Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass #6) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,176

also caves there with information.” She blew out a breath. “I suppose we’ll see. I made sure to yawn while Hasar told me, enough that I doubt she’ll wonder why I asked at all.”

Chaol kissed her temple, a swift brush of his mouth that no one might see. “Clever, Yrene.”

“I meant to tell you the other week, but then you stood, and I forgot. Some court schemer I am.”

He caressed his free hand down the length of her spine. A bit lower. “We’ve been otherwise engaged.” Her face flushed a beautiful shade of pink, but a thought settled into him. “What do you really want for your birthday? And which one is it?”

“Twenty-two. And I don’t know. If it wasn’t for this, I wouldn’t have brought it up at all.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

She gave him a guilty frown. “I figured that with everything pressing on you, birthdays were inconsequential.” Her hand slid into her pocket—to hold that thing he’d never inquired about.

They neared the clamor of dinner in the great hall. He brushed his fingers against hers. She halted at the silent request, the hall spreading away before them, servants and viziers striding past.

Chaol leaned on his cane while they rested, letting it stabilize his weight. “Am I invited to this desert party, at least?”

“Oh, yes. You, and all my other favorite people: Arghun, Kashin, and a handful of delightful viziers.”

“I’m glad I made the cut, considering that Hasar hates me.”

“No.” Yrene’s eyes darkened. “If Hasar hated you, I don’t think you’d be alive right now.”

Gods above. This was the woman she’d befriended.

Yrene went on, “At least Renia will be there, but Duva shouldn’t be in the heat in her condition and her husband won’t leave her side. I’m sure that once we get there, information or no, I’ll probably wish I could have made a similar excuse.”

“We’ve got a few days. We could, technically, make the same one if we need to leave.”

The words settled in. The invitation and implication. Yrene’s face went delightfully red, and she smacked his arm. “Rogue.”

Chaol chuckled, and eyed the hallway for a shadowed corner. But Yrene breathed, “We can’t.”

Not about his sorry joke, but about the want she no doubt saw building in his eyes. The want he beheld simmering in hers.

He adjusted his jacket. “Well, I’ll attempt to find you a suitable present that can compare to an entire desert retreat, but don’t hold me to it.”

Yrene looped her arm through Chaol’s free one, no more than a healer escorting her patient to the table. “I have everything I need,” was all she said.

41

It took over a week to plan it.

Over a week alone for Sartaq and Houlun to dig up ancient maps of the Dagul Fells.

Most were vague and useless. What riders had assessed from the air but not dared get too close to detail. The kharankui’s territory was small, but had grown larger, bolder these last few years.

And it was into the dark heart of their territory that they would go.

The hardest part was convincing Borte to remain behind.

But Nesryn and Sartaq left that up to Houlun. And one sharp word from the hearth-mother had the girl falling in line. Even as Borte’s eyes simmered with outrage, she bowed to her grandmother’s wishes. As heir, Houlun had snapped, Borte’s first obligation was to their people. The bloodline ended with her. Should Borte head into the dim tangle of Dagul, she might as well spit upon where her mother’s sulde stood on the slopes of Arundin.

Borte had insisted that if she, as Houlun’s heir, was to stay, then Sartaq, as the khagan’s potential successor, should remain as well.

To that, Sartaq had merely stalked off into the interior hallways of Altun, saying that if being his father’s successor meant sitting idly by while others fought for him, then his siblings could have the damn crown.

So only the three of them would go, Nesryn and Sartaq flying on Kadara, Falkan tucked away as a field mouse in Nesryn’s pocket.

There had been a final debate last night about bringing a legion. Borte had argued for it, Sartaq against it. They did not know how many kharankui dwelled in the barren peaks and forested vales between them. They could not risk needlessly losing many lives, and did not have the time to waste on thorough reconnaissance. Three could sneak in—but an army of ruks would be spotted long before they arrived.

The argument had raged over the fire pit, but Houlun had settled it: