Aedion didn’t have the heart to ask if that meant alive or dead. He sighed. “He came to me in the dungeons. Taunted me. There was no sign of the man inside him. He didn’t even know who Sorscha was.” And then, maybe because he was feeling particularly kind, thanks to the golden-haired blessing in the apartment beneath, Aedion said, “I’m sorry—about Dorian.”
Chaol’s shoulders sagged, as if an invisible weight pushed against them. “Adarlan needs to have a future.”
“So make yourself king.”
“I’m not fit to be king.” The self-loathing in those words made Aedion pity the captain despite himself. Plans—Aelin had plans for everything, it seemed. She had invited the captain over tonight, he realized, not to discuss anything with her, but for this very conversation. He wondered when she would start confiding in him.
These things took time, he reminded himself. She was used to a lifetime of secrecy; learning to depend on him would take a bit of adjustment.
“I can think of worse alternatives,” Aedion said. “Like Hollin.”
“And what will you and Aelin do about Hollin?” Chaol asked, gazing toward the smoke. “Where do you draw the line?”
“We don’t kill children.”
“Even ones who already show signs of corruption?”
“You don’t get the right to fling that sort of horseshit in our faces—not when your king murdered our family. Our people.”
Chaol’s eyes flickered. “I’m sorry.”
Aedion shook his head. “We’re not enemies. You can trust us—trust Aelin.”
“No, I can’t. Not anymore.”
“Then it’s your loss,” Aedion said. “Good luck.”
It was all he really had to offer the captain.
Chaol stormed out of the warehouse apartment and across the street to where Nesryn was leaning against a building, arms crossed. Beneath the shadows of her hood, her mouth quirked to the side. “What happened?”
He continued down the street, his blood roaring in his veins. “Nothing.”
“What did they say?” Nesryn kept up with him, meeting him step for step.
“None of your business, so drop it. Just because we work together doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know everything that goes on in my life.”
Nesryn stiffened almost imperceptibly, and part of Chaol flinched, already yearning to take the words back.
But it was true. He’d destroyed everything the day he fled the castle—and maybe he’d taken to hanging around with Nesryn because there was no one else who didn’t look at him with pity in their eyes.
Maybe it had been selfish of him to do it.
Nesryn didn’t bother with a good-bye before vanishing down an alley.
At least he couldn’t hate himself any more than he already did.
Lying to Aedion about the blood oath was … awful.
She would tell him—she would find a way to tell him. When things were less new. When he stopped looking at her as though she were a gods-damned miracle and not a lying, cowardly piece of shit.
Maybe the Shadow Market had been her fault.
Crouched on a rooftop, Aelin shook off the cloak of guilt and temper that had been smothering her for hours and turned her attention to the alley below. Perfect.
She’d tracked several different patrols tonight, noting which of the commanders wore black rings, which seemed more brutal than the rest, which didn’t even try to move like humans. The man—or was he a demon now?—hauling open a sewer grate in the street below was one of the milder ones.
She’d wanted to shadow this commander to wherever he made his nest, so she could at least give Chaol that information—prove to him how invested she was in the welfare of this piss-poor city.