Kingdom of Ash
He didn’t answer. She wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Why not defy them? Why bow to their wishes? What have they ever done for you?”
Sorscha’s pained face flashed before his eyes.
“There is no other way,” he said at last. “To end this.”
“The keys could end it.”
To wield them, rather than seal them back into the gate.
“They could do anything,” Maeve went on. “Destroy Erawan, banish those gods back to their home if that’s what they want.” She angled her head. “Open another door to realms of peace and resting.”
To the woman who would undoubtedly be there.
The dark, predatory power stalking his mind faded away, pulled back to its mistress.
Aelin had done it once. Opened a door to see Nehemia. It was possible. The encounters with Gavin and Kaltain only confirmed it.
“What if you didn’t only ally with me,” he asked at last, “but with Adarlan itself?”
Maeve didn’t answer. As if she were surprised by the offer.
“A bigger alliance than merely working together to find the key,” Dorian mused, and shrugged. “You have no kingdom, and clearly want another. Why not lend your gifts to Adarlan, to me? Bring your spiders to our side.”
“A breath ago, you were livid that I enslaved your friend.”
“Oh, I still am. Yet I am not so proud to refuse to consider the possibility. You want a kingdom? Then join mine. Ally with me, work with me to get what we need from Erawan, and I shall make you queen. Of a far bigger territory, with a people who will not rise up against you. A new start, I suppose.”
When she still did not speak, Dorian leaned against the door. The portrait of courtly nonchalance. “You think I’m trying to trick you. Perhaps I am.”
“And Manon Blackbeak? What of your promises to her?”
“I have made her no promises regarding my throne, and she wants nothing to do with them, anyway.” He didn’t hide the bitterness as he shrugged again. “Marriages have been built on far more volatile foundations than this one.”
“Aelin of the Wildfire might very well mark you as an enemy, should we make a true union.”
“Aelin will not risk killing an ally—not right now. And she will discover that she is not the only one capable of saving this world. Perhaps she’ll even come to thank me, if she’s as eager to avoid being sacrificed as you claim.”
Maeve’s red mouth curved upward. “You are young, and brash.”
Dorian sketched a bow again. “I am also exceedingly handsome and willing to offer up my throne in a gesture of good faith.”
“I could sell you to Erawan right now and he would reward me handsomely.”
“Reward you—as if you are a hound bringing back a pheasant to its master.” Dorian laughed, and her eyes flashed. “It was you who just posed this alliance between us, not me. But consider this: Shall you kneel, or shall you rule, Maeve?” He tapped his neck, right over the pale band across it. “I have knelt, and found I have no interest in doing so again. Not for Erawan, or for Aelin, or anyone.” Another shrug. “The woman I love is dead. My kingdom is in pieces. What do I have to lose?” He let some of the old ice, the hollowness in his chest, rise to his face. “I’m willing to play this game. Are you?”
Maeve fell silent again. And slowly, those phantom hands crept into the corners of his mind.
He let her see. See the truth she sought.
He withstood it, that probing touch.
At last, Maeve loosed a breath through her nose. “You came to Morath for a key and will leave with a bride.”
He nearly sagged with relief. “I will leave with both. And quickly.”
“And how do you propose we are to find what we seek?”
Dorian smiled at the Fae Queen. The Valg Queen. “Leave that to me.”
Atop Morath’s highest tower hours later, Dorian peered at the army campfires littering the valley floor, his raven’s feathers ruffled in the frozen wind off the surrounding peaks.
The screams and snarling had quieted, at least. As if even Morath’s dungeon-masters maintained ordinary hours of working. He might have found the idea darkly funny, if he didn’t know what manner of thing was being broken and bred here.
His cousin, Roland, had wound up here. He knew it, though no one had ever confirmed it. Had he survived the transition to Valg prince, or had he merely been a meal for one of the terrors who prowled this place?
He lifted his head, scanning the cloudy sky. The moon was a pale blur behind them, a trickle of light that seemed keen to remain hidden from Morath’s watchful eyes.
A dangerous game. He was playing one hell of a dangerous game.
Did Gavin watch him now, from wherever he rested? Had he learned what manner of monster Dorian had allied himself with?
He didn’t dare to summon the king here. Not with Erawan so close.
Close enough that Dorian might have attacked. Perhaps he’d been a fool not to. Perhaps he’d be a fool to attempt it, as Kaltain had warned, when it might reveal their mission. When Erawan had those collars on hand.
Dorian cast a glance to the adjacent tower, where Maeve slept. A dangerous, dangerous game.
The dark tower beyond hers seemed to throb with power. The council room down the hall from it was still lit, however. And in the hall—motion. People striding past the torches. Hurrying.
Stupid. Utterly stupid, and yet he found himself flapping into the frigid night. Found himself banking, then swooping to a cracked window along the hallway.
He pushed the window open a bit farther with his beak, and listened.
“Months I’ve been here, and now he refuses my counsel?” A tall, thin man stomped down the hall. Away from Erawan’s council room. Toward the tower door at the end of the hall and the blank-faced guards stationed there.
At his side, two shorter men struggled to keep up. One of them said, “Erawan’s motives are mysterious indeed, Lord Vernon. He does nothing without reason. Have faith in him.”
Dorian froze.
Vernon Lochan. Elide’s uncle.
His magic surged, ice cracking over the windowsill.
Dorian tracked the lanky lord while he stormed past, his dark fur cape drooping to the stones. “I have had faith in him beyond what could be expected,” Vernon snapped.
The lord and his lackeys gave the tower door a wide berth as they passed it, turned the corner, and vanished, their voices fading with them.
Dorian surveyed the empty hall. The council room at the far end. The door still ajar.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give himself time to reconsider as he crafted his plan. And waited.
Erawan emerged an hour later.
Dorian’s heart thundered through him, but he kept his position in the hall, kept his shoulders straight and hands behind his back. Precisely how he’d appeared to the guards when he’d rounded the corner, having flown off to a quiet hall before shifting and striding here.
The Valg king surveyed him once, and his mouth tightened. “I thought I’d dismissed you for the night, Vernon.”
Dorian bowed his head, willing his breathing steady with each step Erawan made toward him. His magic stirred, recoiling in terror at the creature who approached, but he forced it down deep. To a place where Erawan would not detect it.