition…webringthemeverywhere.Thereisacourtyardinthispalacewheremy sulde and those ofmy siblings are planted to feel thewindwhilewe remainatour father’spalace, rightbesidehisown.But indeath…”Again, that shadowof grief. “In death, they are the only object thatwe keep.TheybearthesoulofaDarghanwarriorforeternity,andareleftplantedatopasteppeinoursacredrealm.”Theprinceclosedhiseyes.“Nowhersoulwillroamwiththewind.”

Nesrynhadsaidasmuchearlier.Chaolonlyrepeated,“I’msorry.”Kashin opened his eyes. “Some of my siblings do not believe me about

Tumelun.Somedo.Our father…he remains undecided.Ourmotherwill notevenleaveherroomthankstohergrief,andmentioningmysuspicionsmight—I

cannotbringmyself tomention them toher.”He rubbedhis strong jaw. “So Ihaveconvincedmyfathertohaveyoujoinusatdinnereverynight,asagestureofdiplomacy.ButIshouldlikeyoutowatchwithanoutsider’seyes.Toreportonanythingamiss.Perhapsyouwillseesomethingwedon’t.”

Helpthem…andperhapsreceivehelpinreturn.Chaolsaidbaldly,“Ifyoutrustmeenoughtohavemedothat,totellmeallthis,thenwhynotagreetojoinwithusinthiswar?”

“Itisnotmyplacetosayorguess.”Atrainedsoldier.Kashinexaminedthesuiteasifassessinganypotentialenemieslyinginwait.“Imarchonlywhenmyfathergivestheorder.”

If Perrington’s forces were already here, ifMorath was indeed behind theprincess’smurder…It’dbetooeasy.TooeasytoswaythekhaganintosidingwithDorianandAelin.Perrington—Erawanwasfarsmarterthanthat.

But if Chaol himself were to win over the commander of the khagan’sterrestrialarmiestotheircause—

“I do not play those games,LordWestfall,” saidKashin, readingwhateversparked in Chaol’s eyes. “My other siblings are the ones you will wish toconvince.”

Chaoltappedafingeronthearmofhischair.“Anyadviceonthatfront?”Kashin snorted, smiling faintly. “Others have come before you—from

kingdomsfarricherthanyourown.Somesucceeded,somedidn’t.”AglanceatChaol’slegs,aflickerofpityenteringtheprince’seyes.Chaolclenchedthearmsofthechairat thatpity,fromamanwhorecognizedafellowwarrior.“WishesforgoodluckareallIcanofferyou.”

Then the prince was striding for the doors, his long legs eating up thedistance.

“If Perrington has an agent here,” Chaol said as Kashin reached the suitedoors,“thenyou’vealreadyseenthateveryoneinthispalaceisingravedanger.Youmusttakeaction.”

Kashin paused with his hand on the carved doorknob, glancing over hisshoulder.“WhydoyouthinkI’veaskedaforeignlordforassistance?”

Then theprincewasgone,hiswordshanging in the sweet-scentedair.Thetonewasn’tcruel,wasn’tinsulting,butthewarrior’sfranknessofit…

Chaolstruggled tomasterhisbreathing,evenas the thoughtsswirled.He’dseennoblackringsorcollars,butthenhehadn’tbeenlookingforthem.HadnotevenconsideredthattheshadowofMorathmighthavealreadystretchedthisfar.

Chaolrubbedathischest.Careful.He’dhavetobecarefulinthiscourt.Withwhathesaidpublicly—withwhathesaidinthisroom,too.

Chaolwasstillstaringattheshutdoor,mullingoverallKashinhadimplied,when the servant emerged, her tunic and pants replaced by a tied robe ofthinnest,sheerestsilk.Itleftnothingtotheimagination.

He clamped down on the urge to shout for Nesryn to assist him instead.“Onlywashme,”hesaid,asclearlyandfirmlyashecould.

Sheshowednonerves,no tremorofhesitation.Andheknewshehaddonethisbefore,countlesstimes,assheonlyasked,“AmInottoyourliking?”

Itwasa stark,honestquestion.Shewaspaidwell forher services—all theservantswere.Shechosetobehere,andanothercouldeasilybefoundatnorisktoherstatus.

“Youare,”Chaolsaid,onlyhalflying,refusingtolethisgazedropbelowhereyes.“Verypleasing,”heclarified.“ButIonlywantabath.”Headded,justtobesure,“Nothingelsefromyou.”

He’d expected her gratitude, but the servant only nodded, unruffled. Evenwithher,he’dhavetobecarefulwithwhathesaid.WhatheandNesrynmightdiscussintheserooms.

There hadn’t been a sound or flicker ofmovement behindNesryn’s closedbedroomdoors.Andtherecertainlywasn’tnow.

So hemotioned to let the servant push his chair into the bathing chamber,veilsofsteamripplingthroughthewhite-and-blue-tiledroom.

Thechairglidedovercarpetandtile,curvingaroundthefurniturewithlittleeffort.Nesrynherselfhadfoundthechairinthenow-vacanthealers’catacombsof Rifthold’s castle, right before they’d sailed here.One of the few items thefleeinghealershadleftbehind,itseemed.

Lighter and sleeker thanwhat he’d expected, the largewheels flanking theseatrotatedeasily,evenwhenheusedtheslendermetalhandrimtoguidethemhimself.Unlikethestiffbulkofothershe’dseen,thischaircameequippedwithtwosmallfrontwheels,justoneithersideofthewoodenfootrests,eachcapableofswivelinginanydirectionhechose.Andnowtheysmoothlyturnedintothewaftingsteamofthebathingchamber.

Alargesunkenpoolfilledmostofit,oilsgleamingonthesurface,interruptedonlyby scattered, driftingpetals.A smallwindowhigh in the farwall peekedintothegreeneryofthegarden,andcandlesgildedthebillowingsteam.

Luxury.Utterluxurywhilehiscitysuffered.Whiletheypleadedforhelpthathad not come. Dorian would have wanted to stay. Only absolute defeat, nochanceof survival,wouldhavepromptedhim to leave.Chaolwondered ifhismagichadplayedanypart.Helpedanyofthem.

Dorianwouldfindhiswaytosafety,toallies.Heknewitinhisbones,thoughhis stomachcontinued to roil.Therewasnothinghecoulddo tohelphiskingfromhere—saveforforgingthisalliance.EvenifeveryinstinctscreamedathimtoreturntoAdarlan,tofindDorian,he’dstaythecourse.

Chaol barely noticed the servant removing his boots in efficient tugs.Andthoughhecouldhavedoneithimself,hebarelyremarkedonherremovinghisteal jacket, thentheshirtbeneath.Buthedraggedhimselffromhis thoughtsatlastwhenshebegantoremovehispants—whenheleanedintohelp,grittinghisteethastheyworkedtogetherinstiltedsilence.Itwasonlywhenshereachedtoremovehisundershortsthathegrippedherwrist.

HeandNesryn still hadn’t touchedeachother.Beyondan ill-fatedboutontheshipthreedaysago,hehadn’tconveyedanysortofdesiretotakethatstep

once again. He’d wanted to, though. Woke up most mornings aching to,especiallywhen they’d shared that bed in their stateroom. But the thought ofbeingsoprone,ofnotbeingabletotakeherthewayhe’doncedone…Ithadcurdled any brimming lust. Evenwhile grateful that certain parts of him stillundoubtedlyworked.

“Icangetinonmyown,”Chaolsaid,andbeforetheservantcouldmove,hegathered thestrength inhisarms,hisback,andbeganeasinghimself fromthechair. It was an unceremonious process, one he’d figured out during the longdaysatsea.

Firstheflicked the lockingmechanismonthewheels, theclickechoingoffthestoneandwater.Withafewmotions,hemaneuveredhimselftotheedgeofthe chair, then removed his feet from the wooden plates and onto the floor,anglinghislegstohisleftashedidso.Withhisrighthand,hegrippedtheedgeof the seatbyhisknees,whilehe curled the left into a fist ashebentover tobraceitonthecool,steam-slicktiles.Slippery—

Theservantonlypaddedover,laidathickwhiteclothbeforehim,andbackedaway.Hegaveheragrateful,close-lippedsmileashebracedhisleftfistagainon the floor, atop the plush cloth, distributing hisweight throughout the arm.With an inhaled breath, his right hand still gripping the edge of his chair, hecarefullyloweredhimselftotheground,swinginghisrearawayfromthechairashiskneesbentunbidden.

Helandedwithathud,buthewasonthefloor,atleast—hadn’ttoppledover,ashehadthefirsthalf-dozentimeshe’dtrieditontheship.

Carefully,hescootedtotheedgeofthepoolstairs,untilhecouldsethisfeetintothewarmwater,rightatopthesecondstep.Theservantstrodeintothewateraheartbeatlater,gracefulasanegret,hergossamerrobeturningasinsubstantialasdewwhilewatercreptupitslength.Herhandsweregentlebutsteadywhileshegrippedhimunderthearmandhelpedhimhoisthimselfthelastbitintothepool,settinghimselfdownonthetopstep.Thensheguidedhimdownanother

and another, until he was sitting up to his shoulders. Eye-level with her full,peakedbreasts.

Shedidn’tseemtonotice.Andhe immediatelyavertedhisgaze toward thewindowasshereachedforthesmalltrayofsuppliesshe’dleftnearthelipofthepool. Oils and brushes and soft-looking cloths. Chaol slid his undershorts offwhilesheturned,settingthemwithaloud,wetsmackupontheedgeofthepool.

Nesrynstilldidn’temergefromherroom.SoChaol closedhis eyes, submittinghimself to the servant’sministrations,

andwonderedwhatthehellhewasgoingtodo.

4

OfalltheroomsintheTorreCesme,YreneTowerslovedthisonebest.Perhaps itwas because the room, located at the very pinnacle of the pale-

stoned tower and its sprawling complex below, had unparalleled views of thesunsetoverAntica.

Perhapsitwasbecausethiswastheplacewhereshe’dfeltthefirstshredofsafety in nearly ten years. The place she had first looked upon the ancientwomannowsittingacrossthepaper-andbook-strewndesk,andheardthewordsthatchangedeverything:Youarewelcomehere,YreneTowers.

Ithadbeenovertwoyearssincethen.Twoyearsofworkinghere, livinghere, in this towerand in this cityof so

manypeoples,somanyfoodsandcachesofknowledge.It had been all she’d dreamed it would be—and she had seized every

opportunity, every challenge, with both hands. Had studied and listened andpracticedandsavedlives,changedthem,untilshehadclimbedtotheverytopofherclass.Untilanunknownhealer’sdaughterfromFenharrowwasapproachedbyhealersoldandyoung,whohadtrainedtheirentirelives,forheradviceandassistance.

Themagichelped.Glorious,lovelymagicthatcouldmakeherbreathlessorsotiredshecouldn’tgetoutofbedfordays.Magicdemandedacost—tobothhealerandpatient.ButYrenewaswilling topay it.Shehadneverminded theaftermathofabrutalhealing.

Ifitmeantsavingalife…Silbahadgrantedheragift—andayoungstrangerhadgivenheranothergift,thatfinalnightinInnishtwoyearsago.Yrenehadnoplanstowasteeither.

Shewaitedinsilenceastheslenderwomanacrossfromherfinishedreadingthroughsomemessageonherchronicallymessydesk.Despitetheservants’bestefforts,theancientrosewooddeskwasalwayschaotic,coveredwithformulasorspellsorvialsandjarsbrewingsometonic.

There were two such vials on the desk now, clear orbs atop silver feetfashionedafteribislegs.Beingpurifiedbytheendlesssunshinewithinthetower.

Hafiza, Healer on High of the Torre Cesme, plucked up one of the vials,swirled its pale blue contents, frowned, and set it down. “The damned thingalways takes twice as long as I anticipate.” She asked casually, usingYrene’sownlanguage,“Whydoyouthinkthatis?”

Yreneleanedforwardintheworn,tuftedarmchaironhersideofthedesktostudy the tonic.Everymeeting, every encounterwithHafiza,was a lesson—achancetolearn.Tobechallenged.Yreneliftedthevialfromitsstand,holdingitto the golden light of sunset as she examined the thick azure liquid within.“Use?”

“Ten-year-oldgirldevelopedadrycoughsixweeksago.Sawthephysicians,whoadvisedhoneytea,rest,andfreshair.Gotbetterforatime,butreturnedaweekagowithavengeance.”

ThephysiciansoftheTorreCesmewerethefinestintheworld,distinguishedonlyfromtheTorre’shealersbythefactthattheydidnotpossessmagic.Theywere the first line of inspection for the healers in the tower, their quartersoccupyingthesprawlingcomplexarounditsbase.

Magicwas precious, its demands costly enough that someHealer onHighcenturiesagohaddecreedthatiftheyweretoseeapatient,aphysicianmustfirstinspect theperson.Perhaps ithadbeenapoliticalmaneuver—abone tossed tothe physicians so often passed over by a people clamoring for the cure-all

remediesofmagic.Yetmagiccouldnotcureall things.Couldnothaltdeath,orbringsomeone

backfromit.She’dlearneditagainandagainthesepasttwoyears,andearlier.Andevenwiththeprotocolswiththephysicians,Yrenestill—asshehadalwaysdone—found herself walking toward the sound of coughing in the narrow,slopedstreetsofAntica.

Yrene tilted thevial thiswayand that. “The tonicmightbe reacting to theheat.It’sbeenunseasonablywarm,evenforus.”

Withtheendofsummerfinallynear,evenaftertwoyears,Yrenewasstillnotentirelyaccustomedtotheunrelenting,dryheatofthegod-city.Mercifully,somelong-agomastermind had invented the bidgier, wind-catching towers set atopbuildingstodrawinfreshairtotheroomsbelow,someevenworkingintandemwiththefewundergroundcanalswindingbeneathAnticatotransformhotwindintocoolbreezes.Thecitywaspepperedwiththesmalltowers,likeathousandspears jutting toward the sky, ranging from the small housesmade of earthenbrickstothegreat,domedresidencesfullofshadedcourtyardsandclearpools.

Unfortunately,theTorrehadpredatedthatstrokeofbrilliance,andthoughtheupper levels possessed some cunning ventilation that cooled the chambers farbelow, there were plenty of days when Yrene wished some clever architectwould take it upon themselves to outfit the Torre with the latest advances.Indeed,withtherisingheatandthevariousfiresburningthroughoutthetower,Hafiza’sroomwasnear-sweltering.WhichledYrenetoadd,“Youcouldputitinalowerchamber—whereit’scooler.”

“Butthesunlightneeded?”Yreneconsidered.“Bringinmirrors.Catchthesunlightthroughthewindow,

andfocusituponthevial.Adjustitafewtimesadaytomatchthepathofthesun.Thecoolertemperatureandmoreconcentratedsunlightmighthavethetonicreadysooner.”

Alittle,pleasednod.Yrenehadcometocherishthosenods,thelightinthose

browneyes.“Quickwitssavelivesmoreoftenthanmagic,”wasHafiza’sonlyreply.

She’dsaiditathousandtimesbefore,usuallywhereYrenewasinvolved—toher eternal pride—but Yrene bowed her head in thanks and set the vial backuponitsstand.

“So,” Hafiza said, folding her hands atop each other on the near-glowingrosewooddesk,“Eretiainformsmethatshebelievesyouarereadytoleaveus.”

Yrenestraightenedinherseat,theverysamechairshe’dsatinthatfirstdayshe’d climbed the thousand steps to the top of the tower and begged foradmittance.Thebegginghadbeentheleastofherhumiliationsthatmeeting,thecrowningmoment beingwhen she dumped the bag of gold onHafiza’s desk,blurtingthatshedidn’tcarewhatthecostwasandtotakeitall.

NotrealizingthatHafizadidnottakemoneyfromstudents.No,theypaidfortheireducationinotherways.Yrenehadsufferedthroughendlessindignitiesanddegradationsduringheryearworkingat thebackwaterWhitePig Inn,but shehadneverbeenmoremortified than themomentHafizaorderedher toput themoney back in that brown pouch. Scraping the gold off the desk like somecardplayerscrambling tocollecthiswinnings,Yrenehaddebated leapingrightoutthearcofwindowstoweringbehindHafiza’sdesk.

Muchhad changed since then.Gonewas the homespundress, the too-slimbody.ThoughYrenesupposedtheendlessstairsoftheTorrehadkeptincheckthe weight she’d gained from steady, healthy eating, thanks to the Torre’senormouskitchens,thecountlessmarketsteemingwithfoodstalls,andthedine-inshopsalongeverybustlingstreetandwindingalley.

Yreneswallowedonce,tryingandfailingtogleantheHealeronHigh’sface.Hafiza had been the one person here whom Yrene could never read, neveranticipate. She’d never once shown a display of temper—something thatcouldn’t be said of many of the instructors here, Eretia especially—and hadneverraisedhervoice.Hafizahadonlythreeexpressions:pleased,neutral,and

disappointed.Yrenelivedinterrorofthelattertwo.Notforanypunishment.Therewasnosuch thinghere.Norationsheld,no

pain threatened.Not likeat theWhitePig,whereNolanhaddockedherpay ifshesteppedoutoflineorwasovergenerouswithacustomer,orifhecaughtherleavingoutnightlyscrapsforthehalf-feralurchinswhohadprowledthefilthystreetsofInnish.

She’d arrived here thinking it would be the same: people who took hermoney,whomadeitharderandharder to leave.She’dspentayearworkingattheWhitePigduetoNolan’sincreasesinherrent,decreasesinherpay,hiscutof her meager tips, and knowledge that most women in Innish worked thestreets,andhisplace,disgustingasithadbeen,wasafarbetteralternative.

She’dtoldherselfneveragain—untilshe’darrivedhere.Untilshe’ddumpedthatgoldonHafiza’sdeskandhadbeenreadytodoitallover, indebtandsellherself,justforachancetolearn.

Hafizadidnotevenconsidersuchthings.Herworkwasindirectoppositionto thepeoplewhodid, thepeople likeNolan.Yrene still remembered the firsttimeshe’dheardHafizasayinthatthick,lovelyaccentofhers,nearlythesamewords that Yrene’s mother had told her, over and over: they did not charge,studentsorpatients,forwhatSilba,GoddessofHealing,giftedthemforfree.

In a landof somanygods thatYrenewas still struggling to keep themallstraight,atleastSilbaremainedthesame.

Yetanotherclever thingthekhaganatehaddoneuponpatchingtogether thekingdomsandterritoriesduringtheiryearsofconquest:keepandadaptthegodsof everyone. Including Silba, whose dominance over the healers had beenestablished in these lands long ago. History was written by the victors,apparently.OrsoEretia,Yrene’sdirect tutor,hadonce toldher.Even thegodsseemednomoreimmunetoitthanmeremortals.

Butitdidn’tstopYrenefromofferingupaprayertoSilbaandwhatevergodsmightbelisteningasshesaidatlast,“Iamready,yes.”

“Toleaveus.”Suchsimplewords,offeredwiththatneutralface—calmandpatient.“OrhaveyouconsideredtheotheroptionIpresentedtoyou?”

Yrenehad.She’d thought about it endlessly in the twoweeks sinceHafizahadsummonedhertothisofficeandspoketheonewordthathadclenchedafistaroundherheart:Stay.

Stay,and learnmore—stay,andseewhat this fledgling lifeshe’dbuiltheremightgrowinto.

Yrenerubbedatherchestasifshecouldstillfeelthatviselikegrip.“Wariscoming to my home again—the northern continent.” So they called it here.Yreneswallowed.“Iwanttobetheretohelpthosefightingagainsttheempire’scontrol.”

At last, after somany years, a forcewas rallying. Adarlan itself had beensundered,ifrumorsweretobebelieved,byDorianHavilliardinthenorth,andthedeadking’sSecond,DukePerrington, in the south.DorianwasbackedbyAelinGalathynius, the long-lost queen now ripewith power and ravenous forvengeance, judging by what she’d done to the glass castle and its king. AndPerrington, rumor also claimed,was aided by horrors birthed from some darknightmare.

ButifthiswastheonlychanceatfreedomforFenharrow…Yrenewouldbe there tohelp, inwhateverwayshecould.Shestill smelled

smoke,lateatnightorwhenshewasdrainedafterahardhealing.SmokefromthatfirethoseAdarlaniansoldiershadbuilt—andburnedhermotherupon.Shestill heard her mother’s screaming and felt the wood of that tree trunk digbeneathhernailsasshe’dhiddenattheedgeofOakwald.Asshewatchedthemburnhermotheralive.AfterhermotherhadkilledthatsoldiertobuyYrenetimetorun.

Ithadbeentenyearssincethen.Nearlyeleven.Andthoughshehadcrossedmountainsandoceans…thereweresomedayswhenYrenefeltasifshewerestill standing inFenharrow, smelling that fire, splinters slicingunderhernails,

watchingasthesoldierstooktheirtorchesandburnedhercottage,too.ThecottagethathadhousedgenerationsofTowershealers.Yrenesupposeditwasfitting,somehow,she’dwoundupinatowerherself.

With only the ring on her left hand as proof that once, for hundreds of years,there had existed a line of prodigally gifted female healers in the south ofFenharrow.Aringshenowtoyedwith, thatlastshredofproofthathermotherandmother’smotherandallthemothersbeforethemhadoncelivedandhealedinpeace.ItwasthefirstofonlytwoobjectsYrenewouldnotsell—evenbeforesellingherself.

Hafizahadnotreplied,andsoYrenewenton,thesunsinkingfarthertowardthejadewatersoftheharboracrossthecity,“Evenwithmagicnowreturnedtothenortherncontinent,manyof thehealersmightnothave the training, ifanysurvivedatall.Icouldsavemanylives.”

“Warcouldalsoclaimyourlife.”Sheknewthis.Yreneliftedherchin.“Iamawareoftherisks.”Hafiza’sdarkeyessoftened.“Yes,yes,youare.”Ithadcomeoutduringthatfirst,mortifyingmeetingwiththeHealeronHigh.Yrenehadnotcriedforyears—sincethatdayhermotherhadbecomeashon

thewind—andyet themomentHafizahadaskedaboutYrene’sparents…shehadburiedher face inherhandsandwept.Hafizahadcomefromaround thatdeskandheldher,rubbingherbackinsoothingcircles.

Hafizaoftendidthat.NotjusttoYrene,buttoallherhealers,whenthehourswerelongandtheirbackshadcrampedandthemagichadtakeneverythinganditwasstillnotenough.Aquiet,steadypresencewhosteeledthem,soothedthem.

Hafizawasas close to amother asYrenehad found since shewaseleven.Andnowweeksawayfromtwenty-two,shedoubtedshe’deverfindanotherlikeher.

“Ihave takentheexaminations,”Yrenesaid,eventhoughHafizaknewthatalready.She’dgiventhemtoYreneherself,overseeingthegruelingweekoftests

on knowledge, skill, and actual human practice. Yrene had made sure shereceivedthehighestmarksofherclass.Asneartoaperfectscoreasanyonehadeverbeengivenhere.“I’mready.”

“Indeedyouare.Andyet I stillwonderhowmuchyoumight learn in fiveyears,tenyears,ifyouhavealreadylearnedsomuchintwo.”

YrenehadbeentooskilledtobeginwiththeacolytesinthelowerlevelsoftheTorre.

She’d shadowed her mother since she was old enough to walk and talk,learning slowly, over the years, as all the healers in her family had done. Ateleven,Yrenehad learnedmore thanmostwould inanotherdecade.Andevenduringthesixyearsthathadfollowed,whereshe’dpretendedtobeanordinarygirlwhileworking on hermother’s cousin’s farm—the family unsurewhat toreallydowithher, unwilling toget toknowherwhenwar andAdarlanmightdestroythemall—she’dquietlypracticed.

Butnottoomuch,nottoonoticeably.Duringthoseyears,neighborhadsoldout neighbor for even the whisper of magic. And even though magic hadvanished, taking Silba’s gift with it, Yrene had been careful never to appearmorethanasimplefarmer’srelative,whosegrandmotherhadperhapstaughtherafewnaturalremediesforfeversorbirthingpainorsprainedandbrokenlimbs.

In Innish, she’d been able to do more, using her sparse pocket money topurchaseherbs,salves.Butshedidn’toftendare,notwithNolanandJessa,hisfavored barmaid, watching her day and night. So these past two years, she’dwanted to learn asmuch as she could.But it had alsobeen anunleashing.Ofyearsofstifling,oflyingandhiding.

Andthatdayshe’dwalkedofftheboatandfelthermagicstir,feltitreachforamanlimpingdownthestreet…Shehadfallenintoastateofshockthathadnotendeduntilshewoundupweepinginthisverychairthreehourslater.

Yrenesighedthroughhernose.“Icouldreturnhereonedaytocontinuemystudies. But—with all due respect, I am a full healer now.” And she could

venturewhereverhergiftcalledher.Hafiza’swhitebrowsrose,starkagainstherbrownskin.“AndwhatofPrince

Kashin?”Yreneshiftedinherseat.“Whatofhim?”“Youwereoncegoodfriends.Heremainsfondofyou,andthat isnosmall

thingtoignore.”YreneleveledalookfewdaredtodirecttowardtheHealeronHigh.“Willhe

interferewithmyplanstoleave?”“Heisaprince,andhasbeendeniednothing,savethecrownhecovets.He

mayfindthatyourleavingisnotsomethinghewilltolerate.”Dreadsluicedthroughher,startingatherspineandendingcurleddeepinher

gut. “I’ve given him no encouragement. I made my thoughts on that matterperfectlyclearlastyear.”

Ithadbeenadisaster.She’dgoneover it againandagain, the things she’dsaid, the moments between them—everything that had led up to that awfulconversationinthatlargeDarghantentatopthewindsweptsteppes.

It had started a few months after she’d arrived in Antica, when one ofKashin’sfavoredservantshadfallenill.Tohersurprise,theprincehimselfhadbeen at the man’s bedside, and during the long hours Yrene worked, theconversation had flowed, and she’d found herself… smiling. She’d cured theservant,anduponleavingthatnight,she’dbeenescortedbyKashinhimself tothegatesoftheTorre.Andinthemonthsthatfollowed,friendshiphadsprungupbetweenthem.

Perhaps freer, lighter than the friendship she also wound up forming withHasar,whohadtakenalikingtoYreneafterrequiringsomehealingofherown.AndwhileYrenehad struggled to findcompanionswithin theTorre thanks toher and her fellow students’ conflicting hours, the prince and princess hadbecomefriendsindeed.AshadHasar’slover,thesweet-facedRenia—whowasaslovelyinsideasshewasout.

A strange group theymade, but…Yrene had enjoyed their company, thedinnersKashinandHasarinvitedherto,whenYreneknewshehadnoreasontoreallybe there.Kashinoftenmanaged to findaway to sitnext toher,ornearenoughtoengageherinconversation.Formonths,thingshadbeenfine—betterthanfine.AndthenHafizahadbroughtYreneouttothesteppes,thenativehomeofthekhagan’sfamily,tooverseeagruelinghealing.WithKashinastheirescortandguide.

TheHealeronHighnowexaminedYrene,frowningslightly.“Perhapsyourlackofencouragementhasmadehimmoreeager.”

Yrene rubbed her eyebrowswith her thumb and forefinger. “We’ve barelyspokensincethen.”Itwastrue.ThoughmostlyduetoYreneavoidinghimatthedinnerstowhichHasarandReniastillinvitedher.

“The prince does not seem like a man easily deterred—certainly not inmattersoftheheart.”

Sheknewthat.She’dlikedthataboutKashin.Untilhe’dwantedsomethingshecouldn’tgivehim.Yrenegroanedabit.“WillIhavetoleavelikeathiefinthenight,then?”Hasarwouldneverforgiveher,thoughshehadnodoubtReniawould try tosootheandrationalize it to theprincess. IfHasarwaspureflame,thenReniawasflowingwater.

“Shouldyoudecidetoremain,youwillnothavetoworryaboutsuchthingsatall.”

Yrene straightened. “You would really use Kashin as a way to keep mehere?”

Hafizalaughed,acrowofwarmth.“No.Butforgiveanoldwomanfortryingtouseanyavenuenecessarytoconvinceyou.”

Prideandguilteddiedinherchest.ButYrenesaidnothing—hadnoanswer.Returning to the northern continent … She knew there was no one and

nothing left there for her.Nothing but unforgivingwar, and thosewhowouldneedherhelp.

Shedidnotevenknowwheretogo—wheretosail,howtofindthosearmiesandtheirwounded.She’dtraveledfarandwidebefore,hadevadedenemiesbenton slaughtering her, and the thought of doing it all again… She knew somewouldthinkhermad.UngratefulfortheofferHafizahadlaidbeforeher.She’dthoughtthosethingsofherselfforalongwhilenow.

YetnotasingledaypassedwithoutYrenegazingtowardtheseaatthefootofthecity—gazingnorthward.

Yrene’sattentionindeedslidfromtheHealeronHightothewindowsbehindher,tothedistant,darkeninghorizon,asifitwerealodestone.

Hafiza said, a shademoregently, “There is no rush to decide.Wars take alongtime.”

“ButIwillneed—”“ThereisataskIwouldfirsthaveyoudo,Yrene.”Yrenestilledatthattone,thehintofcommandinit.SheglancedtotheletterHafizahadbeenreadingwhenshe’dentered.“What

isit?”“There isaguestat thepalace—aspecialguestof thekhagan. Iwouldask

youtotreathim.Beforeyoudecidewhethernowistherighttimetoleavetheseshores,orifitisbettertoremain.”

Yreneangledherhead.Rare—veryrareforHafizatopassoffataskfromthekhagan to someone else. “What is his ailment?”Common, standardwords forhealersreceivingcases.

“He is a young man, age twenty-three. Healthy in every regard, in fitcondition.Buthesufferedagraveinjurytohisspineearlierthissummerthatlefthimparalyzedfromthehipsdownward.Hecannotfeelormovehislegs,andhasbeeninawheeledchairsince.Iambypassingtheinitialphysicians’examinationtoappealdirectlytoyou.”

Yrene’smindchurned.Acomplex,longprocesstohealthatmannerofinjury.Spineswerenearlyasdifficultasbrains.Connectedtothemquiteclosely.With

thatsortofhealing,itwasn’tamatteroflettinghermagicwashoverthem—thatwasn’thowitworked.

Itwasfindingtherightplacesandchannels,infindingthecorrectamountofmagictowield.Itwasgettingthebraintoagainsendsignalstothespine,downthose broken pathways; itwas replacing the damaged, smallest kernels of lifewithinthebodywithnew,freshones.Andontopofit…learningtowalkagain.Weeks.Months,perhaps.

“Heisanactiveyoungman,”Hafizasaid.“Theinjuryisakintothewarrioryouaidedlastwinteronthesteppes.”

She’d guessed asmuch already—itwas likelywhy she’d been asked.Twomonths spent healing the horse-lordwho’d taken a bad fall off hismount andinjuredhisspine.ItwasnotanuncommoninjuryamongtheDarghan,someofwhomrodehorsesandsomeofwhomsoaredonruks,andtheyhadlongreliedontheTorre’shealers.Workingonthewarriorhadbeenherfirsttimeputtingherlessonsonthesubjectintoeffect,preciselywhyHafizahadaccompaniedhertothesteppes.Yrenewasfairlyconfidentshecoulddoanotherhealingonherownthistime,butitwasthewayHafizaglanceddownattheletter—justonce—thatmadeYrenepause.Madeherask,“Whoishe?”

“Lord Chaol Westfall.” Not a name from the khaganate. Hafiza added,holding Yrene’s gaze, “He was the former Captain of the Guard and is nowHandtothenewKingofAdarlan.”

Silence.Yrenewassilent,inherhead,herheart.Onlythecryingofthegullssailing

abovetheTorreandtheshoutsofvendorsgoinghomeforthenightinthestreetsbeyondthecompound’shighwallsfilledthetowerroom.

“No.”ThewordpushedoutofYreneonabreath.Hafiza’sslimmouthtightened.“No,”Yrenesaidagain.“Iwillnothealhim.”

Therewasnosoftness,nothingmotherlyinHafiza’sface,asshesaid,“Youtookanoathuponenteringthesehalls.”

“No.”Itwasallshecouldthinktosay.“Iamwellawarehowdifficultitmaybeforyou—”Herhandsstartedshaking.“No.”“Why?”“Youknowwhy.”Thewordswereastrangledwhisper.“Y-y-youknow.”“IfyouseeAdarlaniansoldierssufferingonthosebattlefields,willyoustomp

rightoverthem?”ItwasthecruelestHafizahadeverbeentoher.Yrenerubbedtheringonherfinger.“IfhewasCaptainoftheGuardforthe

lastking,he—heworkedfor themanwho—”Thewordsspilledandstumbledout.“Hetookordersfromhim.”

“AndnowworksforDorianHavilliard.”“Who indulged in his father’s riches—the riches of my people. Even if

Dorian Havilliard did not participate, the fact that he stood back while ithappened…”Thepalestonewallspressedin,eventhesolidtowerbeneaththemfeelingunwieldy.“Doyouknowwhattheking’smendidtheseyears?Whathisarmies, his soldiers, his guards did? And you ask me to heal a man whocommandedthem?”

“Itisarealityofwhoyouare—whoweare.Achoiceallhealersmustmake.”“Andyouhavemadeitsooften?Inyourpeacefulkingdom?”Hafiza’sfacedarkened.Notwithire,butmemory.“Iwasonceaskedtoheala

manwhowasinjuredwhileevadingcapture.Afterhehadcommittedacrimesounspeakable…Theguardstoldmewhathe’ddonebeforeIwalkedintohiscell.They wanted him patched up so he could live to be put on trial. He’dundoubtedlybeexecuted—theyhadvictimswillingtotestifyandproofaplenty.Eretiaherselfsawthelatestvictim.His lastone.Gatheredall theevidencesheneeded and stood in that court and condemned himwithwhat she had seen.”

Hafiza’s throatbobbed.“Theychainedhimdown in thatcell, andhewashurtenough that I knew … I knew I could use my magic to make the internalbleeding worse. They’d never know. He’d be dead by morning, and no onewoulddarequestionme.”Shestudiedthevialofbluetonic.“ItwastheclosestIhaveevercometokilling.Iwantedtokillhimforwhathehaddone.Theworldwouldbebetterforit.Ihadmyhandsonhischest—Iwasreadytodoit.ButIremembered.IrememberedthatoathIhadtaken,andrememberedthattheyhadaskedmetohealhimsothathewouldlive—sothatjusticemightbefoundforhisvictims.Andtheirfamilies.”ShemetYrene’seyes.“Itwasnotmydeathtodoleout.”

“Whathappened?”Thewordswereawobble.“Hetriedtopleadinnocent.EvenwithwhatEretiapresented,withwhatthat

victimwaswillingto talkabout.Hewasamonster throughandthrough.Theyconvictedhim,andhewasexecutedatsunrisethenextday.”

“Didyouwatchit?”“Ididnot.Icamebackuphere.ButEretiadid.Shestoodatthefrontofthe

crowd and stayed until they hauled his corpse into a cart. She stayed for thevictimswhocouldnotbeartowatch.Thenshereturnedhere,andwebothcriedforalong,longwhile.”

Yrenewasquietforafewbreaths,enoughthatherhandssteadied.“SoIamtohealthisman—sohemayfindjusticeelsewhere?”

“You do not know his story, Yrene. I suggest listening to it beforecontemplatingsuchthings.”

Yreneshookherhead.“Therewillbenojusticeforhim—notifheservedtheoldandnewking.Notifhe’scunningenoughtoremaininpower.IknowhowAdarlanworks.”

Hafizawatchedherforalongmoment.“Thedayyouwalkedintothisroom,so terribly thin and coveredwith the dust of a hundred roads… I had neversensed such a gift. I looked into those beautiful eyes of yours, and I nearly

gaspedattheuncutpowerinyou.”Disappointment.ItwasdisappointmentontheHealeronHigh’sface, inher

voice.“I thought tomyself,”Hafizawenton,“Wherehas thisyoungwomanbeen

hiding?What god reared you, guided you tomy doorstep? Your dresswas intattersaroundyourankles,andyetyouwalkedin,straight-backedasanynoblelady.AsifyouweretheheirtoKamalaherself.”

UntilYrene had dumped themoney on the desk and fallen apartmomentslater.ShedoubtedtheveryfirstHealeronHighhadeverdonesuchathing.

“Even your family name: Towers. A hint at your foremothers’ long-agoassociationwith theTorre,perhaps. Iwondered in thatmoment if Ihadat lastfoundmyheir—myreplacement.”

Yrene felt thewords like a blow to the gut.Hafiza had never somuch ashinted…Stay,theHealeronHighhadoffered.Tonotonlycontinuethetraining,butto

alsotakeupthemantlenowlaidbeforeher.ButithadnotbeenYrene’sownambition,toonedayclaimthisroomasher

own.NotwhenhersightshadalwaysbeensetacrosstheNarrowSea.Andevennow…itwasanhonorbeyondwords,yes.Butonethatranghollow.

“I asked what you wanted to do with the knowledge I would give you,”Hafizawenton.“Doyourememberwhatyousaidtome?”

Yrenedid.Shehadnotforgottenitforamoment.“IsaidIwantedtouseittodosomegoodfortheworld.Todosomethingwithmyuseless,wastedlife.”

Thewordshadguidedhertheseyears—alongwiththenoteshecarriedeveryday,movingit frompocket topocket,dress todress.Wordsfromamysteriousstranger, perhaps a god who had worn the skin of a battered young woman,whosegiftofgoldhadgottenherhere.Savedher.

“Andsoyoushall,Yrene,”Hafizasaid.“Youshallonedayreturnhome,andyoushalldogood,youshalldowonders.Butbeforeyoudo,Iwouldaskthisof

you.Help that youngman.You have done the healing before—you can do itagainnow.”

“Whycan’tyou?”She’dneversoundedsosullen,so…ungrateful.Hafizagaveherasmall,sadsmile.“Itisnotmyownhealingthatisneeded.”YreneknewtheHealeronHighdidnotmeantheman’shealing,either.She

swallowedagainstthethicknessinherthroat.“Itisasoul-wound,Yrene.Andlettingitfestertheseyears…Icannotblame

you.ButIwillholdyouaccountableifyouletitturnintosomethingworse.AndIwillmournyouforit.”

Yrene’s lips wobbled, but she pressed them together, blinking back theburninginhereyes.

“You passed the tests, better than anyone who has ever climbed into thistower,”Hafiza said softly. “But let this bemypersonal test for you.The finalone.Sothatwhenyoudecidetogo,Imaybidyoufarewell,sendyouofftowar,and know…”Hafiza put a hand on her chest. “Know thatwherever the roadtakesyou,howeverdark,youwillbeallright.”

Yrene swallowed the small sound that tried tocomeoutofher and insteadlookedtowardthecity,itspalestonesresplendentinthelastlightofthesettingsun.ThroughtheopenwindowsbehindtheHealeronHigh,anightbreezelacedwithlavenderandclovesflittedin,coolingherfaceandrufflingHafiza’scloudofwhitehair.

Yreneslidahandintothepocketofherpalebluedress,herfingerswrappingaroundthefamiliarsmoothnessof thefoldedpieceofparchment.Sheclutchedit,asshehadoftendoneonthesailingoverhere,duringthoseinitialfewweeksofuncertaintyevenafterHafizahadadmittedher,duringthelonghoursandharddaysandmomentsthathadnearlybrokenherwhileshetrained.

Anote,writtenbyastrangerwhohadsavedherlifeandgrantedherfreedominamatterofhours.Yrenehadneverlearnedhername,thatyoungwomanwho

hadwornherscarslikesomeladiesworetheirfinestjewelry.Theyoungwomanwhowasatrainedkiller,buthadpurchasedahealer’seducation.

So many things, so many good things, had come from that night. Yrenesometimes wondered if it had actually happened—might have believed she’ddreamed it if not for the note in her pocket, and the second objectYrene hadneversold,evenwhenthegoldhadthinned.

Theornategold-and-rubybrooch,worthmorethanentireblocksofAntica.Adarlan’scolors.Yrenehadneverlearnedwheretheyoungwomanhadcome

from,whohadbestowedthebeatingthathadleftlingeringbruisesonherprettyface,butshehadspokenofAdarlanasYrenedid.Asall thechildrenwhohadlost everything toAdarlandid—those childrenwith their kingdoms left in ashandbloodandruin.

Yreneranathumboverthenote,thewordsinkedthere:

Forwhereveryouneedtogo—andthensome.Theworldneedsmorehealers.

Yrenebreathedinthatfirstnightbreeze,thespicesandbrineitusheredintotheTorre.

ShelookedbacktoHafizaatlast,theHealeronHigh’sfacecalm.Patient.Yrenewould regret it, if she refused.Hafizawould yield, butYrene knew

thatwhethershelefthere,whethershesomehowdecidedtoremain,shewould… regret. Think back on this. Wonder if she had repaid the extraordinarykindness she’dbeengiven ratherpoorly.Wonderwhathermotherwouldhavethoughtofit.

AndevenifthismanhailedfromAdarlan,evenifhe’ddonethebiddingofthatbutcher…

“Iwillmeetwithhim.Assesshim,”Yreneconceded.Hervoiceonlywobbledslightly.Sheclutchedthatpieceofpaperinherpocket.“AndthendecideifIwillhealhim.”

Hafizaconsidered.“Fairenough,girl,”shesaidquietly.“Fairenough.”

Yreneblewoutashakingbreath.“WhendoIseehim?”“Tomorrow,”Hafizasaid,andYrenewinced.“Thekhaganhasaskedyouto

cometoLordWestfall’schamberstomorrow.”

5

Chaolhadbarelyslept.Partiallyduetotheunrelentingheat,partiallyduetothefactthattheywereinatentativeally’sfraughthousehold,fullofpotentialspiesandunknowndangers—perhaps even fromMorath itself—andpartiallydue towhathadbefallenRiftholdandallhehelddear.

Andpartiallyduetothemeetingthathewasnowminutesawayfromhaving.Nesrynpacedwithuncharacteristicnervesthroughthesittingroomthatwas

tobehissickroom.Low-lyingcouchesandclustersofcushionsfilledthespace,theshiningfloorsinterruptedonlybyrugsofthickestandfinestweaving—fromtheskilledhandsofcraftswomeninthewest,Nesryntoldhim.Artandtreasuresfrom across the khagan’s empire adorned the space, interspersed with pottedpalmssaggingintheheatandsunlighttricklingthroughthegardenwindowsanddoors.

Ten in the morning, the khagan’s eldest daughter had declared to him atdinner last night. Princess Hasar—plain and yet fierce-eyed. A lovely youngwomanhadsatatherside,theonlypersonatwhomHasarsmiled.Herloverorwife,judgingbythefrequenttouchingandlonglooks.

TherehadbeenenoughofanedgetoHasar’swickedgrinasshetoldChaolwhenthehealerwouldarrivethathe’dbeenlefttowonderwho,precisely,theyweresending.

Hestilldidnotknowwhat tomakeof thesepeople, thisplace.Thiscityofhigh learning, this blend of somany cultures and history, peacefully dwelling

together…Not at all like the raging andbroken spirits dwelling inAdarlan’sshadow,livinginterror,distrustingoneanother,enduringitsworstcrimes.

They’d asked him about the butchering of the slaves in Calaculla andEndovieratdinner.

Or the oily one, Arghun, did. Had the prince been among Chaol’s newrecruitstotheroyalguard,hewouldhaveeasilygottenhimtofallinlinethanksto a fewwell-timed shows of skill and sheer dominance.But here, he had noauthoritytobringtheconniving,haughtyprincetoheel.

NotevenwhenArghunwantedtoknowwhytheformerKingofAdarlanhaddeemeditnecessarytoenslavehispeople.Andthenputthemdownlikeanimals.Why the man had not looked to the southern continent for education on thehorrorsandstainofslavery—andavoidedinstitutingit.

Chaolhadofferedcurtanswersthatvergedonimpolite.Sartaq,theonlyoneofthembeyondKashinwhomChaolwasinclinedtolike,hadfinallytiredofhiselderbrother’squestioningand steered the conversation away.Tow