Neither of them responded.
The flame around Aelin’s fingers grew to encompass her hand—then her arm as she said to the ancient queen, “All I hear is a lot of chitchat.”
Maeve glanced at her escort, and they stepped away. Hauled Elide with them, the blade still at her throat.
Aelin said sharply to Manon, “Get out of range.”
The witch fell back, but her eyes were on the guard holding Elide, gobbling down every detail she could.
“You can’t possibly hope to win,” Maeve said, as if they were about to play cards.
“At least we’ll enjoy ourselves until the end,” Aelin crooned back, flame now encasing her entirely.
“Oh, I have no interest in killing you,” Maeve purred.
Then they exploded.
Flame slammed outward, red and golden—just as a wall of darkness lashed for Aelin.
The impact shook the world.
Even Manon was thrown on her ass.
But Lorcan was already moving.
The guard holding Elide showered her hair with blood as Lorcan slit his throat.
The other two guards behind him died with a hatchet to the face, one after another. Elide surged up, her leg barking in pain, running for Manon on pure, blind instinct, but Lorcan gripped her by the collar of her tunic. “Stupid fool,” he snapped, and she clawed at him—
“Lorcan, hold the girl,” Maeve said quietly, not even looking toward them. “Don’t get any stupid ideas about fleeing with her.” He went utterly still, his hold tightening.
Maeve and Aelin struck again.
Light and darkness.
Sand shuddered down the dunes, the waves rippled.
Only now—Maeve had only dared attack Aelin now.
Because Aelin at her full strength …
Aelin could beat her.
But Aelin, nearly depleted of her power …
“Please,” Elide begged Lorcan. But he held her firm, slave to the order Maeve had given, one eye on the battling queens, the other on the escorts who weren’t foolish enough to approach after witnessing what he’d done to their companions.
“Run,” Lorcan said in her ear. “If you wish to live, run, Elide. Shove me off—work around her command. Push me, and run.”
She would not. She’d sooner die than flee like a coward, not when Aelin was going to the mat for all of them, when—
Darkness devoured flame.
And even Manon flinched as Aelin was slammed back.
A paper-thin wall of flame kept that darkness from hitting home. A wall that wavered—
Help. They needed help—
Maeve lashed to the left, and Aelin threw up a hand, fire deflecting.
Aelin didn’t see the blow to the right. Elide screamed in warning, but too late.
A whip of black sliced into Aelin.
She went down.
And Elide thought the impact of Aelin Galathynius’s knees hitting the sand might have been the most horrible sound she’d ever heard.
Maeve did not waste her advantage.
Darkness poured down, pounding again and again. Aelin deflected, but it got past her.
There was nothing Elide could do as Aelin screamed.
As that dark, ancient power struck her like a hammer over an anvil.
Elide begged Manon, now mere feet away, “Do something.”
Manon ignored her, eyes fixed on the battle before them.
Aelin crawled backward, blood sliding from her right nostril. Dripping on her white shirt.
Maeve advanced, the darkness swirling around her like a fell wind.
Aelin tried to rise.
Tried, but her legs had given out. The Queen of Terrasen panted, fire flickering like dying embers around her.
Maeve pointed with a finger.
A black whip, faster than Aelin’s fire, lashed out. Wrapped around her throat. Aelin gripped it, thrashing, her teeth bared, flame flaring over and over.
“Why don’t you use the keys, Aelin?” Maeve purred. “Surely you’d win that way.”
Use them, Elide begged her. Use them.
But Aelin did not.
The coil of darkness tightened around Aelin’s throat.
Flames sparked and died out.
Then the darkness expanded, encompassing Aelin again and squeezing tight, squeezing until she was screaming, screaming in a way that Elide knew meant unfathomable agony—
A low, vicious snarl rippled from nearby, the only warning as a massive wolf leaped through the seagrasses and shifted. Fenrys.
A heartbeat later, a mountain lion charged over a dune, beheld the scene, and shifted as well. Gavriel.
“Let her go,” Fenrys growled at the dark queen, advancing a step. “Let her go now.”
Maeve turned her head, that darkness still lashing Aelin. “Look who finally arrived. Another set of traitors.” She smoothed a wrinkle in her flowing gown. “What a valiant effort you made, Fenrys, delaying your arrival on this beach for as long as you could withstand my summons.” She clicked her tongue. “Did you enjoy playing loyal subject while panting after the young Queen of Fire?”
As if in answer, the darkness squeezed in tight—and Aelin screamed again.
“Stop it,” Fenrys snapped.
“Maeve, please,” Gavriel said, exposing his palms to her.
“Maeve?” the queen crooned. “Not Majesty? Has the Lion gone a bit feral? Perhaps too much time with his unchecked, half-breed bastard?”
“Leave him out of this,” Gavriel said too softly.
But Maeve let the darkness around Aelin part.
She was curled on her side, bleeding from both nostrils now, more blood dribbling from her panting mouth.
Fenrys lunged for her. A wall of black slammed up between them.
“I don’t think so,” Maeve crooned.
Aelin gasped for air, eyes glassy with pain. Eyes that slid to Elide’s. Aelin’s bloody, chapped mouth formed the word again. Run.
She would not. Could not.
Aelin’s arms shook as she tried to raise herself. And Elide knew there was no magic left.
No fire left in the queen. Not one ember.
And the only way Aelin could face this, accept this, was to go down swinging. Like Marion had.
Aelin’s wet, rasping breaths were the only sound above the crashing waves behind them. Even the battle had gone quiet in the distance. Over—or perhaps they were all dead.
Manon still stood there. Still did not move. Elide begged her, “Please. Please.”
Maeve smiled at the witch. “I have no quarrel with you, Blackbeak. Stay out of this and you are free to go where you wish.”
“Please,” Elide pleaded.
Manon’s gold eyes were hard. Cold. She nodded to Maeve. “Agreed.”
Something in Elide’s chest cleaved open.
But Gavriel said from across their little circle, “Majesty—please. Leave Aelin Galathynius to her own war here. Let us return home.”
“Home?” Maeve asked. The black wall between Fenrys and Aelin lowered—but the warrior did not try to cross. He just stared at Aelin, stared at her in that way Elide herself must be looking. He didn’t break that stare until Maeve said to Gavriel, “Is Doranelle still your home?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Gavriel said calmly. “It is an honor to call it such.”
“Honor … ,” Maeve mused. “Yes, you and honor go hand in hand, don’t they? But what of the honor of your vow, Gavriel?”
“I have kept my vow to you.”
“Did I or did I not tell you to execute Lorcan on sight?”
“There were … circumstances that prevented it from happening. We tried.”
“Yet you failed. Am I not supposed to discipline my blood-bonded who fail me?”