Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass #6) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,115

fought against it as best he could. He knew that their kind …” The Valg. “They found people with gifts … enticing.” Magic-wielders. “Knew their kind wanted to conquer the gifted ones. For their power.”

Infest them, as the king had been. As that drawing in The Song of Beginning had depicted.

Yrene’s gut roiled.

“So the man within wrested control long enough to give the order that the magic-wielders were to be put down. Executed, rather than used against him. Us.”

Turned into hosts for those demons and made into weapons.

Yrene leaned against the stack behind them, a hand sliding up to her throat. Her pulse pounded beneath her fingers.

“It was a choice he hated himself for. But saw as a necessary decision to make. Along with a way to make sure those in control could not use magic. Or find those who had it. Not without lists of them. Or those willing to sell them out for coin—to the men he ordered to hunt them down.”

Magic’s vanishing had not been natural at all. “He—he found a way to banish—?”

A sharp nod. “It is a long story, but he halted it. Dammed it up. To keep those conquerors from having the hosts they wanted. And then hunted the rest of them down to make sure their numbers were fewer still.”

The King of Adarlan had stopped magic, killed its bearers, had sent his forces to execute her mother and countless others … not just from blind hatred and ignorance, but some twisted way of trying to save their kind?

Her heart thundered through her body. “But healers—we have no power to use in battle. Nothing beyond what you see from me.”

Chaol was utterly still as he stared at her. “I think you might have something they want very badly.”

The hair along her arms rose.

“Or want to keep you from knowing too much about.”

She swallowed, feeling the blood leave her face. “Like—your wound.”

A nod.

She blew out a shaky breath, going to the stack before her. The scrolls.

His fingers grazed her own. “I will not let any harm come to you.”

Yrene felt him waiting for her to tell him otherwise. But she believed him.

“And what I showed you earlier?” she said, inclining her head to the scrolls. The Wyrdmarks, he’d called them.

“Part of the same thing. An earlier and different sort of power. Outside of magic.”

And he had a friend who could read them. Wield them.

“We’d better be quick,” she said, still careful of any potential listeners. “I’m sure the volume I need for your chronic toe fungus is down here somewhere, and I’m growing hungry.”

Chaol gave her an incredulous look. She offered him an apologetic wince in return.

But laughter danced in his eyes as he began pulling books into his lap.

Nesryn’s face and ears were numb with cold by the time Kadara alighted on a rocky outcropping high atop a small mountain range of gray stone. Her limbs were hardly better, despite the leathers, and were sore enough that she winced as Sartaq helped her down.

The prince grimaced. “I forgot that you aren’t used to riding for so long.”

It wasn’t the stiffness that really brutalized her, but her bladder—

Clenching her legs together, Nesryn surveyed the campsite the ruk had deemed suitable for her master. It was protected on three sides by boulders and pillars of gray rock, with a broad overhang against the elements, but no possibility of concealment. And asking a prince where to see to her needs—

Sartaq merely pointed to a cluster of boulders. “There’s privacy that way, if you need it.”

Face heating, Nesryn nodded, not quite able to meet him in the eye as she hurried to where he’d indicated, slipping between two boulders to find another little outcropping that opened onto a sheer drop to the unforgiving rocks and streams far, far below. She picked a small boulder that faced away from the wind and didn’t waste any time unbuckling her pants.

When she emerged again, still wincing, Sartaq had removed most of the packs from Kadara, but had left her saddle. Nesryn approached the mighty bird, who eyed her closely, lifting a hand toward the first buckle—

“Don’t,” Sartaq said calmly from where he’d set the last of the packs under the overhang, his sulde tucked against the wall behind them. “We leave the saddles on while we travel.”

Nesryn lowered her hand, examining the mighty bird. “Why?”

Sartaq removed two bedrolls and laid them out against the rocky wall, claiming one for himself. “If we’re ambushed, if there is some danger, we need to