Empire of Storms

Dramatic rescues give him purpose and fulfillment in his dull, immortal life.”

Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.

I will find you.

For Terrasen. For them. For a better world

The lines have to hold. Buy us whatever time you can, brother.”

Fight it, he willed her, sending the words down the bond—the mating bond, which perhaps had settled into place that first moment they’d become carranam, hidden beneath flame and ice and hope for a better future. Fight her. I am coming for you. Even if it takes me a thousand years. I will find you, I will find you, I will find you.

TERRASEN REMEMBERS EVALIN ASHRYVER.

DO YOU?

I FOUGHT AT MISTWARD FOR YOUR PEOPLE.

RETURN THE GODS-DAMNED FAVOR.

Aedion fell to his knees in the sand as Wendlyn’s armada spread before them.

I promise you that no matter how far I go, no matter the cost, when you call for my aid, I will come, Aelin had told him she’d sworn to Darrow. I’m
going to call in old debts and promises. To raise an army of assassins and thieves and exiles and commoners.

And she had. She had meant and accomplished every word of it.

She had taken the criticism—taken it, because he knew she hadn’t wanted to disappoint them if she failed. Rowan put a hand on Aedion’s shoulder.

She had made plans for all of them—and none for herself.