Yrene was watching him warily. He kissed her once—twice.
He did not regret. He did not look back.
Not with Yrene in his arms, at his side. Not with the note she carried, that bit of proof … that bit of proof that he was exactly where he was meant to be. That he had always been headed there. Here.
“Will I ever hear an explanation for this dramatic reaction,” Yrene said at last, clicking her tongue, “or are you just going to kiss me for the rest of the day?”
Chaol rumbled a laugh. “It’s a long story.” He slung an arm around her waist and stared out toward the horizon with her. “And you might want to sit down first.”
“Those are my favorite kinds,” she said, winking.
Chaol laughed again, feeling the sound in every part of him, letting it ring clear and bright as a bell. A final, joyous pealing before the storm of war swept in.
“Come on,” he said to Yrene, nodding to the soldiers working alongside Hasar’s men to keep the ships sailing swiftly for the north—to battle and bloodshed. “I’ll tell you over lunch.”
Yrene rose onto her toes to kiss him before he led them toward their spacious stateroom. “This story of yours had better be worth it,” she said with a wry grin.
Chaol smiled back at his wife, at the light he’d unknowingly walked toward his entire life, even when he had not been able to see it.
“It is,” he said quietly to Yrene. “It is.”
FIREHEART
They had entombed her in darkness and iron.
She slept, for they had forced her to—had wafted curling, sweet smoke through the cleverly hidden airholes in the slab of iron above. Around. Beneath.
A coffin built by an ancient queen to trap the sun inside.
Draped with iron, encased in it, she slept. Dreamed.
Drifted through seas, through darkness, through fire. A princess of nothing. Nameless.
The princess sang to the darkness, to the flame. And they sang back.
There was no beginning or end or middle. Only the song, and the sea, and the iron sarcophagus that had become her bower.
Until they were gone.
Until blinding light flooded the slumbering, warm dark. Until the wind swept in, crisp and scented with rain.
She could not feel it on her face. Not with the death-mask still chained to it.
Her eyes cracked open. The light burned away all shape and color after so long in the dim depths.
But a face appeared before her—above her. Peering over the lid that had been hauled aside.
Dark, flowing hair. Moon-pale skin. Lips as red as blood.
The ancient queen’s mouth parted in a smile.
Teeth as white as bone.
“You’re awake. Good.”
Lovely and cold, it was a voice that could devour the stars.
From somewhere, from the blinding light, rough and scar-flecked hands reached into the coffin. Grasped the chains binding her. The queen’s huntsman; the queen’s blade.
He hauled the princess upright, her body a distant, aching thing. She did not want to slide back into this body. Struggled against it, clawing for the flame and the darkness that now ebbed away from her like a morning tide.
But the huntsman yanked her closer to that cruel, beautiful face watching with a spider’s smile.
And he held her still as that ancient queen purred, “Let’s begin.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Yet again, I’m faced with the daunting prospect of conveying my gratitude for the many wonderful people in my life who made this book a reality. But my endless love and thanks go out to:
My husband, Josh: You are my light, my rock, my best friend, my safe harbor—basically, my everything. Thank you for taking such good care of me, for loving me, for joining me on this incredible journey. Your laugh is my favorite sound in the entire world.
To Annie: You sat with me for the months it took to write and edit this book, so part of me feels like your name should be on the cover, too, but until they start giving canine companions writing credits, this will have to suffice. I love you, baby pup. Your curly tail, your bat-like ears, your general sass, and the unfailing pep in your step … All of it. Here’s to writing many more books together—and many more cuddles.
To my agent, Tamar: Ten books in, and I’m still unable to convey how grateful I am for all that you do. Thank you, thank you, thank you for being in my corner, for working so damn hard, and for being an all-around badass.
To Laura Bernier: Your guidance, wisdom, and excitement for this book made working on it such a delight. Thank you so much for all of your hard work and edits—and for helping me to transform this book.
To the global team at Bloomsbury, for being the best goddamn publishing team on the planet: Bethany Buck, Cindy Loh, Cristina Gilbert, Kathleen Farrar, Nigel Newton, Rebecca McNally, Sonia Palmisano, Emma Hopkin, Ian Lamb, Emma Bradshaw, Lizzy Mason, Courtney Griffin, Erica Barmash, Emily Ritter, Grace Whooley, Eshani Agrawal, Alice Grigg, Elise Burns, Jenny Collins, Beth Eller, Kerry Johnson, Kelly de Groot, Ashley Poston, Lucy Mackay-Sim, Hali Baumstein, Melissa Kavonic, Oona Patrick, Diane Aronson, Donna Mark, John Candell, Nicholas Church, Anna Bernard, Charlotte Davis, and the entire foreign rights team. Thank you, as always, for all that you do for me and my books. I’m honored to work with every single one of you.
To Jon Cassir, Kira Snyder, Anna Foerster, and the team at Mark Gordon: You guys are the best. I’m so ecstatic these books are in your hands.
To Cassie Homer: Thank you x infinity for everything you do. You are absolutely fantastic. To David Arntzen: You’ve had our back since the very beginning. Thank you for all of your hard work and kindness. And a massive thank-you to the incomparable Maura Wogan and Victoria Cook, aka the best legal team around.
To Lynette Noni: I am so, so happy that we’ve gotten to know each other since that Supanova a few years ago! Thank you to the moon and back for all of your help with this book, for being a genius brainstorming partner, and for just being you.
To Roshani Chokshi: To begin with: You’re right up my wall. Thank you for the laughter, the solid advice, and for being an actual ray of sunshine. I’m honored to call you my friend.
To Steph Brown: You are my partner in fangirling. Thank you for all of your support—and for your friendship. It means more to me than I can possibly say. Can’t wait for our next LotR marathon (#FellowshipoftheDrink).
To Jennifer Armentrout for being one of the most welcoming, warm, and generous people I’ve ever met, to Renée Ahdieh for the dinners that never fail to make me smile and laugh, to Alice Fanchiang for being a fellow fangirl and an all-around joy to know, and to Christina Hobbs and Lauren Billings for being two of my favorite people.
To Charlie Bowater: Where do I even start? Thank you for the spectacular map(s), thank you for the art that continues to blow my mind and inspire me, thank you for everything. I can’t even tell you what an honor it is to work with you, and how much your art means to me.
To Kati Gardner and Avery Olmstead: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your thoughtful feedback and insight—I can’t begin to tell you how invaluable it was, and how much it shaped this book. And beyond that, it was such a delight to get to know you both.
To Jack Weatherford, whose Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World forever changed my view of history and provided such inspiration for the realm of the khaganate. And thank you to Paul Kahn, for his brilliant adaptation of the Secret History of the Mongols, and to Caroline Humphrey, for her article, “Rituals of Death in Mongolia.”