Queen of Shadows (Throne of Glass #4) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,82

she said glumly.

“The six of them …” Aedion loosed a breath. “We used to tell stories about them around fires. Their battles and exploits and adventures.”

She sighed through her nose. “Please, please don’t ever tell him that. I’ll never hear the end of it, and he’ll use it in every argument we have.”

Honestly, Aedion didn’t know what he would say to the male—because there were many, many things to say. Expressing his admiration would be the easy part. But when it came to thanking him for what he’d done for Aelin this spring, or what, exactly, Rowan expected as a member of their court—if the Fae Prince expected to be offered the blood oath, then … It was an effort to keep from tightening his grip on Aelin.

Ren already knew that the blood oath was Aedion’s by right, and any other child of Terrasen would know, too. So first thing Aedion would do when the prince arrived would be to make sure he understood that little fact. It wasn’t like in Wendlyn, where warriors were offered the oath whenever their ruler pleased.

No—since Brannon had founded Terrasen, its kings and queens had picked only one of their court to swear the blood oath, usually at their coronation or soon after. Just one, for their entire lives.

Aedion had no interest in yielding the honor, even to the legendary warrior-prince.

“Anyway,” Aelin said sharply as they rounded the corner of the roof again, “we’re not going to Terrasen—not yet. Not until you’re well enough to travel hard and fast. Right now, we need to get the Amulet of Orynth from Arobynn.”

Aedion was half tempted to hunt down her former master and rip him to shreds as he interrogated him about where the amulet was kept, but he could play along with her plan.

He was still weak enough that until now, he’d barely been able to stand long enough to piss. Having Aelin help him the first time had been awkward enough that he couldn’t even go until she started singing a bawdy tune at the top of her lungs and turned on the sink faucet, all the while helping him stand over the toilet.

“Give me another day or two, and I’ll help you hunt down one of those demon pricks for him.” Rage slammed into him, as hard as any physical blow. The King of the Assassins had demanded she put herself in such danger—as if her life, as if the fate of their kingdom, were a gods-damned game to him.

But Aelin … Aelin had struck that bargain. For him.

Again, breathing became hard. How many scars would she add to that lithe, powerful body because of him?

Then Aelin said, “You’re not going to hunt the Valg with me.”

Aedion stumbled a step. “Oh, yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. “One, you’re too recognizable—”

“Don’t even start.”

She observed him for a long moment, as if assessing his every weakness and strength. At last she said, “Very well.”

He almost sagged in relief. “But after all that—the Valg, the amulet,” Aedion pushed, “will we free magic?” A nod. “I assume you have a plan.” Another nod. He gritted his teeth. “Do you care to share it?”

“Soon,” she said sweetly.

Gods help him. “And after completing your mysterious, wonderful plan, we’ll go to Terrasen.” He didn’t want to ask about Dorian. He’d seen the anguish on her face that day in the garden.

But if she couldn’t put the princeling down, he’d do it. He wouldn’t enjoy it, and the captain might very well kill him in return, but to keep Terrasen safe, he’d cut off Dorian’s head.

Aelin nodded. “Yes, we’ll go, but—you have only one legion.”

“There are men who would fight, and other territories that might come if you call.”

“We can discuss this later.”

He leashed his temper. “We need to be in Terrasen before the summer is out—before the snow starts falling in autumn, or else we wait until spring.” She nodded distantly. Yesterday afternoon, she’d dispatched the letters Aedion had asked her to write to Ren, the Bane, and the remaining loyal lords of Terrasen, letting them know they’d been reunited, and that anyone with magic in their veins was to lie low. He knew the remaining lords—the old, cunning bastards—wouldn’t appreciate orders like that, even from their queen. But he had to try.

“And,” he added, because she really was going to shut him down about this, “we’ll need money for that army.”

She said quietly, “I know.”

Not an answer. Aedion tried again. “Even if men agree to fight on