#Not at his being here as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin But him Standing Walking-my soul needed this back-the core tale trio

[acourtofquestions]

KINGDOM OF ASH (by SJM)

Chapter 48

THE FAMILY REUINION🥹😆😭🫶& MY SOULLL

But when they reached Princess Hasar's battle tent, when they had all gathered around a map of Anielle, they had only a few minutes of discussion before they were interrupted. By the person Chaol least expected to walk through the flaps.

A moment later, Chaol was glad he was sitting down.

Nesryn breathed, "Holy gods."

Chaol was inclined to agree as Aelin Galathynius, Rowan Whitethorn, and several others entered the tent.

They were mud-splattered, the Queen of Terrasen's braided hair far longer than Chaol had last seen. And her eyes ... Not the soft, yet fiery gaze. But something older. Wearier.

Chaol shot to his feet. "I thought you were in Terrasen," he blurted. All the reports had confirmed it. Yet here she stood, no army in sight.

Three Fae males-towering warriors as broad and muscled as Rowan—had entered, along with a delicate, dark-haired human woman.

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him.

No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face. Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin.

But at him. Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue.

Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed, gazing down his body, to his feet, then up again. "I knew you'd do it."

"Not alone," he said thickly. Chaol swallowed, releasing Aelin to extend an arm behind him. To the woman he knew stood there, a hand over the locket at her neck.

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.

Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note she'd written, seeing the lines from the hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past few years.

"I went to the Torre," Yrene said, her voice cracking. "I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn't waste it-not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me." Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene's face. "I didn't waste any of it."

Aelin closed her eyes, smiling through her own tears, and when she opened them, she took Yrene's shaking hands. "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."

Aelin let out one of those choked, joyous laughs, and Rowan stepped up to her side.

Yrene's head tilted back to take in the warrior's full height, her eyes widening-not only at Rowan's size, but at the pointed ears, the slightly elongated canines and tattoo. Aelin said, "Then let me introduce you, Lady Westfall, to my own husband, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius."

For that was indeed a wedding band on the queen's finger, the emerald mud-splattered but bright. On Rowan's own hand, a gold-and-ruby ring gleamed.

"My mate," Aelin added, fluttering her lashes at the Fae male. Rowan rolled his eyes, yet couldn't entirely contain his smile as he inclined his head to Yrene.

Yrene bowed, but Aelin snorted. "None of that, please. It'll go right to his immortal head." Her grin softened as Yrene blushed, and Aelin held up the scrap of paper. "May I keep this?" She eyed Yrene's locket. "Or does it go in there?"

Yrene folded the queen's fingers around the paper. "It is yours, as it always was. A piece of your bravery that helped me find my own."

Aelin shook her head, as if to dismiss the claim.

But Yrene squeezed Aelin's closed hand. "It gave me courage, the words you wrote. Every mile I traveled, every long hour I studied and worked, it gave me courage. I thank you for that, too."

Aelin swallowed hard, and Chaol took that as excuse enough to sit again, his back giving a grateful tinge. He said to the queen, "There is another person responsible for this army being here." He gestured to Nesryn, the woman already smiling at the queen. "The rukhin you see, the army gathered, is as much because of Nesryn as it is because of me."

A spark lit Aelin's eyes, and both women met halfway in a tight embrace. "I want to hear the entire story," Aelin said. "Every word of it." Nesryn's subdued smile widened. "So you shall. But later." Aelin clapped her on the shoulder and turned to the two royals still by the desk. Tall and regal, but as mud-splattered as the queen.

Chaol blurted, "Dorian?"

Rowan answered, "Not with us." He glanced to the royals.

"They know everything," Nesryn said

"He's with Manon," Aelin said simply.

Chaol wasn't entirely sure whether to be relieved. "Hunting for something important."

The keys. Holy gods.

Aelin nodded. Later. He'd think on where Dorian might now be later. Aelin nodded again. The full story would come then too.

Nesryn said, "May I present Princess Hasar and Prince Sartaq."

Aelin bowed—low. "You have my eternal gratitude," Aelin said, and the voice that came out of her was indeed that of a queen. Any shock Sartaq and Hasar had shown upon the queen bowing so low was hidden as they bowed back, the portrait of courtly grace.

"My father," Sartaq said, "remained in the khaganate to oversee our lands, along with our siblings Duva and Arghun. But my brother Kashin sails with the rest of the army. He was not two weeks behind us when we left."

Aelin glanced to Chaol, and he nodded.

Something glittered in her eyes at the confirmation, but the queen jerked her chin at Hasar. "Did you get my letter?"

The letter that Aelin had sent months ago, begging for aid and promising only a better world in return. Hasar picked at her nails. "Perhaps. I get far too many letters from fellow princesses these days to possibly remember or answer all of them."

Aelin smirked, as if the two of them spoke a language no one else could understand, a special code between two equally arrogant and proud women. But she motioned to her companions, who stepped forward. "Allow me to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of Doranelle." A nod toward the tawny-eyed and golden-haired warrior who bowed.

Tattoos covered his neck, his hands, but his every motion was graceful. "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.

The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it was the same. But where Aedion was fire, Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes were solemn as he said, "Aedion is my pride." Emotion rippled over Aelin's face, but she gestured to the dark-haired male. Not someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn features, the black eyes and unsmiling mouth.

"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.

Lorcan Salvaterre. Chaol hadn't met the male this spring in Rifthold, but he'd heard all about him. That he'd been Maeve's most trusted commander, her most loyal and fierce warrior.

That he'd wanted to kill Aelin, hated Aelin.

How this had come about, why she was not in Terrasen with her army ... "You, too, have a tale to tell," Chaol said.

"Indeed I do." Aelin's eyes guttered, and Rowan put a hand on her lower back. Bad— something terrible had occurred. Chaol scanned Aelin for any hint of it. He stopped when he noticed the smoothness of the skin at her neck. The lack of scars. The missing scars on her hands, her palms. "Later," Aelin said softly. She straightened her shoulders, and another golden-haired male came forward. Beautiful. That was the only way to describe him. "Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw 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?"

Another blood-sworn Fae male in her court.

Across the tent, Sartaq cursed in his own tongue. As if he'd heard of Lorcan, and Gavriel, and Fenrys.

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals. "They're barely housebroken. Hardly fit for your fine company." Even Sartaq smiled at that. 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." Perranth. Chaol had combed through the family trees of Terrasen just this winter, had seen the lists of so many royal households crossed out, victim to the conquest ten years ago.

Elide's name had been among them.

Another Terrasen royal who had managed to evade Adarlan's butchers.

The pretty young woman took a limping step forward, and bobbed a curtsy to the royals. Her boots concealed any sign of the source of the injury, but Yrene's attention shot right to her leg. Her ankle. "It's an honor to meet all of you," Elide said, her voice low and steady. Her dark eyes swept over them, cunning and clear. Like she could see beneath their skin and bones, to the souls beneath.

Aelin wiped her hands. "Well, that's over and done with," she announced, and strode to the desk and map. "Shall we discuss where you all plan to march once we beat the living shit out of this army?"

[dregstrash]

Fever Dreams and Shadow Games

A/N: Co-written by the amazing and talented @wafflesandkruge​ and we’re so happy to finally be able to share this with you all!

You can also find it here on AO3

Tagging: @aditiiparasharr​  @strummoner​  @itsbrilliantjustlikeyou​ @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @shadowbusiness @privateerrezni​  @roonill--wazlib​ @the-jennster​ @the-regal-warrior​ @kazual-crow​ @ipizzippy​

CHAPTER 1: Deals with Demons

Dark tents, the thrum of over-eager bodies, men and women in painted costumes. Nikolai smiled to himself as he looked at the display before him, and couldn’t help but feel at home. After growing up in a household with a father who was on the border of being a rake, and a mother who thought herself a queen, his childhood felt like a constant dance of endless parties that swirled around painted clowns and false tricks.

He took a deep breath and inhaled the sharp smell of sweat, popcorn, and sugar interlaced with the smoke that had become a permanent feature of the London sky. He could practically taste the excitement and the mystery in the air, and he wished that he could join the smiling crowd who “oohed” and “ahhed” at the displays of the sideshow and the decorations set up. But he couldn’t. Tonight wasn’t the night for his attention to be captured by the mystery of the Cirque de Lie. He kept his gaze low and on the people surrounding him. He strained to spot any sign of the messenger that was supposed to meet him. He took his pocket watch out to mark the time.

He’s late, he thought snapping his watch shut.

Nikolai had no choice but to follow the line of people inside the big top tent and search the stands for the section printed on his ticket. That’s when a raggedy boy ran up to him. A small silver crow pin was fastened to the side of his cap.

“Note for ya, Mister.” He said, shoving a scrap of paper into Nikolai’s hands.

Nikolai nodded and dropped a few shilling into his waiting palm before moving to the side, away from potential prying eyes. By the dim lantern light, he squinted and deciphered the untidy and familiar scrawl.

“West end tent, half-past midnight, don’t be late, don’t be followed. -K”

Nikolai smiled at the brevity, then made sure to light the note up with the set of matches he had in his coat.

The note caught and was soon nothing more than another pile of ashes trampled into the packed dirt floor.

The lights began to dim, and string music struck up from an unseen section of the stage. Nikolai found his seat, and let himself relax slightly. The beat of strong drums reverberated through the space, and in a flash of smoke and a bang, Kaz Brekker, Ringmaster of the Cirque de Lie, emerged from the fog resplendent in his signature suit and top hat. The crowd roared in delight. Nikolai just smiled.

Yes, tonight was all about business, but Kaz did put on a spectacular show, and he would be a fool to not enjoy himself.

It was the circus after all. ---

The tents at the west end of the encampment were cloaked in shadows. To Nikolai’s understanding, this was where the performers and crew members retired for the night. But as of right now, the canvas stood empty and stoic, betraying no movement or life.

The sounds of the dispersing crowd had all but faded into the night, and the comforting glow of the lantern light was nowhere to be found.The only thing that gave Nikolai any sense of life was the large, hulking form of a man in front of the grandest tent in the space.

Nikolai opened his mouth to state his intent, but the man just gave him a once over and jerked his head towards the tent.

“He’s expecting ya, sir.” He said gruffly.

Nikolai nodded, and stepped into the dark tent. A warm fire blazed in the center of the room where an opening had been made to let out the smoke, and sitting in a large desk right by it was the man of the hour.

“Lantsov,” Kaz rasped as a greeting.

“Mr. Brekker.” Nikolai said back, not waiting for an invitation to take a seat in front of the oak table. “Fantastic show as always.”

He huffed, neither confirming or denying the statement.

“You’re running for chairman of the city council.” Kaz hadn’t looked up from whatever he was reading. “You’re losing.”

Nikolai chuckled, “I hope you didn’t waste any of your good spies for that bit of information, Brekker. That’s not a secret.”

“No, it’s not. But what is secret is the fact that you’re a Red sympathizer.”

Kaz’s dark eyes met Nikolai’s, and he fought the urge to tense at the accusation.

“Rumors and speculation are hardly good basis for fact.”

“Yet they all have a little bit of truth hidden within their folds.” The young man leaned away from his desk, sinking further away from the light of the fire. “It’s also the reason why you’re losing to the likes of your idiot older brother and that eccentric duke’s son.”

“I didn’t take you as a politics man.”

“I’m not. I tend to be on the side of those who could be most useful.”

Nikolai raised his eyebrows at that. When he didn’t say anything, Kaz continued.

“Talk like that might get you support from the suffragettes, the factory workers, and some of the quieter nobles, but that means practically nothing. Those kinds of rumors only alienate you from the other councilmen, and those are the bastards that apparently matter.” Nikolai didn’t bother ask where he got that information. Kaz always had a way of knowing things that he shouldn’t. It made him a terrifying enemy, and an indispensable ally. “What you need is the police chief’s endorsement to sway the vote to you.”

“I might just fire Zoya as my campaign manager, and hire you instead.” he said, grinning.

Kaz’s face remained still. “I doubt Nazyalensky would let you live if you were to deliver that kind of news.” He shrugged. “Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Not being able to sit still, Nikolai got up and started to pace in front of the desk, “Don’t think you’ve concocted some brilliant plan, Brekker. I know that I need the police chief’s endorsement, but the fact of the matter is that Rollins hates me.”

“Rollins hates anyone with a spine.” There was a sharper edge to Kaz’s words that had Nikolai looking back at him. A brief flash of absolute murder flickered in those dark eyes, before returning back to its indifference. Had he imagined that?

“I suppose this has something to do with the information you have for me tonight.”

This time it was the boy who grinned, a sharp and wicked thing that would make hardened soldiers flee. “You were always a smart one.”

Kaz got up and limped over to where Nikolai was. He caught sight of the crow head cane supporting most of his weight. Not for the first time, Nikolai wondered what had happened to the boy who was four years his junior. He was far too young to have fought in the War, but the haunted look in his eyes always reminded Nikolai of the older soldiers he sometimes paid visits to. He had never asked about Kaz’s past, but he highly doubted that he would answer honestly anyway.

“Here.” Kaz handed him a sheet of parchment. He squinted and read the contents of the note.

“A shipment of Parem? In London?” Nikolai said incredulously. While the use of opium, cocaine, and morphine ran commonly enough in the streets, there have been whispers of a newer and more intoxicating drug being distributed amongst the slums and the coast.

Kaz nodded grimly. “Rollins is supervising the shipment and distribution himself.”

“If people knew...that would ruin him.” Realization flashed through Nikolai’s mind, and he almost laughed outright. “You want him ruined.”

“I want him eviscerated.” Another flash of that feral emotion, disappearing just as fast. “But I’ll settle for ruin for now. With him gone whoever’s the next in line to take the position could be more in your favor.”

“Why?” Nikolai said crossing his arms, giving his companion a long look. If Kaz had any sort of ulterior motive, his face betrayed nothing. “Why help me?”

He shrugged. “You and I have a shared interest for the moment, and like I said, you’re useful to me. Like I can be useful to you.”

“You sure know how to woo a man, Brekker.” Kaz gave him a blank stare, and Nikolai sighed as he fought the urge to run his hand over his face. “So you want to help me get elected?”

“Not necessarily, but I can run Rollins out of office.”

“I’m assuming that the future of a better London isn’t going to be payment enough?” Nikolai paused and weighed the cost in his mind. Zoya would hate him for even considering Kaz’s help. “Usual bounty for exposing corrupt politicians is five thousand pounds, I’ll give you ten.”

“I’m not in the business of doing charity, Lantsov. Rollins has been re-elected three times with no one stopping him, and I’m getting rid of an official that’s been a pain in your ass for the last year. I’ll take thirty.”

“Thirty thousand pounds?!” Nikolai exclaimed. “What makes you think I have that kind of money?”

“I could ask for more if we are basing this off of what I know of your inheritance.” He rested his hands on his cane, giving Nikolai a self-satisfied smile.

Nikolai scowled. Thirty thousand pounds was a lot, but then again how much did he spend on travel and campaign expenses in the last month? And what did that get him? An overzealous mob who could promise him nothing. Thirty thousand pounds could get him an endorsement, and on top of that Rollins’s reign of terror would finally come to an end. Surely, the benefits outweighed the cost.

Kaz Brekker was a man who dealt in tricks and secrets. He was an untrustworthy showman with a strong likelihood to ruin Nikolai’s reputation. However, he could be the only solution to this situation. Zoya’s glare surfaced in his mind, and Nikolai pushed the image away. He’d deal with her reaction later.

“You have a deal, Brekker.” Nikolai extended his hand. “Thirty thousand pounds to expose Rollins and help my campaign.”

“One last thing,” Kaz’s smile was a razor blade and Nikolai had a sinking feeling that he was the one to get more out of this bargain. “If we’re jumping into bed together, I’m going to need you to trust me.”

Nikolai felt his brow furrow. “As a rule, I don’t usually trust people whose livelihoods depend on tricks.”

“You’re going to have to make an exception. No questions. No pestering. Just your trust that I’ll get the job done.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to clarify, but thought better of it. Some things were best left to mystery, and when the hammer came down, he had an inkling that he would rather be kept in the dark to whatever Kaz was planning.

“Fine.” Nikolai thought for a moment, flicking at a nonexistent piece of dust on his suit.

“One last thing: I’m going to need an invite to that big fancy party you have tomorrow at Smeet’s house.”

“Be careful, Brekker, any more conditions and I’ll start to think you’re cheating me.” The younger man didn’t respond. “And why, pray tell, do you need to go to the house of one of the most sought out lawyers of the city?”

“I thought you’d trust me.”

“A decision I am currently regretting.” Another pause, and Nikolai sighed, “Alright. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“The deal’s the deal then.”

They shook hands, and Nikolai fought the shudder that tingled at the back of his neck.

What was it that his mother said when he was a child?

“Be careful of quick demons for they make deals in the dark and then eat your heart in the sun.”

--------

Kaz left the main section of his camp as soon as Nikolai left. His leg was aching again. It was always worse in London. It was as if the injury remembered its origins and was making sure to remind Kaz that it was his fault for its misery.

He rubbed at the place above his knee before he crossed a hidden slit in his tent that led to the dining area. There were few things Kaz learned during his time with Haskell, but the one that really stuck was the need for a ringleader to have space. Haskell had settled for a medium sized tent furbished with liquor and whatever old men filled their time with. Kaz didn’t want to settle. He made himself an entire space that guaranteed separation and privacy.

The sounds of his most trusted crew members eating and drinking did little to relax him, but it was a familiar sound at least.

“Ah, the mighty ringmaster makes an appearance.” Jesper grinned. He was still wearing the sparkling green pants that was part of his costume, but his exposed brown chest glinted warmly against the lanterns lit in the space. Kaz didn’t miss the way Wylan’s eyes kept straying over to his friend’s display of skin, and Kaz rolled his eyes at the slight blush that was staining his cheeks.

“Fahey, put on a shirt will you?” Kaz said dropping down to the chair at the head of the table. He needed everyone to focus on what he was going to say, and if Jesper caught Wylan staring, that was going to be a whole other headache he didn’t want to deal with.

Instead of following directions, Jesper just grinned and leaned forward on the table. “I don’t mind you staring, Kaz.”

He returned a blank stare. “Well I mind that Van Eck won’t be able to concentrate, so just do it.”

Wylan’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “I wasn’t looking!”

Jesper just gave him a wolfish grin before picking up a discarded shirt.

“What’s so important this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” Nina yawned from her place by Matthias’s shoulder.

“We have a job.”

“Like another performance?” Wylan squeaked in an attempt to regain his composure.

Before Kaz could respond, a warm voice materialized behind him. “Kaz just had a meeting with Mister Lantsov.”

It was no surprise Inej had been spying on him, she wasn’t his best spy for nothing after all.

“Ooh…” Nina crooned fixing Kaz with an amused smirk, “Which Mister Lantsov? The stuck-up stupid one or the handsome, Communist one?”

“The latter.”

Matthias’s eyebrows sunk down at the mention of Nina’s description, Kaz was surprised his scowl could deepen further. “The man who claims to be able to fix the class gap and makes false promises to the poor?”

“That very one.” Kaz agreed, taking a long sip from a glass of wine. “And we’re going to help him.”

[acourtofquestions]

But Aelin was only staring at him. Staring and staring at him. No one spoke as tears began sliding down her face.

Not at his being here, Chaol realized as he took up his cane and limped toward Aelin. But at him.

Standing. Walking.

The young queen let out a broken laugh of joy and flung her arms around his neck. Pain lanced down his spine at the impact, but Chaol held her right back, every question fading from his tongue. Aelin was shaking as she pulled away. "I knew you would," she breathed.