The kitchen was small but cozy—­and . . . Gods. She had a cooling box. The captain had mentioned her being notorious as an assassin, but he hadn’t mentioned that she was rich. All that blood money—­all these things just proof of what she’d lost. What he’d failed to protect.

She’d become a killer. A damn good one, if this apartment was any indication. Her bedroom was even more outrageous. It had a massive four-­poster bed with a mattress that looked like a cloud, and an attached marble-­tiled bathing room that possessed its own plumbing system.

Well, her closet hadn’t changed. His cousin had always loved pretty clothes. Aedion pulled out a deep blue tunic, gold embroidery around the lapels and buttons glimmering in the light from the sconces. These ­were clothes for a woman’s body. And the scent still clinging to the entire apartment belonged to a woman—­so similar to what he remembered from childhood, but wrapped in mystery and secret smiles. It was impossible for his Fae senses not to notice, to react.

Aedion leaned against the wall of the dressing room, staring at the gowns and the displays of jewelry, now coated in dust. He didn’t let himself care about what had been done to him in the past, the people he’d ruined, the battlefields he’d walked off covered in blood and gore that ­wasn’t his own. As far as he was concerned, he’d lost everything the day Aelin died. He had deserved the punishment for how badly he’d failed. But Aelin . . .

Aedion ran his hands through his hair before stepping into the great room. Aelin would come back from Wendlyn, no matter what the captain believed. Aelin would come back, and when she did . . . With every breath, Aedion felt that lingering scent wrapping tighter around his heart and soul. When she came back, he was never letting her go.

•

Aedion sank onto one of the armchairs before the fire as Chaol said, “Well, I think I’ve waited long enough to hear what you have to say about magic. I hope it’s worthwhile.”

“Regardless of what I know, magic shouldn’t be your main plan of defense—­or action.”

“I saw your queen cleave the earth in two with her power,” Chaol said. “Tell me that ­wouldn’t turn the tide on a battlefield—­tell me that you ­wouldn’t need that, and others like her.”

“She won’t be anywhere near those battlefields,” Aedion snarled softly.

Chaol highly doubted that was true, but wished it was. Aedion would probably have to bind Celaena to her throne to keep her from fighting on the front lines with her people. “Just tell me.”

Aedion sighed and gazed at the fire, as if beholding a distant horizon. “The burnings and executions had already started by the time magic disappeared, so the day it happened, I thought the birds ­were just fleeing the soldiers, or looking for carrion. I was locked in one of the tower rooms by the king’s orders. Most days I didn’t dare look out the window because I didn’t want to see what was happening in the city below, but there was such noise from the birds that day that I looked. And . . .” Aedion shook his head. “Something sent them all flying up in one direction, then another. And then the screaming started. I heard some people just died right on the spot, as if an artery had been cut.”

Aedion spread out a map on the low table between them and put a callused finger on Orynth. “There ­were two waves of birds. The first went north-northwest.” He traced a vague line. “From the tower, I could see far enough that I knew many of them had come from the south—­most of the birds near us didn’t move much. But then the second wave shoved all of them to the north and east, like something from the center of the land threw them that way.”

Chaol pointed to Perranth, the second-­largest city in Terrasen. “From ­here?”

“Farther south.” Aedion knocked Chaol’s hand out of the way. “Endovier or even lower.”

“You ­couldn’t have seen that far.”

“No, but the warrior-­lords of my court made me memorize the birds in Oakwald and all their calls for hunting—­and fighting. And there ­were birds flying up toward us that ­were only found in your country. I was counting them to distract myself while—” Another pause, as if Aedion hadn’t meant to say that. “I don’t remember hearing any birds from the three southern kingdoms.”

Chaol made a rough line, starting in Rifthold and going out toward the mountains, toward the Ferian Gap. “Like something shot out in this direction.”

“It ­wasn’t until the second wave that magic stopped.” Aedion raised a brow. “Don’t you remember that day?”

“I was ­here; ­if anyone felt pain, they hid it. Magic’s been illegal in Adarlan for de­cades. So where does all this get us, Aedion?”

“Well, Murtaugh and Ren had similar experiences.” So then the general launched into another tale: like Aedion, Ren and Murtaugh had experienced a frenzy of local animals and twin waves of something the day magic had disappeared. But they’d been in the southern part of their continent, having just arrived in Skull’s Bay.

It ­wasn’t until six months ago, when they’d been lured into the city by Archer Finn’s lies about Aelin’s reemergence, that they’d started considering magic—­contemplating ways to break the king’s power for their queen. After comparing notes with the other rebels in Rifthold, they realized that others had experienced similar phenomena. Wanting to get a full account, they’d found a merchant from the Deserted Peninsula who was willing to talk—­a man from Xandria who was surprisingly honest, despite the business he’d built on contraband items.

I stole an Asterion mare from the Lord of Xandria.

Of course Celaena had been to the Deserted Peninsula. And sought out trouble. Despite the ache in his chest, Chaol smiled at the memory as Aedion recalled Murtaugh’s report of the merchant’s account.

Not two waves when magic vanished in the desert, but three.

The first swept down from the north. The merchant had been with the Lord of Xandria in his fortress high above the city and had seen a faint tremor that made the red sand dance. The second came from the southwest, barreling right toward them like a sandstorm. The final pulse came from the same inland source Aedion remembered. Seconds later, magic was gone, and people ­were screaming in the streets, and the Lord of Xandria got the order, a week later, to put down all the known or registered magic-­wielders in his city. Then the screaming had become different.

Aedion gave him a sly grin as he finished. “But Murtaugh figured out more. ­We’re meeting in three days. He can tell you his theories then.”

Chaol started from his chair. “That’s it? That’s all you know—­what you’ve been lording over me these past few weeks?”

“There’s still more for you to tell me, so why should I tell you everything?”

“I’ve told you vital, world-­changing information,” Chaol said through his teeth. “You’ve just told me stories.”

Aedion’s eyes took on a lethal glint. “You’ll want to hear what Ren and Murtaugh have to say.” Chaol didn’t feel like waiting so long to hear it, but there ­were two state lunches and one formal dinner before then, and he was expected to attend all of them. And present the king with his defense plans for all the events as well.

After a moment, Aedion said, “How do you stand working for him? How do you pretend you don’t know what that bastard is doing, what he’s done to innocent people, to the woman you claim to love?”

“I’m doing what I have to do.” He didn’t think Aedion would understand, anyway.

“Tell me why the Captain of the Guard, a Lord of Adarlan, is helping his enemy. That’s all the information I want from you today.”

Chaol wanted to say that, given how much he’d already told him, he didn’t have to offer a damn thing. Instead he said, “I grew up being told we ­were bringing peace and civilization to the continent. What I’ve seen recently has made me realize how much of it is a lie.”

“You knew about the labor camps, though. About the massacres.”