Aedion shut his eyes, swallowing hard. “It would have been an honor indeed.”

Ren clapped him on the shoulder. Then his departing footsteps scuffed through the hall.

Aedion remained alone in the guttering firelight for another few minutes before he made his way toward bed and whatever sleep he might find.

He’d nearly reached the entrance to the eastern tower when he spied her.

Lysandra halted, a cup of what seemed to be steaming milk in her hands. “For Evangeline,” she said. “She can’t sleep.”

The girl had been shaking all day. Had looked like she’d vomit right at the table.

Aedion only asked, “Can I speak to her?”

Lysandra opened her mouth as if she’d say no, and he was willing to let it drop, but she inclined her head.

They walked in silence the entire way to the north tower, then up and up and up. To Rose’s old room. Ren must have seen to it once again. The door was cracked open, golden light spilling onto the landing.

“I brought you some milk,” Lysandra announced, barely winded from the climb. “And some company,” she added to the girl as Aedion stepped into the cozy room. Despite the years of neglect, Rose’s chamber in the royal castle remained unharmed—one of the few rooms to claim such a thing.

Evangeline’s eyes widened at the sight of him, and Aedion offered the girl a smile before he perched on the side of her bed. She took the milk that Lysandra offered as the shifter sat on the other edge of the mattress, and sipped once, hands white-knuckled around the cup.

“Before my first battle,” Aedion said to the girl, “I spent the entire night in the privy.”

Evangeline squeaked, “You?”

Aedion smirked. “Oh yes. Quinn, the old Captain of the Guard, said it was a wonder I had anything left inside me by the time dawn broke.” An old ache filled Aedion’s chest at the mention of his mentor and friend, the man he’d admired so greatly. Who had made his final stand, as Aedion would, on the plain beyond this city.

Evangeline let out a little laugh. “That’s disgusting.”

“It certainly was,” Aedion said, and could have sworn Lysandra was smiling a bit. “So you’re already much braver than I ever was.”

“I threw up earlier,” Evangeline whispered.

Aedion said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Better than shitting your pants, sweetheart.”

Evangeline let out a belly laugh that made her clutch the cup to keep from spilling.

Aedion grinned, and ruffled her red-gold hair. “The battle won’t be pretty,” he said as Evangeline sipped her milk. “And you will likely throw up again. But just remember that this fear of yours? It means you have something worth fighting for—something you care so greatly for that losing it is the worst thing you can imagine.” He pointed to the frost-covered windows. “Those bastards out there on the plain? They have none of that.” He laid his hand on hers and squeezed gently. “They have nothing to fight for. And while we might not have their numbers, we do have something worth defending. And because of that, we can overcome our fear. We can fight against them, to the very end. For our friends, for our family …” He squeezed her hand again at that. “For those we love …” He dared to look up at Lysandra, whose green eyes were lined with silver. “For those we love, we can rise above that fear. Remember that tomorrow. Even if you throw up, even if you spend the whole night in the privy. Remember that we have something to fight for, and it will always triumph.”

Evangeline nodded. “I will.”

Aedion ruffled her hair once more and walked to the door, pausing on the threshold. He met Lysandra’s stare, her eyes emerald-bright. “I lost my family ten years ago. Tomorrow I will fight for the new one I’ve made.”

Not only for Terrasen and its court and people. But also for the two ladies in this room.

I wanted it to be you in the end.

He almost spoke her words then. Almost said them back to Lysandra as something like sorrow and longing entered her face.

But Aedion ducked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Lysandra barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the expression on Aedion’s face, heard his words.

He didn’t expect to survive this battle. Didn’t expect any of them to.

She should have gone after him. Run down the tower stairs after him.

And yet she didn’t.

Dawn broke, a bright day with it. So they might see the size of the host waiting for them all the more clearly.

Lysandra braided Evangeline’s hair, the girl more straight-backed than she’d been yesterday. She could thank Aedion for that. For the words that had allowed the girl to sleep last night.

They walked in silence, Evangeline’s chin high, down to the Great Hall for what might very well be their last breakfast.

They were nearly there when an old voice said, “I would like a word.”

Darrow.

Evangeline turned before Lysandra did.

The ancient lord stood in the doorway of what seemed to be a study, and beckoned them inside. “It will not take long,” he said upon noting the displeasure still on Lysandra’s face.

She was done making herself appear nice for men whom she had no interest in being nice to.

Evangeline peered at her in silent question, but Lysandra jerked her chin toward the old man. “Very well.”

The study was crammed with stacks of books—piles and piles against the walls, along the floors. Well over a thousand. Many half-crumbling with age.

“The last of the sacred texts from the Library of Orynth,” Darrow said, aiming toward the desk piled with papers before a narrow glass window. “All that the Master Scholars managed to save ten years ago.”

So few. So few compared to what Aelin had said once existed in that near-mythic library.

“I had them brought out of hiding after the king’s demise,” Darrow said, seating himself behind the desk. “A fool’s optimism, I suppose.”

Lysandra strode to one of the piles, peering at a title. In a language she did not recognize.

“The remains of a once-great civilization,” Darrow said thickly.

And it was the slight catch in his voice that made Lysandra turn. She opened her mouth to demand what he wanted, but glimpsed what sat beside his right hand.

Encased in crystal no larger than a playing card, the red-and-orange flower within seemed to glow—just like the power of its namesake.

“The kingsflame,” she breathed, unable to stop herself as she approached.

Aelin and Aedion had told her of the legendary flower, which had bloomed across the mountains and fields the day Brannon had set foot on this continent, proof of the peace he brought with him.

And since those ancient days, only single blossoms had been spotted, so rare that their appearance was deemed a sign that the land had blessed whatever ruler sat on Terrasen’s throne. That the kingdom was truly at peace.

The one entombed in crystal on Darrow’s desk, Aelin had said, had appeared during Orlon’s reign. Orlon, Darrow’s lifelong love.

“The Master Scholars grabbed the books when Adarlan invaded,” Darrow said, smiling sadly at the kingsflame. “I grabbed this.”

The antler throne, the crown—all of it destroyed. Save for this one treasure, as great as any belonging to the Galathynius household.

“It’s very beautiful,” Evangeline said, coming up to the desk. “But very small.”

Lysandra could have sworn the old man’s lips twitched toward a smile. “It is indeed,” Darrow said. “And so are you.”

She didn’t expect the softening of his voice, the kindness. And didn’t expect his next words, either.

“Battle will be upon us before midday,” Darrow said to Evangeline. “I find that I will have need for someone of quick wit and quicker feet to assist me here. To run messages to our commanders in this castle, and fetch me supplies as needed.”

Evangeline angled her head. “You wish me to help?”

“You have trained with warriors during your travels with them, I take it.”

Evangeline glanced up at Lysandra in question, and she nodded to her ward. They had all overseen Evangeline learning the basics of swordplay and archery while on the road.

The girl nodded to the old lord. “I have some ability, but not like Aedion.”

“Few do,” Darrow said wryly. “But I shall need someone with a fearless heart and steady hand to help me. Are you that person?”

Evangeline didn’t look up to Lysandra again. “I am,” she said, chin lifting.

Darrow smiled slightly. “Then head down to the Great Hall. Eat your breakfast, and when you return here, there shall be armor waiting for you.”

Evangeline’s eyes widened at the mention of armor, no trace of fear dimming them at all.

Lysandra murmured to her, “Go. I’ll be down with you in a minute.”

Evangeline dashed out, braid flying behind her.

Only when Lysandra was certain she had gone downstairs did she say, “Why?”

“I assume that question means you are allowing me to commandeer your ward.”

“Why.”

Darrow picked up the kingsflame crystal. “Nox Owen is of no use to me now that his allegiance has been made clear, and apparently has vanished to the gods know where, likely at Aedion’s request.” He turned the crystal over in his thin fingers. “But beyond that, no child should have to watch as her friends are cut down. Keeping her busy, giving her a purpose and some small power will be better than locking her in the north tower, scared out of her wits at every horrible sound and death.”

Lysandra did not smile, did not bow her head. “You would do this for the ward of a whore?”

Darrow set down the crystal. “It’s the faces of the children that I remember the most from ten years ago. Even more than Orlon’s. And Evangeline’s face yesterday as she looked out at that army—it was the same despair I saw back then. So you may think me a champion bastard, as Aedion would say, but I am not so heartless as you might believe.” He nodded toward the open doorway. “I will keep an eye on her.”

She wasn’t entirely certain what to say. If she should spit in his face and tell him to hell with his offer.