“I am sorry,” his father breathed. “I am sorry for all of it, Dorian.”
And even the way his father said his name—he had never heard him speak it like that.
Dismiss him. Throw him into some hell-world. That’s what he should do.
And yet Dorian knew for whom he had really brought down Morath. For whom he’d buried that room of collars, the hateful tomb around them.
“I’m sorry,” his father said again.
He did not need Damaris to tell him the words were true.
“Let me pay this debt,” his father said, stepping closer. “Let me pay this, do this. Does Mala’s blood not flow through my veins as well?”
“You don’t have magic—not like we do,” Aelin said, her eyes sorrowful.
His father met Aelin’s stare. “I have enough—just enough in my blood. To help.”
Dorian glanced over his shoulder, toward the archway that opened to Erilea. To home. “Then let him,” he said, though the words did not come out with the iciness he wished. Only heaviness and exhaustion.
Aelin said softly to his father, “I had planned to before it got to the end.”
“Then you will not be alone now,” his father replied. Then the man smiled at him—a vision of the king, the father, he might have been. Had always been, despite what had befallen him. “I am grateful—that I got to see you again. One last time.”
Dorian had no words, couldn’t find them. Not as Aelin turned to him, tears sliding down her face as she said, “One of us has to rule.”
Before Dorian could understand, before he could realize the agreement she’d just made, Aelin ripped her hand from his.
And shoved him through that gateway behind them. Back into their own world.
Roaring, Dorian fell.
As the Wyrdgate’s misty realm vanished, Dorian saw Aelin take his father’s hand.
CHAPTER 96
Rowan had not moved for the hours they’d stood beside Aelin and Dorian and watched them stare at nothing. Chaol had not so much as shifted, either.
The night passed, the stars wheeling over this hateful, cold place.
And then Dorian arched, gulping down air—and collapsed to his knees.
Aelin remained where she was. Remained standing and simply let go of Dorian’s hand.
Rowan’s very soul halted.
“No,” Dorian rasped, scrambling toward her, trying to grip her hand again, to join her.
But the wound on Aelin’s hand had sealed.
“No, no!” Dorian shouted, and Rowan knew then.
Knew what she had done.
The final deceit, the last lie.
“What happened?” Chaol demanded, reaching to hoist Dorian to his feet. The king sobbed, unbuckling the ancient sword from his side and hurling it away. Damaris thunked hollowly as it hit the earth.
Rowan just stared at Aelin.
At his mate, who had lied to him. To all of them.
“It wasn’t enough—the two of us together. It would have destroyed us both,” Dorian wept. “Yet Damaris somehow summoned my father, and … he took my place. He offered to take my place so she …” Dorian lunged, reaching for Aelin’s hand, but he’d left the ring of Wyrdmarks.
They now kept him out.
A wall that sealed in Aelin.
The mating bond stretched thinner and thinner.
“She and him—they’re going to end it,” Dorian said, shaking.
Rowan barely heard the words.
He should have known. Should have known that if their plan failed, Aelin would never willingly sacrifice a friend. Even for this. Even for her own future.
She had known he’d try to keep her from forging the Lock if she’d mentioned that possibility, what she would do if it all went to hell. Had agreed to let Dorian help her only to get herself here. Would likely have dropped Dorian’s hand without his father appearing.
Over—she had said so many times that she wished if to be over. He should have listened.
Chaol gripped Dorian, and the young lord said to Rowan, softly and sadly, “I’m sorry.”
She had lied.
His Fireheart had lied.
And he would now watch her die.
Hand in hand with her enemy, Aelin allowed the magic to flow again. Allowed it to rage out of her.
The nameless king’s power was nothing compared to Dorian’s. But it was just enough, as he said. Just enough to help.
She had never intended for Dorian to destroy himself for this. Only for him to give just enough. And then she would have tossed him back into Erilea. So she might finish this alone.
Payment for ten years of selfishness, ten years away from Terrasen, ten years of running.
The agony became a numbing roar. Even the old king was panting through the pain.
Close now. The gold loops and circles of the Lock solidified.
Still more was needed. To bind this place, to bind all worlds.
He would never forgive her.
Her mate.
She had needed him to let her go, needed him to accept it. She would never have been able to do it, to come here, had he been begging her not to, had he been weeping as she had wanted to weep when she had kissed him one last time.
Come back to me, he had whispered.
She knew he’d wait. Until he faded into the Afterworld, Rowan would wait for her to return. To come back to him.
Aelin’s magic tore out of her, a piece so vital and deep that she cried out, swaying. Only the king’s grip kept her from falling.
The Lock was nearly finished, the two overlapping circles of the Eye almost complete.
Her magic writhed, begging her to stop. But she could not. Would not.
“Soon now,” the king promised.
She found the man smiling.
“I was given a message for you,” he said softly. His edges blurred, as the last of his power drained away. But he still smiled. Still looked at peace. “Your parents are … They are so very proud of you. They asked me to tell you that they love you so very much.” He was nearly invisible now, his words little more than a whisper of wind. “And that the debt has been paid enough, Fireheart.”
Then he was gone. The last of him flowed into the Lock. Wiped from existence.
She barely felt the tears on her face as she fell to her knees. As she gave and gave her magic, her very self. My name is Aelin Ashryver Galath—
A choking scream tore out of her as the last of the Lock sealed.
As the Lock became forged once more, as real as her own flesh.
As Aelin’s magic completely vanished.
CHAPTER 97
She could barely move. Barely think.
Gone. Where light and life had flowed within her, there was nothing.
Not an ember. Only a droplet, just one, of water.
She clung to it, shielded it as they appeared, twelve figures through the portal behind her. Filtering into this place of places, this crossroads of eternity.
“It is done, then,” said the one with many faces, approaching the Lock that hovered in midair. A flick of a ghostly, ever-changing hand and the Lock floated toward Aelin. Landed on her lap, gold and glittering.
“Summon us our world, girl,” said the one with a voice like steel and screams. “And let us go home at last.”
The final breaking. To send them back, to seal the gate. She’d use her last kernel of self, the final droplet, to seal the gate shut with the Lock. And then she would be gone.
Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …
“Now,” one with a voice like crashing waves ordered. “We have waited enough.”
Aelin managed to lift her head. To look at their shimmering figures. Things from another world.
But amongst them, pressed into their ranks as if they held her captive …
Elena’s eyes were wide. Agonized.
Who loved her kingdom …
One of them snapped their ghostly fingers at Aelin. “Enough of this.”
Aelin looked up at her, at the goddess who had spoken. She knew that voice. Deanna.
Silently, Aelin surveyed them. Found the one like a shimmering dawn, the heart of a flame.
Mala did not look at her. Or at Elena, her own daughter.
Aelin turned away from the Fire-Bringer. And said to none of them in particular, “I should like to make a bargain with you.”