The morning was brutally cold, even more so atop the tower standing high over the world, but the day would be clear. Bright.
“So there it is,” Aelin said, nodding toward the dark stain on the balcony stones. “Where Erawan met his end at the hands of a healer.” She frowned. “I hope it will wash off.”
Rowan snorted, and when she looked over her shoulder, the wind whipping her hair, she found him leaning against the stairwell door, his arms crossed.
“I mean it,” she said. “It’ll be odious to have his mess there. And I plan to use this balcony to sun myself. He’ll ruin it.”
Rowan chuckled, and pushed off the door, going to the balcony rail. “If it doesn’t wash off, we’ll throw a rug over it.”
Aelin laughed, and joined him, leaning into his warmth as the sun gilded the battlefield, the river, the Staghorns. “Well, now you’ve seen every hall and room and stairwell. What do you make of your new home?”
“A little small, but we’ll manage.”
Aelin nudged him with an elbow, and jerked her chin to the nearby western tower. Where the north tower was tall, the western tower was wide. Grand. Near its upper levels, hanging over the perilous drop, a walled stone garden glowed in the sunlight. The king’s garden.
Queen’s, she supposed.
There had been nothing left but a tangle of thorns and snow. Yet she still remembered it, when it had belonged to Orlon. The roses and drooping latticework of wisteria, the fountains that had streamed right over the edge of the garden and into the open air below, the apple tree with blossoms like clumps of snow in the spring.
“I never realized how convenient it would be for Fleetfoot,” she said of the secret, private garden. Reserved only for the royal family. Sometimes just for the king or queen themselves. “To not have to run down the tower stairs every time she needs to pee.”
“I’m sure your ancestors had canine bathroom habits in mind when they built it.”
“I would have,” Aelin grumbled.
“Oh, I believe it,” Rowan said, smirking. “But can you explain to me why we’re not in there right now, sleeping?”
“In the garden?”
He flicked her nose. “In the suite beyond the garden. Our bedroom.”
She’d led him quickly through the space. Still preserved well enough, despite the disrepair of the rest of the castle. One of the Adarlanian cronies had undoubtedly used it. “I want it cleaned of any trace of Adarlan before I stay in there,” she admitted.
“Ah.”
She heaved a breath, sucking down the morning air.
Aelin heard them before she saw them, scented them. And when they turned, they found Lorcan and Elide walking onto the tower balcony, Aedion, Lysandra, and Fenrys trailing. Ren Allsbrook, tentative and wary-eyed, emerged behind them.
How they’d known where to find them, why they’d come, Aelin had no idea. Fenrys’s wounds had closed at least, though twin, red scars slashed from his brow to his jaw. He didn’t seem to notice—or care.
She also didn’t fail to note the hand Lorcan kept on Elide’s back. The glow on the lady’s face.
Aelin could guess well enough what that glow was from. Even Lorcan’s dark eyes were bright.
It didn’t stop Aelin from catching Lorcan’s stare. And giving him a warning look that conveyed everything she didn’t bother to say: if he broke the Lady of Perranth’s heart, she’d flambé him. And would invite Manon Blackbeak to roast some dinner over his burning corpse.
Lorcan rolled his eyes, and Aelin deemed that acceptance enough as she asked them all, “Did anyone bother to sleep?”
Only Fenrys lifted his hand.
Aedion frowned at the dark stain on the stones.
“We’re putting a rug over it,” Aelin told him.
Lysandra laughed. “Something tacky, I hope.”
“I’m thinking pink and purple. Embroidered with flowers. Just what Erawan would have loved.”
The Fae males gaped at them, Ren blinking. Elide ducked her head as she chuckled.
Rowan snorted again. “At least this court won’t be boring.”
Aelin put a hand on her chest, the portrait of outrage. “You were honestly worried it would be?”
“Gods help us,” Lorcan grumbled. Elide elbowed him.
Aedion said to Ren, the young lord lingering by the archway, as if still debating making a quick exit, “Now’s the chance to escape, you know. Before you get sucked into this endless nonsense.”
But Ren’s dark eyes met Aelin’s. Scanned them.
She’d heard about Murtaugh. Knew now was not the time to mention it, the loss dimming his eyes. So she kept her face open. Honest. Warm. “We could always use one more to partake in the nonsense,” Aelin said, an invisible hand outstretched.
Ren scanned her again. “You gave up everything and still came back here. Still fought.”
“All of it for Terrasen,” she said quietly.
“Yes, I know,” Ren said, the scar down his face stark in the rising sun. “I understand that now.” He offered her a small smile. “I think I might need a bit of nonsense myself, after this war.”
Aedion muttered, “You’ll regret saying that.”
But Aelin sketched a bow. “Oh, he certainly will.” She smirked at the males assembled. “I swear to you, I won’t bore you to tears. A queen’s oath.”
“And what will not boring us entail, then?” Aedion asked.
“Rebuilding,” Elide said. “Lots of rebuilding.”
“Trade negotiations,” Lysandra said.
“Training a new generation in magic,” Aelin went on.
Again, the males blinked at them.
Aelin angled her head, blinking right back at them. “Don’t you lot have anything worthwhile to contribute?” She clicked her tongue. “Three of you are ancient as hell, you know. I’d have expected better from cranky old bastards.”
Their nostrils flared. Aedion grinned, Ren wisely clamping his lips together to keep from doing the same.
But Fenrys said, “Four. Four of us are old as hell.”
Aelin arched a brow.
Fenrys smirked, the movement stretching his scars. “Vaughan is still out there. And now free.”
Rowan crossed his arms. “He’ll never be caught again.”
But Fenrys’s smirk turned knowing. He pointed to the camped Fae army on the plain, the wolves and humans amongst them. “I have a feeling someone down there might know where we could start.” He glanced at Aelin. “If you’d be amenable to another cranky old bastard joining this court.”
Aelin shrugged. “If you can convince him, I don’t see why not.” Rowan smiled at that, and scanned the sky, as if he could see his missing friend soaring there.
Fenrys winked. “I promise he’s not as miserable as Lorcan.” Elide smacked his arm, and Fenrys darted away, hands up as he laughed. “You’ll like him,” he promised Aelin. “All the ladies do,” he added with another wink to her, Lysandra, and Elide.
Aelin laughed, the sound lighter, freer than any she had made, and faced the stirring kingdom. “We promised everyone a better world,” she said after a moment, voice solemn. “So we’ll start with that.”
“Starting small,” Fenrys said. “I like it.”
Aelin smirked at him. “I rather liked the whole let’s-vote-on-the-Wyrdkeys thing we did. So we’ll start with more of that, too.”
Silence. Then Lysandra asked, “Voting on what?”
Aelin shrugged, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Things.”
Aedion arched a brow. “Like dinner?”
Aelin rolled her eyes. “Yes, on dinner. Dinner by committee.”
Elide coughed. “I think Aelin means on vital things. On how to run this kingdom.”
“You’re queen,” Lorcan said. “What’s there to vote on?”
“People should have a say in how they are governed. Policies that impact them. They should have a say in how this kingdom is rebuilt.” Aelin lifted her chin. “I will be queen, and my children …” Her cheeks heated as she smiled toward Rowan. “Our children,” she said a bit softly, “will rule. One day. But Terrasen should have a voice. Each territory, regardless of the lords who rule it, should have a voice. One chosen by its people.”