Unable and unwilling to fall asleep on the cot beside Evangeline’s bed, Lysandra found herself wandering the halls of the rambling, ancient castle. What a home it would have made for her and Evangeline. What a court.

Perhaps she’d unconsciously followed his scent, but Lysandra wasn’t at all surprised when she entered the Great Hall and found Aedion before the dying fire.

He stood alone, and she had little doubt he’d been that way for a while now.

He turned before she’d barely made it through the doorway. Watched her every step.

Because I am not in love with our other allies. How the words changed everything and yet nothing. “You should be asleep.”

Aedion gave her a half smile. “So should you.”

Silence fell between them as they stared at each other.

She could have spent all night like that. Had spent many nights like that, in another beast’s skin. Just watching him, taking in the powerful lines of his body, the unbreakable will in his eyes.

“I thought we were going to die today,” she said.

“We were.”

“I’m still angry with you,” she blurted. “But …”

His brows rose, light she had not seen for some time shining from his face. “But?”

She scowled. “But I shall think about what you said to me. That’s all.”

A familiar, wicked grin graced his lips. “You’ll think about it?”

Lysandra lifted her chin, looking down her nose at him as much as she could while he towered over her. “Yes, I will think about it. What I plan to do.”

“About the fact that I am in love with you.”

“Och.” He knew that the swaggering arrogance would knock her off-kilter. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Is there something else I’m supposed to call it?” He took a single step toward her, letting her decide if she’d allow it. She did.

“Just …” Lysandra pressed her lips together. “Don’t die tomorrow. That’s all I ask.”

“So you can have time to think about what you plan to do with my declaration.”

“Precisely.”

Aedion’s grin turned predatory. “May I ask something of you, then?”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make requests, but fine.”

That wolfish grin remained as he whispered in her ear, “If I don’t die tomorrow, may I kiss you when the day is done?”

Lysandra’s face heated as she pulled back, yielding a step. She was a trained courtesan, gods above. Highly trained. And yet the simple request reduced her knees to wobbling.

She mastered herself, squaring her shoulders. “If you don’t die tomorrow, Aedion, then we’ll talk. And see what comes of it.”

Aedion’s wolfish grin didn’t so much as falter. “Until tomorrow night, then.”

Hell waited for them tomorrow. Perhaps their doom. But she wouldn’t kiss him, not now. Wouldn’t give that sort of promise or farewell.

So Lysandra walked from the hall, heart racing. “Until tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 83

Dorian flew and flew. Along the spine of the Fangs, Oakwald a winter-bare sprawl to his right, he soared northward for nearly two days before he dared to stop.

Picking a clearing amid a tangle of ancient trees, he crashed through the branches, hardly registering the sting through his thick wyvern’s hide. He shifted as soon as he hit the snow, his magic instantly thawing the frozen stream wending through the space.

Then he fell to his knees and drank. Deep, panting gulps of water.

Finding food was an easier endeavor than he’d anticipated. He had no need of a snare or arrows to catch the lean rabbit that cowered nearby. No need of knives to skin it. Or a spit.

When his thirst and hunger had been sated, when a glance at the sky told him no enemy approached, Dorian drew the marks. Just one more time.

He had to be on his way soon. But for this, he could delay his flight northward a little while longer. Damaris, it seemed, also agreed. It summoned who he wished this time.

Gavin appeared in the circle of bloody Wyrdmarks, paler and murkier in the morning light.

“You found it, then,” the ancient king said by way of greeting. “And left Erawan with one hell of a mess to clean up.”

“I did.” Dorian put a hand to his jacket pocket. To the terrible power thrumming there. It had taken every ounce of his concentration during his mad flight from Morath to block out its whispering. His shiver was not from the frigid air alone.

“Then why summon me?”

Dorian met the man’s gaze. King to king. “I wanted to tell you that I attained it—so you might have a chance to say goodbye. To Elena, I mean. Before the Lock is forged.”

Gavin stilled. Dorian didn’t shy from the king’s assessing stare.

After a moment, Gavin said a shade softly, “Then I suppose I will also be saying farewell to you.”

Dorian nodded. He was ready. Had no other choice but to be ready.

Gavin asked, “Have you decided on it, then? That you will be the one sacrificed?”

“Aelin is in the north,” Dorian said. “When I find her, I suppose we’ll decide what to do.” Who would be the one who joined the three keys. And did not walk away from it. “But,” he admitted, “I am hoping she might have come up with another solution. One for Elena, too.”

Aelin had escaped Maeve. Perhaps she’d be as lucky in finding a way to escape their fate.

A phantom wind blew the strands of Gavin’s long hair across his face. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “For even considering it.” But grief shone in the king’s eyes. He knew precisely how impossible it would be.

So Dorian said, “I’m sorry. For what success with the Lock will mean for both of you.”

Gavin’s throat bobbed. “My mate made her choice long ago. She was always prepared to face the consequences, even if I was not.”

Just as Sorscha had made her own choices. Followed her own path.

And for once, the memory of her did not ache. Rather, it gleamed, a shining challenge. To make it count. For her, and so many others. For himself, too.

“Do not give up on life so easily,” Gavin said. “It is the life I had with Elena that allows me to even consider parting from her now. A good life—as good as any that could be hoped for.” He inclined his head. “I wish the same for you.”

Before Dorian could voice what surged in his heart at the words, Gavin glanced skyward. His dark brows narrowed. “You need to go.” For the booming of wings filled the air. Thousands of wings.

The Ironteeth legion at Morath had still rallied after the keep’s collapse, it seemed. And now made its long flight northward to Orynth, likely infinitely more eager to tear into his friends.

He prayed Maeve was not in that host. That she remained licking her wounds in Morath with Erawan. Until the rest of their horrors marched, the spider-princesses with them.

But despite the approaching army, Dorian touched Damaris’s hilt and said, “I will take care of it. Of Adarlan. For whatever time I have left. I will not abandon it.”

The sword glowed warm.

And Gavin, despite the loss that loomed for him, smiled slightly. As if he felt the warmth of the sword, too. “I know,” he said. “I have always known that.”