Yrene And Chaol Quotes

I will cherish it always. No matter what may befall the world. No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.

Using the chair is not a punishment. It is not a prison,' he said softly. 'It never was. And I am as much of a man in that chair, or with that cane, as I am standing on my feet.' He brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek. 'I wanted to heal you,' she breathed. 'You did,' he said, smiling. 'Yrene, in every way that truly matters . . . You did.' Chaol wiped away the other tears that fell, brushing a kiss to her hot cheek.

Get. Up.” Her mouth tightened. “You want to die in this war so badly, then get up.

Centre yourself. Fear will get you killed as easily as a weapon.

Chaol’s back ached thanks to yesterday’s ride and last night’s … other ride. Multiple rides.

You could just marry each other,” Yrene said, and Dorian whipped his head to her, incredulous. “It’d make it easier for you both, so you don’t need to pretend.” Chaol gaped at his wife. Yrene shrugged. “And be a strong alliance for our two kingdoms.” Dorian knew his face was red when he turned to Manon, apologies and denials on his lips. But Manon smirked at Yrene, her silver-white hair lifting in the breeze, as if reaching for the united people who would soon soar westward. That smirk softened as she mounted Abraxos and gathered up the reins. “We’ll see,” was all Manon Blackbeak, High Queen of the Crochans and Ironteeth, said before she and her wyvern leaped into the skies. Chaol and Yrene began bickering, laughing as they did, but Dorian strode to the edge of the aerie. Watched that white-haired rider and the wyvern with silver wings become distant as they sailed toward the horizon. Dorian smiled. And found himself, for the first time in a while, looking forward to tomorrow.

Yrene put her hands atop Chaol’s and brought them brow to brow. “You are my joy,” was all she said to him.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn, of Doranelle. Former commander to Queen Maeve, and a member of her royal household.” Yrene could have sworn the blood drained wholly from Arghun’s face. “Aelin Galathynius is to wed Rowan Whitethorn?” From the way the prince said the name … he’d indeed heard of this Rowan. Chaol had mentioned Rowan more than once in passing—Rowan, who had managed to heal much of the damage in his spine. A Fae Prince. And Aelin’s beloved. Chaol shrugged. “They are carranam, and he swore the blood oath to her.

She didn’t tell the Healer on High that she wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she’d be a help—not yet. Hadn’t whispered a word of that doubt to anyone, even Chaol. Yrene’s hand drifted across her abdomen and lingered.

Their bodies were lithe and young, the peak of youth and virility. Hips rolled, backs arched, hands twined in the air above them as they began to weave around one another in circles and lines. "I told you," was all Yrene muttered to him. "I think Dorian would enjoy this," he muttered back.

At least she speaks well,” his father said, sipping from his wine. Chaol clenched his free hand so hard his glove groaned. “Better than that other one—the swaggering assassin.” Yrene knew. All of it. She knew every scrap of history, knew whose note she carried in her locket. But it didn’t ease the blow, not as his father added, “Who, it turned out, is Queen of Terrasen.” A mirthless laugh. “What a prize you might have had then, my son, if you’d managed to keep her.” “Yrene is the finest healer of her generation,” Chaol said with deadly quiet. “Her worth is greater than any crown.” And in this war, it might very well be. “You don’t need to bother proving my value to him,” Yrene said, her icy eyes pinned on his father. “I know precisely how talented I am. I don’t require his blessing.

Yet Chaol dropped his sword and shield to the bloody stones, and gripped Yrene’s face between his hands. “You can’t,” he said again, voice breaking. “You can’t.” Yrene put her hands atop Chaol’s and brought them brow to brow. “You are my joy,” was all she said to him. Her husband, her dearest friend, closed his eyes. The reek of Valg blood and metal clung to him, and yet beneath it—beneath it, that was his scent. The smell of home. Chaol at last opened his eyes, the bronze of them so vivid. Alive. Utterly alive. Full of trust, and understanding, and pride. “Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow. Yrene let that kiss sink into her skin, a mark of protection, of love that she’d carry with her into hell and beyond it.

She sealed the Wyrdgate.” Yrene scowled. “The least they could do is be grateful for it.” “Oh, I have no doubt they are,” Chaol said, frowning now as well. “But the fact remains that Aelin promised one thing, and did the opposite.

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.

She beckoned her court forward. Then smiled at Dorian and Chaol, at Yrene and Nesryn and Sartaq and their companions. And beckoned them forward, too. Brows rising, they approached. But Aelin, crowned and glowing, only said, “Walk with me.” She gestured to the gates behind her. “All of you.” This day did not belong to her alone. Not at all. And when they all balked, Aelin walked forward. Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff.

Have you ever—” “Yes.” The word was a rough pant. “Once.” Chaol shoved against the ripple of darkness, the line on that throat. He only kissed it instead. Licked it. Then asked against her skin, his mouth skirting up her jaw, “Do you want to—” “Keep going.” But he made himself pause. Made himself rise to look at her face, his hands on her sleek thighs and her hand still gripping him, stroking him. “Yes, then?” Yrene’s eyes were gold flame. “Yes,” she breathed. She leaned up, kissed him gently. Not lightly, but sweetly. Openly. “Yes.

And maybe one day—maybe I’ll have the time to go out and enjoy myself, but … there are people who need my help. It feels selfish to take time for myself, even now.” “You shouldn’t feel that way.” “And you’re any better?” Chaol chuckled, leaning back as the servant came, bearing a pitcher of chilled mint tea. He waited until the man left before saying, “Maybe you and I will have to learn how to live—if we survive this war.” It was a sharp, cold knife between them. But Yrene straightened her shoulders, her smile small and yet defiant as she lifted her pewter glass of tea. “To living, Lord Chaol.” He clinked his glass against hers. “To being Chaol and Yrene—even just for a night.

Chaol ate his meal where Yrene had left him, still in his undershorts. Kadja didn’t seem to notice or care, and he was too aching and tired to bother with modesty. Aelin would likely have laughed to see him now. The man who had stumbled out of her room after she’d declared that her cycle had arrived. Now sitting in this fine room, mostly naked and not giving a shit about it.

Where did we leave off the last lesson?” Yrene asked a girl in the front. “Eye gouge,” she said with a broad smile. Chaol nearly choked. “Right,” Yrene said, rubbing her hands together. “Someone demonstrate for me.” He watched in silence as hands shot up, and Yrene selected one—a smaller-boned girl. Yrene took up the stance of attacker, grabbing the girl from the front with surprising intensity. But the girl’s slim hands went right to Yrene’s face, thumbs to the corners of her eyes. Chaol started from his chair—or would have, had the girl not pulled back. “And next?” Yrene merely asked. “Hook in my thumbs like this”—the girl made the motion in the air between them for all to see—“and pop.” Aelin would have been beside herself with glee.

It is only a few days by wyvern from the Wastes to Rifthold.” Her eyes were wary, and yet—yet that was a slight smile. “I think Bronwen and Petrah will be able to lead if I occasionally slip away. To help with rukhin.” He saw the promise in her eyes, in that hint of a smile. Both of them still grieving, still broken in places, but in this new world of theirs… perhaps they might heal. Together. “You could just marry each other,” Yrene said, and Dorian whipped his head to her, incredulous. “It’d make it easier for you both, so you don’t need to pretend.” Chaol gaped at his wife. Yrene shrugged. “And be a strong alliance for our two kingdoms.” Dorian knew his face was red when he turned to Manon, apologies and denials on his lips. But Manon smirked at Yrene, her silver-white hair lifting in the breeze, as if reaching for the united people who would soon soar westward. That smirk softened as she mounted Abraxos and gathered up the reins. “We’ll see,” was all Manon Blackbeak, High Queen of the Crochans and Ironteeth, said before she and wyvern leaped into the skies.

T'here are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.' Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. 'I am a god.'” “You do not yield.” “Live, Manon. Live.” “And far away, across the snow-covered mountains, on a barren plain before the ruins of a once-great city, a flower began to bloom” “Aelin looked at Chaol and Dorian and sobbed. Opened her arms to them, and wept as they held each other. 'I love you both,' she whispered. 'And no matter what may happen, no matter how far we may be, that will never change.'” “Yet the songs would mention this—that the Lion fell before the western gate of Orynth, defending the city and his son.” “'We came,' Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could hear, 'to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what she promised us.' Darrow said quietly, 'And what was that?' Manon smiled then. 'A better world.'” “Her mother placed a phantom hand over Aelin’s heart.b'It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.'” “'Rise,' Darrow said, 'Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.'” “One blink for yes. Two for no. Three for Are you all right? Four for I am here, I am with you. Five for This is real, you are awake.” And she said to Abraxos, touching his spin, 'I love you.' It was the only thing that mattered in the end. The only thing that mattered now.” “Lord Lorcan Lochan?” Chaol and Yrene began bickering, laughing as they did, but Dorian strode to the edge of the aerie. Watched that white-haired rider and the wyvern with silver wings become distant as they sailed toward the horizon. Dorian smiled. And found himself, for the first time in a while, looking forward to tomorrow.” “'I took his name,' Erawan spat, writhing as the words flowed from his tongue under Damaris's power. 'I wiped it away from existence. Yet he only remembered it once. Only once. The first time He behelded you.' Tears slid down Dorian's face at the unbearable truth.” “Gavriel smiled at him. 'Close the gate, Aedion,' was all his father said. And then Gavriel stepped beyond the gates. That golden shield spreading thin.

Yrene’s eyes were still bright with those tears he’d caused. One still clung to her cheek. Chaol wiped it away. Another one he found down by her jaw. He didn’t understand—how she could be so delicate, so small, when she had overturned his life entirely. Worked miracles with those hands and that soul, this woman who had crossed mountains and seas. She was trembling. Not with fear, not as she looked up at him. And it was only when Yrene settled her hand on his chest, not to push him away but to feel the raging, thunderous heartbeat beneath, that Chaol lowered his head and kissed her.

An unspoken promise, Chaol realized, among the other siblings. “So you will have to suffer my company for a while yet, Lord Westfall,” Hasar said, but that edged smile was not as sharp. “Because for my sisters, both living and dead, I will march with my sulde to the gates of Morath and make that demon bastard pay.” She met Yrene’s stare. “And for you, Yrene Towers. For what you did for Duva, I will help you save your land.” Yrene rose, her hands shaking. And none of them spoke a word as Yrene reached Hasar’s seat and threw her arms around her neck to hold the princess tightly.

To being Chaol and Yrene—even just for a night.

Hafiza stood behind her, Eretia at her side. Each with a hand on her shoulder. Behind them stood two healers each. Hands on their shoulders. Behind them, two more. And more. And more. A living chain of power. All the healers in the Torre, young and old, stood in that room of gold and bone. All connected. All channeling to Yrene, to the grip she still held on Chaol.

She was trembling. Not with fear, not as she looked up at him. And it was only when Yrene settled her hand on his chest, not to push him away but to feel the raging, thunderous heartbeat beneath, that Chaol lowered his head and kissed her.

She had come to Rowan, soul limping. She had come to him as she was, as she had never been with anyone. And she had returned whole. Still she had waited—waited to be with him. Chaol had been lusting for Yrene, had taken her into his bed without so much as thinking of Nesryn, and yet Aelin

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.

So he said to Kashin, “I hear you usually dwell down in Balruhn and look after the terrestrial armies.” Kashin straightened. “I do. For most of the year, I make my home there and oversee the training of our troops. If I’m not there, then I’m out on the steppes with our mother-people—the horse-lords.” “Thank the gods,” Hasar muttered from across the table, earning a warning look from Sartaq. Hasar only rolled her eyes and whispered something in her lover’s ear that made Renia laugh, a bright, silvery sound. Yrene was still watching him, though, an ember of what he could have sworn was annoyance in her face—as if Chaol’s mere presence at this table was enough to set her clenching her jaw—while Kashin began explaining his various routines in his city on the southwestern coast, and the contrasting life amongst the horse-tribes on the steppes.

And part of Yrene wondered, as she trudged through the palace, if Lord Chaol had not asked her to stop not just because he’d learned how to manage pain, but also because he somehow felt he deserved it.

Aelin turned toward them. Toward all those who had come with her, who had gotten them to this day, this joyous ringing of the bells. She beckoned her court forward. Then smiled at Dorian and Chaol, at Yrene and Nesryn and Sartaq and their companions. And beckoned them forward, too. Brows rising, they approached. But Aelin, crowned and glowing, only said, “Walk with me.” She gestured to the gates behind her. “All of you.” This day did not belong to her alone. Not at all. And when they all balked, Aelin walked forward. Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff. All the women who had fought by her side, or from afar. Who had bled and sacrificed and never given up hope that this day might come. “Walk with me,” Aelin said to them, the men and males falling into step behind. “My friends.

I am happier than I can ever express, Yrene, to share this with you. Anything you need, I am yours to command.” Her lips twitched upward. “Dangerous words.” “I’ll have to win this war quickly, then, so I can have our house built by the summer.” Chaol stole another kiss from her. “As much as I would like to show you just how much I am at your command,” he said against her mouth, “I have another matter to deal with before bed.” Yrene’s brows rose. He grimaced. “I need to introduce Aelin to my father. Before they run into each other.” “Is it bad if I want to join you? And bring snacks?

Now it is my turn to thank you.” But Aelin’s gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene’s finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned. “No longer Yrene Towers,” Chaol said softly, “but Yrene Westfall.

He snorted. “And when you were waddling around, belly near bursting?” Yrene whacked his arm. “I’m not going to waddle.” Chaol laughed, and tugged her into his arm. “You’ll waddle beautifully, was what I meant to say.

Yrene just ran her hands through his hair, down his back, and he felt her smile. “It’s over.” Yet the woman he held, the child growing within her… Erawan might have been over, his threat and army with it. And Maeve with it, too. But life, Chaol realized—life was just beginning.

Yet Chaol dropped his sword and shield to the bloody stones, and gripped Yrene’s face between his hands. “You can’t,” he said again, voice breaking. “You can’t.” Yrene put her hands atop Chaol’s and brought them brow to brow. “You are my joy,” was all she said to him. Her husband, her dearest friend, closed his eyes. The reek of Valg blood and metal clung to him, and yet beneath it—beneath it, that was his scent. The smell of home. Chaol at last opened his eyes, the bronze of them so vivid. Alive. Utterly alive. Full of trust, and understanding, and pride. “Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow. Yrene let that kiss sink into her skin, a mark of protection, of love that she’d carry with her into hell and beyond it.

Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle. My uncle, of sorts,” Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At Chaol’s narrowed brows, she explained, “He’s Aedion’s father.” “Well, that explains a few things,” Nesryn muttered. “Lorcan Salvaterre, formerly of Doranelle, and now a blood-sworn member of my court.” As if that weren’t a shock enough, Aelin winked at the imposing male. Lorcan scowled. “We’re still in the adjustment period,” she loudly whispered, and Yrene chuckled. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. “Fenrys… You know, I don’t actually know your family name.” Fenrys thew a roguish wink at the queen. “Moonbeam.” “It is not,” Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh. Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. “I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?” But it was to the small, delicate woman that Aelin now gestured. “And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth.

For a moment, Aelin and Yrene just stared at each other. “We’re a long way from Innish,” Yrene whispered. “But lost no longer,” Aelin whispered back, voice breaking as they embraced. The two women who had held the fate of their world between them. Who had saved it. Behind them, Chaol wiped at his face. Rowan, ducking his head, did the same.

Keep her safe,” was all Chaol said. Perhaps the only order, Yrene realized, he would ever give his king. Their king. It was why she loved him. Why she knew that the child in her womb would never spend a single moment wondering if it was loved.

And though Chaol might have decided against pushing Hasar into the pool behind her, Yrene had no such qualms about doing it herself. One heartbeat, Hasar was smirking up at her. The next, her legs and skirts and jewels went sky-up, her shriek piercing across the dunes as Yrene shoved the princess, chair and all, into the water.

Before you begin shouting,” Yrene declared, “I should say that what just happened is proof that I should not be marrying a prince.” Chaol crossed his arms. “Having lived with a prince for most of my life, I’d say quite the opposite.” She waved a hand, pacing more. “I know it was stupid.” “Incredibly.” “I don’t regret doing it.” “It’s an image I’ll likely remember for the rest of my life.” He would. “How can you be so amused?” “Oh, I’m not.” His lips indeed curved. “But it’s certainly entertaining to see that temper of yours turned on someone other than me.” “I don’t have a temper.” He raised a brow. “I have known a fair member of people with tempers, and yours, Yrene Towers, ranks amongst the finest of them.” “Like Aelin Galathynius.” A shadow passed over him. “She would have greatly enjoyed the sight of Hasar flipping into the pool.

Life. He had life to savor, to fight for. And the breaking that had started and ended here… Yes, it belonged to him. He was allowed to break, so that is forging might begin. So that he might begin again. He owed it to his king, his country. And he owed it to himself. Yrene nodded as if to say yes. So Chaol stood. He surveyed the darkness, this piece of him. He did not balk at it. And smiling at Yrene, he took her hand.

And if she left, if he let her walk out… Yrene pushed down on the handle. And Chaol took a step towards her.

Chaol did not think. He did not marvel at the sensation of being so high. At the weight of his body, the sway of it as he took that staggering step. There was only Yrene, and her hand on the doorknob, and the tears in her furious, lovely eyes. The most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

But if you’ll have me… there will be a place for you on my ship. At my side.” “What sort of place?” Chaol stretched out like a cat, tucking his arms behind his head as he drawled, “The usual options: scullery maid, cook, dishwasher—” She poked his ribs, and he laughed. It was a beautiful sound, rich and deep. But his brown eyes softened as he cupped her face. “What place would you like, Yrene?” Her heart thundered at the question, the timbre of his voice. But she smirked and said, “Whichever one gives me the right to yell at you if you push yourself too hard.” She drew her hand along his legs, his back. Careful—he’d have to be so, so careful for a while. A corner of Chaol’s mouth kicked up, and he hauled her over him. “I think I know of just the position.

What if we fight? What then? We fight all the time already. It’ll be nothing new. Do you think I’d want to be with anyone who didn’t hand my ass to me on a regular basis? And this bond between us, Yrene… it changes everything. With you and me. You’ll need your own space; I’ll need mine. So if you think for one moment that you’re going to get away with flimsy excuses for never leaving my side— She poked him in the ribs. As if I’ll want to hang around you all day like some lovesick girl! Chaol had laughed, tucked her in tighter. But Yrene had only patted his arm and said, And I think you can take care of yourself just fine.

If I’m riding,” Chaol said simply, “so are you.” Yrene blurted, “I’m not—it’s been a while since I rode one.” “If I can let four men help me onto this damned horse,” he said simply, the color still blooming in his cheeks, “then you can get on one, too.

I thought you never stepped in to help me,” he said drily, raising a brow. “In the chair, yes. You have so much farther to fall now.” Chaol huffed a laugh, then leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Will it be the bed or the couch now, Yrene?

She had done this. Given him this. Yrene was smiling, and then she was laughing, as if she could not contain it inside her. Chaol thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. And that this moment, flying together over the sands, devouring the desert wind, her hair a golden-brown banner behind her… Chaol felt, perhaps for the first time, as if he was awake. And he was grateful, right down to his very bones, for it.

Chaol couldn’t bring himself to rip his mouth away from Yrene’s long enough to ask if she considered him hers. To explain that he already knew his own answer. Had perhaps known from the moment she’d walked into that sitting room and did not look at him with an ounce of pity or sadness.

Chaol held Yrene’s stare as he stilled, letting her adjust. Letting himself adjust to the sensation that the entire axis of the world had shifted. Looking into those eyes of hers, swimming with brightness, he wondered if she felt it, too. But Yrene kissed him again, in answer and silent demand. And as Chaol began to move within her, he realized that here, amongst the dunes and stars… Here, in the heart of a foreign land… Here, with her, he was home.

So we’re back to the animosity today?” “We are not back to anything. I’m your healer, and you are my patient, and I asked you about the status of your—” “If you’re not rested,” he said, as if it were the most rational thing in the world, “then I’m not letting you near me.” Yrene opened and closed her mouth. “And how you will decide that?” Slowly, his eyes swept over her. Every inch. Her heart thundered at the long look. The relentless focus. “Good color,” he said. “Good posture. Certainly good sass.” “I’m not some prize horse, as you said yesterday.” “Two days ago.” She braced her hands on her hips. “I’m fine. Now, how are you?” Each word was accentuated. Chaol’s eyes danced. “I’m feeling quite well, Yrene. Thank you for asking.

Well, I’ll attempt to find you a suitable present that can compare to an entire desert retreat, but don’t hold me to it.” Yrene looped her arm through Chaol’s free one, no more than a healer escorting her patient to the table. “I have everything I need,” was all she said.

I will cherish it always,” Chaol whispered as he slid into her, slow and deep. Pleasure rippled down his spine. “No matter what befall the world.” Yrene kissed his neck, his shoulder, his jaw. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.

The way she spat that no… He took no satisfaction in that. The woman only laughed, hefting the baby a bit higher as she headed into her charming house. “I certainly would.” Still red, Yrene turned to him, distinctly not meeting his eyes. “She’s opinionated.” Chaol chuckled. “I hadn’t realized that I was a firm no.” She glared at him. “I don’t share a bed with patients. And you’re with Captain Faliq,” she added quickly. “And you’re—” “Not in fit form to pleasure a woman?” He was shocked he said it. But again more than a tad smug to see her eyes flare. “No,” Yrene said, somehow going redder. “Certainly not that. But you’re… you.” “I’m trying not to be insulted.” She waved a hand, looking everywhere but at him. “You know what I mean.

Chaol took the scrap from Yrene, the paper velvet-soft from its countless readings and foldings and how’d shed held it in her pocket, clutched it, all these years. He unfolded the note and read the words he already knew were within. Chaol glanced to Yrene, smiling serenely at the sea, then to the note. To the handwriting he knew as well as his own.

It’s owned by the royals. No one is allowed there. It’s their private refuge.” “Ah.” He scratched at the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “And asking to access it outright will lead to too many questions.” “Exactly.” He studied her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare suggest I use Kashin,” she hissed. Chaol lifted his hands, eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t dare. Though he certainly ran the moment you snapped your fingers the other night. He’s a good man.” Yrene braced her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you invite him to a romantic interlude in the desert, then.” Chaol chuckled, trailing her as she started for the courtyard again.

Do not think about attempting to lift me off this horse, or carry me, or anything.” He gave her a wry look, but obeyed. “Anything?” “Yes, anything,” Yrene said, fluffing out her wrinkled clothes. “It’s likely because of anything that you’re limping worse than before.” Chaol let her fall into step beside him, and balanced on his cane long enough to press a kiss to her temple. He didn’t care who saw. Who reported on it. They could all go to hell. But behind them, he could have sworn Shen and the other guards were grinning from ear to ear.

Can’t I just heal him again?” She leaned toward him, as if she’d do just that. Hafiza shook her head. “It is part of the balance—the cost. Do not tempt the compassion of the force that granted this to you.” But Chaol touched Yrene’s hand. “It is no burden, Yrene,” he said softly. “To be given this. It is no burden at all.” Yet agony filled her face. “But I—” “Using the chair is not a punishment. It is not a prison,” he said. “It never was. And I am as much of a man in that chair, or with that cane, as I am standing on my feet.” He brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “I wanted to heal you,” she breathed. “You did,” he said, smiling. “Yrene, in every way that truly matters… You did.

What do we do now?” Yrene asked quietly. For she didn’t know—how to go back— Chaol didn’t reply. He just stretched out one leg wholly in front of him. Then the other. Did it again, marveling. “We don’t look back,” he said, meeting her stare. “It helps no one and nothing to look back.” The way he said it… It seemed as if it meant something more. To him, at least. But Chaol’s smile grew, his eyes lighting as he added, “We can only go on.

I had no idea that she-devils actually had them.” She stuck out her tongue. “Yes, even my kind has them.” Chaol grinned. “So you asked her to throw one for you?” Considering how the last party had gone… He might very well wind up one of those people slipping away into a darkened bedroom. Especially if Yrene wore that dress again. “Not exactly,” Yrene said wryly. “I mentioned that my birthday was coming up, and how dull your plans for it were…” He chuckled. “Presumptuous of you.

Chaol winked at her. “Then you better heal me, Yrene Towers, because I plan to do a great deal of anything with you tonight.

I didn’t want more than that. I told him as much. And that is that.” Chaol’s lips twitched toward a smile, and Yrene at last approached her waiting mare, hauling herself into the saddle. “My aim is to return to Fenharrow, to help where I am needed most. I felt nothing strong enough for Kashin to warrant yielding that dream.” Understanding filled his eyes, and he opened his mouth—as if he might say something about it. But he just nodded, smiling again, and said, “I’m glad you didn’t.” She lifted a brow in question, and his smile grew. “Where would I be without you here to bark orders at me?” Yrene scowled, scooping up the reins and steering the horse toward the gates as she said sharply, “Let me know if you start to feel any discomfort or tingling in that saddle—and try to keep your toes moving as often as you can.” He only said with a half smile, “Lead the way, Yrene Towers.

There is another piece to the life-bond, to this bargain. When it is time, whether the death is kind or cruel… It will claim you both.” Yrene’s golden eyes were still lined with silver. But there was no fear in her face, no lingering sorrow—none. “Together,” Chaol said quietly, and interlaced her hands.

Really?” Yrene shot him an incredulous look. “Is there something you’re particularly embarrassed for me to see?” Oh, she certainly had some fight in her, this Yrene Towers from Fenharrow. Chaol held her stare, the challenge in it. Yrene only snorted. “I had forgotten that men from the northern continent are so proper and guarded.

Yrene put her hands atop Chaol’s and brought them brow to brow. “You are my joy,” was all she said to him. Her husband, her dearest friend, closed his eyes. The reek of Valg blood and metal clung to him, and yet beneath it—beneath it, that was his scent. The smell of home. Chaol at last opened his eyes, the bronze of them so vivid. Alive. Utterly alive. Full of trust, and understanding, and pride. “Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow.

Perhaps Aelin would not remember, perhaps their encounter years ago had meant nothing to her at all, but Chaol drew Yrene forward. “Aelin, allow me to introduce—” “Yrene Towers,” the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side. The two women stared at each other. Yrene’s mouth quivered as she opened the silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper. Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen. Aelin’s own hands shook as she accepted the scrap. “Thank you,” Yrene whispered. Chaol supposed it was all that really needed to be said.

His father looked at him at last, his face grave. “Your wife is pregnant.” The shock roiled through Chaol like a physical blow. Yrene—Yrene— “A skilled healer she might be, but a deft liar, she is not. Or have you not noticed her hand frequently resting on her stomach, or how green she turns at mealtime?

And it was only when Yrene settled her hand on his chest, not to push him away but to feel the raging, thunderous heartbeat beneath, that Chaol lowered his head and kissed her.

Did you get the rest you needed?” Yrene gaped at him truly this time. “Yes.” She scowled now, too. “And it’s none of your concern—” “It certainly is.” He said it so calmly. With such male entitlement. “I know that in Adarlan, women bow to whatever men say, but here, if I say it’s none of your business, then it isn’t.” Chaol gave her a half smile. “So we’re back to the animosity today.

And part of Yrene wondered, as she trudged through the palace, if Lord Chaol had not asked her to stop not just because he'd learned how to manage pain, but also because he somehow felt he deserved it.

Yrene laid her hand directly atop the scar. Chaol opened his mouth to speak— But a scream came out instead.

A bit. Crafted from dark, fresh leather. Unused. She offered it to him without hesitation. How many times had she handed one over to patients, to heal injuries far worse than his? “Now would be the time to tell me to stop,” Yrene said, face grim. “In case you’d rather discuss what happened these past few months.” Chaol only lay on his stomach and slid the bit into his mouth.

No lady, beautiful or plain, young or old, deserved to be gawked at. And Yrene … Chaol kept his mare close beside hers. Met the stare of any man who glanced their way as they rode toward the towering spire of the Torre, the stones pale as cream in the morning light. Every single man swiftly found somewhere else to gape. Some even looked apologetic.

He saw the word in Arghun’s eyes: prize. Chaol’s jaw tightened. Yrene certainly didn’t want the attentions of the handsomest of the princes—he couldn’t imagine she’d be inclined to desire the affections of the other two. Arghun opened his mouth to speak to Hasar, but the princess strode right to Chaol and Nesryn and murmured in Nesryn’s ear, “Move.

certainly hope you enjoy yourself, since I can’t.” Chaol caught her meaningful glance in his direction before Yrene did. And he got no small amount of smug satisfaction from watching Yrene blink, then stiffen, then go red. “What—oh. Oh, no.” The way she spat that no … He took no satisfaction in that.

But Yrene stepped up to Chaol’s side once more. “I am the heir apparent to the Healer on High of the Torre Cesme. I came at your son’s behest, back to the lands of my birth, to help in this war, along with two hundred healers from the Torre itself. Your son spent the last several months forging an alliance with the khaganate, and now all of the khagan’s armies sail to this continent to save your people. So while you sit here in your miserable keep, tossing insults at him, know that he has done what no other could do, and if your city survives, it will be because of him, not you.

There is another piece to the life-bond, to this bargain,” Hafiza added gently. They turned to her. “When it is time, whether the death is kind or cruel … It will claim you both.” Yrene’s golden eyes were still lined with silver. But there was no fear in her face, no lingering sorrow—none. “Together,” Chaol said quietly, and interlaced their hands. Her strength would be his strength. And when Yrene went, he would go. But if he went before her—

The princess only looked to Yrene, then Chaol. “I will come with you.” Chaol didn’t dare move. Yrene said, “Alone?” “Not alone.” The mocking amusement was gone from her face. “You saved Duva’s life. And ours, if she had grown more bold.” A glance to Sartaq, who watched with mild surprise. “Duva is the best of us. The best of me.” Hasar’s throat bobbed. “So I will go with you, with whatever ships I can bring, so that my sister will never again look over her shoulder in fear.” Except in fear of one another, Chaol refrained from saying. But Hasar caught the words in his eyes. “Not her,” she said quietly. “All the others,” she added with a stark look at Sartaq, who nodded grimly. “But never Duva.” An unspoken promise, Chaol realized, among the other siblings.

Yet Chaol dropped his sword and shield to the bloody stones, and gripped Yrene’s face between his hands. “You can’t,” he said again, voice breaking. “You can’t.” Yrene put her hands atop Chaol’s and brought them brow to brow. “You are my joy,” was all she said to him. Her husband, her dearest friend, closed his eyes. The reek of Valg blood and metal clung to him, and yet beneath it—beneath it, that was his scent. The smell of home. Chaol at last opened his eyes, the bronze of them so vivid. Alive. Utterly alive. Full of trust, and understanding, and pride. “Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow.

But Manon smirked at Yrene, her silver-white hair lifting in the breeze, as if reaching for the united people who would soon soar westward. That smirk softened as she mounted Abraxos and gathered up the reins. “We’ll see,” was all Manon Blackbeak, High Queen of the Crochans and Ironteeth, said before she and her wyvern leaped into the skies. Chaol and Yrene began bickering, laughing as they did, but Dorian strode to the edge of the aerie. Watched that white-haired rider and the wyvern with silver wings become distant as they sailed toward the horizon.

Your father informed me of what he did with my letters to you. I informed him I shall not be returning to Anielle. Yrene leaned her head against his shoulder while he read and read. The years have been long, and the space between us distant, his mother had written. But when you are settled with your new wife, your babe, I would like to visit. To stay for longer than that, Terrin with me. If that would be all right with you. Tentative, nervous words. As if his mother, too, did not quite believe that he’d agree. Chaol read the rest, swallowing hard as he reached the final lines. I am so very proud of you. I have always been, and always will be. And I hope to see you very soon.

For a moment, Aelin and Yrene just stared at each other. “We’re a long way from Innish,” Yrene whispered. “But lost no longer,” Aelin whispered back, voice breaking as they embraced. The two women who had held the fate of their world between them. Who had saved it. Behind them, Chaol wiped at his face. Rowan, ducking his head, did the same.