Ren paused his pacing to stare down the captain. “As our spy?”
“You’ll need someone on the inside, regardless of whether I’m in Rifthold or Anielle.”
“I have people on the inside,” Ren said.
Aedion waved a hand. “I don’t care about your people on the inside, Ren. Just be ready to go, and stop being a pain in my ass with your endless questions.” He would chain Ren to a horse if he had to.
Aedion was about to turn to go when feet thundered up the stairs. They all had their swords drawn as the door flew open and Murtaugh appeared, panting and grasping the doorframe. The old man’s eyes were wild, his mouth opening and closing. Behind him, the stairwell revealed no sign of a threat, no pursuit. But Aedion kept his sword out and angled himself into a better position.
Ren rushed to Murtaugh, slipping an arm under his shoulders, but the old man planted his heels in the rug. “She’s alive,” he said, to Ren, to Aedion, to himself. “She’s—she’s truly alive.”
Aedion’s heart stopped. Stopped, then started, then stopped again. Slowly, he sheathed his sword, calming his racing mind before he said, “Out with it, old man.”
Murtaugh blinked and let out a choked laugh. “She’s in Wendlyn, and she’s alive.”
The captain stalked across the floor. Aedion might have joined him had his legs not stopped working. For Murtaugh to have heard about her . . . The captain said, “Tell me everything.”
Murtaugh shook his head. “The city’s swarming with the news. People are in the streets.”
“Get to the point,” Aedion snapped.
“General Narrok’s legion did indeed go to Wendlyn,” Murtaugh said. “And no one knows how or why, but Aelin . . . Aelin was there, in the Cambrian Mountains, and was part of a host that met them in battle. They’re saying she’s been hiding in Doranelle all this time.”
Alive, Aedion had to tell himself—alive, and not dead after the battle, even if Murtaugh’s information about her whereabouts was wrong.
Murtaugh was smiling. “They slaughtered Narrok and his men, and she saved a great number of people—with magic. Fire, they say—power the likes of which the world has not seen since Brannon himself.”
Aedion’s chest tightened to the point of hurting. The captain was just staring at the old man.
It was a message to the world. Aelin was a warrior, able to fight with blade or magic. And she was done with hiding.
“I’m riding north today. It cannot wait as we had planned,” Murtaugh said, turning toward the door. “Before the king tries to keep the news from spreading, I need to let Terrasen know.” They trailed him down the stairs and into the warehouse below. Even from inside, Aedion’s Fae hearing picked up the rising commotion in the streets. The moment he entered the palace, he would have to consider his every step, every breath. Too many eyes would be on him now.
Aelin. His Queen. Aedion slowly smiled. The king would never suspect, not in a thousand years, who he’d actually sent to Wendlyn—that his own Champion had destroyed Narrok. Few had ever known about the Galathyniuses’ deeply rooted distrust of Maeve—so Doranelle would be a believable place to hide and raise a young queen all these years.
“Once I get out of the city,” Murtaugh said, going to the horse he’d tied inside the warehouse, “I’ll send riders to every contact, to Fenharrow and Melisande. Ren, you stay here. I’ll take care of Suria.”
Aedion gripped the man’s shoulder. “Get word to my Bane—tell them to lie low until I return, but keep those supply lines with the rebels open at any cost.” He didn’t let go until Murtaugh gave him a nod.