Rowan’s clear, deep voice filling the room, Aelin looped her arm through Aedion’s, and let him lean on her as they walked back to the Great Hall. “Darrow called me ‘Your Majesty,’ ” she said after a minute.
Aedion slid his red-rimmed eyes to her. But a spark lit them—just a bit. “Should we be worried?”
Aelin’s mouth curved. “I thought the same damn thing.”
So many witches. There were so many witches, Ironteeth and Crochan, in the halls of the castle.
Elide scanned their faces as she worked with the healers in the Great Hall. A dark lord and dark queen defeated—yet the wounded remained. And since she had strength left in her, she would help in whatever way she could.
But when a white-haired witch limped into the hall, an injured Crochan slung between her and another witch Elide did not recognize … Elide was halfway across the space, across the hall where she had spent so many happy childhood days, by the time she realized she’d moved.
Manon paused at the sight of her. Gave the wounded Crochan over to her sister-in-arms. But made no move to approach.
Elide saw the sorrow on her face before she reached her. The dullness and pain in the golden eyes.
She went still. “Who?”
Manon’s throat bobbed. “All.”
All of the Thirteen. All those fierce, brilliant witches. Gone.
Elide put a hand to her heart, as if it could stop it from cracking.
But Manon closed the distance between them, and even with that grief in her battered, bloodied face, she put a hand on Elide’s shoulder. In comfort.
As if the witch had learned how to do such things.
Elide’s vision stung and blurred, and Manon wiped away the tear that escaped.
“Live, Elide,” was all the witch said to her before striding out of the hall once more. “Live.”
Manon vanished into the teeming hallway, braid swaying. And Elide wondered if the command had been meant for her at all.
Hours later, Elide found Lorcan standing vigil by Gavriel’s body.
When she’d heard, she had wept for the male who had shown her such kindness. And from the way Lorcan knelt before Gavriel, she knew he had just finished doing the same.
Sensing her in the doorway, Lorcan rose to his feet, an aching, slow movement of the truly exhausted. There was indeed sorrow on his face. Grief and regret.
She held open her arms, and Lorcan’s breath heaved out of him as he pulled her against him.
“I hear,” he said onto her hair, “that you’re to thank for Erawan’s destruction.”
Elide withdrew from his embrace, leading him from that room of sadness and candlelight. “Yrene is,” she said, walking until she found a quiet spot near a bank of windows overlooking the celebrating city. “I just came up with the idea.”
“Without the idea, we’d be filling the bellies of Erawan’s beasts.”
Elide rolled her eyes, despite all that had happened, all that lay before them. “It was a group effort, then.” She bit her lip. “Perranth—have you heard anything from Perranth?”
“A ruk rider arrived a few hours ago. It is the same there as it is here: with Erawan’s demise, the soldiers holding the city either collapsed or fled. Its people have reclaimed control, but those who were possessed will need healers. A group of them will be flown over tomorrow to begin.”
Relief threatened to buckle her knees. “Thank Anneith for that. Or Silba, I suppose.”
“They’re both gone. Thank yourself.”
Elide waved him off, but Lorcan kissed her.
When he pulled away, Elide breathed, “What was that for?”
“Ask me to stay,” was all he said.
Her heart began racing. “Stay,” she whispered.
Light, such beautiful light filled his dark eyes. “Ask me to come to Perranth with you.”
Her voice broke, but she managed to say, “Come to Perranth with me.”
Lorcan nodded, as if in answer, and his smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. “Ask me to marry you.”
Elide began crying, even as she laughed. “Will you marry me, Lorcan Salvaterre?”
He swept her up into his arms, raining kisses over her face. As if some final, chained part of him had been freed. “I’ll think about it.”
Elide laughed, smacking his shoulder. And then laughed again, louder.
Lorcan set her down. “What?”
Elide’s mouth bobbed as she tried to stop her laughing. “It’s just … I’m Lady of Perranth. If you marry me, you will take my family name.”
He blinked.
Elide laughed again. “Lord Lorcan Lochan?”
It sounded just as ridiculous coming out.
Lorcan blinked at her, then howled.
She’d never heard such a joyous sound.
He swept her up in his arms again, spinning her. “I’ll use it with pride every damned day for the rest of my life,” he said into her hair, and when he set her down, his smile had vanished. Replaced by an infinite tenderness as he brushed back her hair, hooking it over an ear. “I will marry you, Elide Lochan. And proudly call myself Lord Lorcan Lochan, even when the whole kingdom laughs to hear it.” He kissed her, gently and lovingly. “And when we are wed,” he whispered, “I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.”
Elide covered her face with her hands and sobbed, at the heart he offered, at the immortality he was willing to part with for her. For them.
But Lorcan clasped her wrists, gently prying her hands from her face. His smile was tentative. “If you would like that,” he said.
Elide slid her arms around his neck, feeling his thundering heartbeat raging against hers, letting his warmth sink into her bones. “I would like that more than anything,” she whispered back.
CHAPTER 118
Yrene slumped onto the three-legged stool amid the chaos of the Great Hall. The story was familiar, though the setting slightly altered: another mighty chamber turned into a temporary sick bay. Dawn was not far off, yet she and the other healers kept working. Those bleeding out wouldn’t be able to survive without them.
Human and Fae and witch and Wolf—Yrene had never seen such an assortment of people in one place.
Elide had come in at some point, glowing despite the injured around them.
Yrene supposed they all wore that same smile. Though her own had faltered in the past hour, as exhaustion settled in. She’d been forced to rest after dealing with Erawan, and had waited until her well of power had refilled only just enough to begin working again.
She couldn’t sit still. Not when she saw the thing that lay beneath Erawan’s skin every time she closed her eyes. Forever gone, yes, but … she wondered when she’d forget him. The dark, oily feel of him. Hours ago, she hadn’t been able to tell if the retching that ensued was from the memory of him or the babe in her womb.
“You should find that husband of yours and go to bed,” Hafiza said, hobbling over and frowning. “When was the last time you slept?”
Yrene lifted her head—heavier than it had been minutes ago. “The last time you did, I’d wager.” Two days ago.
Hafiza clicked her tongue. “Slaying a dark lord, healing the wounded … It’s a wonder you’re not unconscious right now, Yrene.”
Yrene was about to be, but the disapproval in Hafiza’s voice steeled her spine. “I can work.”
“I’m ordering you to find that dashing husband of yours and go to sleep. On behalf of the child in your womb.”
Och. When the Healer on High put it like that …
Yrene groaned as she stood. “You’re merciless.”
Hafiza just patted her shoulder. “Good healers know when to rest. Exhaustion makes for sloppy decisions. And sloppy decisions—”
“Cost lives,” Yrene finished. She lifted her eyes toward the vaulted ceiling high, high above. “You never stop teaching, do you?”
Hafiza’s mouth cracked into a grin. “This is life, Yrene. We never stop learning. Even at my age.”
Yrene had long suspected that love of learning was what had kept the Healer on High young at heart all these years. She just smiled back at her mentor.