of ice. “Aelin’s court will be a new one, different from any other in the world, where the Old Ways are honored again. You’re going to learn them. And I’m going to teach you.”
“I know the Old Ways.”
“You’re going to learn them again.”
Aedion’s shoulders pushed back as he rose to his full height. “I’m the general of the Bane, and a prince of both Ashryver and Galathynius houses. I’m not some untrained foot soldier.”
Rowan gave a sharp nod of agreement—and Aedion supposed he should be flattered. Until Rowan said, “My cadre, as Aelin likes to call them, was a lethal unit because we stuck together and abided by the same code. Maeve might be a sadist, but she ensured that we all understood and followed it. Aelin would never force us into anything, and our code will be different—better—than Maeve’s. You and I are going to form the backbone of this court. We will shape and decide our own code.”
“What? Obedience and blind loyalty?” He didn’t feel like getting a lecture. Even if Rowan was right, and every word out of the prince’s mouth was one that Aedion had dreamed of hearing for a decade. He should have been the one to initiate this conversation. Gods above, he’d had this conversation with Ren weeks ago.
Rowan’s eyes glittered. “To protect and serve.”
“Aelin?” He could do that; he had already planned on doing that.
“Aelin. And each other. And Terrasen.” No room for argument, no hint of doubt.
A small part of Aedion understood why his cousin had offered the prince the blood oath.
“Who is that?” Lysandra said too innocently as Aelin escorted her up the stairs.
“Rowan,” Aelin said, kicking open the apartment door.
“He’s spectacularly built,” she mused. “I’ve never been with a Fae male. Or female, for that matter.”
Aelin shook her head to try to clear the image from her mind. “He’s—” She swallowed. Lysandra was grinning, and Aelin hissed, setting down the bags on the great room floor and shutting the door. “Stop that.”
“Hmm,” was all Lysandra said, dropping her boxes and bags beside Aelin’s. “Well, I have two things. One, Nesryn sent me a note this morning saying that you had a new, very muscled guest staying and to bring some clothes. So I brought clothes. Looking at our guest, I think Nesryn undersold him a good deal, so the clothes might be tight—not that I’m objecting to that one bit—but he can use them until you get others.”
“Thank you,” she said, and Lysandra waved a slender hand. She’d thank Faliq later.
“The other thing I brought you is news. Arobynn received a report last night that two prison wagons were spotted heading south to Morath—chock full of all those missing people.”
She wondered if Chaol knew, and if he had tried to stop it. “Does he know that former magic-wielders are being targeted?”
A nod. “He’s been tracking which people disappear and which get sent south in the prison wagons. He’s looking into all his clients’ lineages now, no matter how the families tried to conceal their histories after magic was banned, to see if he can use anything to his advantage. It’s something to consider when dealing with him … given your talents.”
Aelin chewed on her lip. “Thank you for telling me that, too.”
Fantastic. Arobynn, Lorcan, the king, the Valg, the key, Dorian … She had half a mind to stuff her face with every remaining morsel of food in the kitchen.
“Just prepare yourself.” Lysandra glanced at a small pocket watch. “I need to go. I have a lunch appointment.” No doubt why Evangeline wasn’t with her.
She was almost to the door when Aelin said, “How much longer—until you’re free of your debts?”
“I still have a great deal to pay off, so—a while.” Lysandra paced a few steps, and then caught herself. “Clarisse keeps adding money as Evangeline grows, claiming that someone so beautiful would have made her double, triple what she originally told me.”
“That’s despicable.”
“What can I do?” Lysandra held up her wrist, where the tattoo had been inked. “She’ll hunt me until the day I die, and I can’t run with Evangeline.”
“I could dig Clarisse a grave no one would ever discover,” Aelin said. And meant it.
Lysandra knew she meant it, too. “Not yet—not now.”
“You say the word, and it’s done.”
Lysandra’s smile was a thing of savage, dark beauty.
Standing before a crate in the cavernous warehouse, Chaol studied the map Aelin had just handed him. He focused on the blank spots—trying not to stare at the warrior-prince on guard by