Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass #6) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,156

for not inviting her along.

Sartaq had glared at Nesryn when he realized who’d told Borte, but she was too tired to care. Instead she only strode for her room, weaving between the pillars. She knew Sartaq was on her heels thanks to Borte’s shouted, “You will bring me next time, you stubborn ass!”

And just before Nesryn reached the door to her room, to the sanctuary of a soft bed, the prince gripped her elbow. “I would have words with you.”

Nesryn just shoved into the room, Sartaq stalking in behind her. Shutting the door and leaning against it. He crossed his arms at the same moment she did.

“Borte threatened to ask pointed questions around the aerie if I didn’t tell her.”

“I don’t care.”

Nesryn blinked. “Then what—”

“Who has the Wyrdkeys?” The question echoed between them.

Nesryn swallowed. “What’s a Wyrdkey?”

Sartaq pushed off the door. “Liar,” he breathed. “While we were gone, my ej recalled some of the other stories, dragged them up from whatever collective memory she possesses as Story Keeper. Tales of a Wyrdgate that the Valg and their kings passed through—could open at will with three keys when wielded together. Remembered that those keys went missing, after Maeve herself stole them and used them to send the Valg back. Hidden, she says. Throughout the world.”

Nesryn only lifted a brow. “And what of it?”

A cold snort. “It is how Erawan has raised an army so quickly, why even Aelin of the Wildfire cannot take him on without assistance. He must have at least one. Not all, or we’d be calling Erawan our master already. But at least one, maybe two. So where is the third?”

She honestly had not a clue. Whether Aelin and the others possessed an inkling, they’d never told her. Only that their ultimate path, beyond war and death, was to retrieve the ones Erawan held. But even telling him that …

“Perhaps now you understand,” Nesryn said with equal cold, “why we are so desperate for your father’s armies.”

“To be slaughtered.”

“When Erawan is done slaughtering us, he will come to your doorstep next.”

Sartaq swore. “What I saw today, that thing …” He scrubbed his face with shaking hands. “The Valg once used those spiders as foot soldiers. Legions of them.” He lowered his hands. “Houlun has learned of three other watchtowers in ruin—to the south. We’ll fly to the first as soon as the shifter is healed.”

“We’re taking Falkan?”

Sartaq yanked open the door, hard enough that she was surprised he didn’t rip it clean off its hinges. “As piss-poor of a shifter as he claims to be, a man who can change into a wolf that big is too good a weapon not to bring into danger.” A sharp glare. “He rides with me.”

“And where will I be?”

Sartaq gave her a humorless smile before entering the hall. “You’ll be flying with Borte.”

36

The atrophying in his legs … It was reversing.

Three weeks later, Yrene marveled at it. They’d regained movement up through his knee, but not higher. Chaol could bend his legs now, but couldn’t move his thighs. Couldn’t stand on them.

But the morning workouts with the guards, the afternoons spent healing, tangled in darkness and memory and pain …

That was muscle, packing back onto his legs. Filling out those already-broad shoulders and that impressive chest. Thanks to training in the morning sun, his tan had deepened to a rich brown, the color lying well over arms rippling with muscle.

They worked every day in easy rhythm, settling into a routine that became as much a part of Yrene as washing her face and cleaning her teeth and craving a cup of kahve when she woke.

He’d joined her again at the defense lessons, the youngest acolytes still hopelessly giggly around him, but at least they’d never once been late since he’d arrived. He’d even taught Yrene herself new maneuvers regarding taking on larger assailants. And while there were often smiles aplenty in the Torre courtyard, he and Yrene were grave as he walked her through those methods, as they considered when she might need them.

But there had been no whisper of whoever had attacked her—no confirmation that it was indeed one of the Valg. A small mercy, Yrene supposed.

But still she paid attention in his lessons, and still Chaol carefully trained her.

The royal siblings had come and gone and come back again, and she had seen nothing of Kashin beyond the dinner where she’d sought him out to thank him for his help and generosity the night of the attack. He’d said