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ladybookstan · 2 years

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Nestaq Appreciation✨

Synopsis: A post entirely dedicated to Sartaq and Nesryn, presenting the facts that show that these characters, this couple, deserve more recognition and love.

Those who "know me" know that I am the Captain of the Character Defense Squad. So far I have only made one other post like this, one in Appreciation to Viviane, if you want to see it, I'll leave it here.

And now I am focusing on Tog's most overlooked couple: Nestaq.

⚠️ Throne of Glass Series Spoiler Alert!!!

The basis of this post will be mainly Tower of Dawn, and a bit of Queen of Shadows, I haven't finished KoA yet (I'm on chapter 21) and Lord knows I won't finish that book any time soon. BUuUt, I won't try anymore. The TOG fandom literally sleeps when it comes to this couple and I'm like: 🤡HELLOOOOO🤡

This post is huge and I apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes or anything like that.

Let's start with Nesryn✨

Balruhn, where Nesryn’s own people had originally hailed, before curiosity and ambition drove her great-grandfather to drag his family over mountains and grasslands and deserts to the god-city in the arid north.

The Faliqs had long been tradesmen, and not of anything particularly fine. Just simple, good cloth and household spices. Her uncle still traded such things and, through various lucrative investments, had become a moderately wealthy man, his family now dwelling in a beautiful home within this very city. A definitive step up from a baker—the path her father had chosen upon leaving these shores. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 2)

A daughter of Adarlan (on her mother's side, Cybele) and a daughter of the Southern Continent (on her father's side, Sayed Faliq).

We meet her in Queen of Shadows, the fifth book in the series.

“I heard what happened this winter. That you went to the warehouse and killed so many of us. You slaughtered rebels - my friends.” That cool, calm mask didn’t so much as flinch. “And yet I’m now supposed to believe you were on our side all along. Forgive me if I’m not forthright with you.” — Nesryn Faliq to Aelin Galathinyus (Queen of Shadows chapter 6)

Nesryn Faliq is shown to be a quiet woman who prefers silence, intelligent and a guard in the city of Riftfort, she was one of the rebels who were working with Ren Allsbrook. We also find out that Chaol Westfall and she were once lovers and at that point retained something of a "friendship".

He’d needed it—the distraction and release—after Lithaen had left him for the charms of Roland Havilliard. Nesryn had just been bored, apparently. She’d never sought him out, never asked when she would see him again, so their encounters had always been initiated by him. A few months later, he hadn’t felt particularly bad when he’d gone to Endovier and stopped seeing her. He’d never told Dorian —or Aelin. And when he’d run into Nesryn three weeks ago at one of the rebel gatherings, she hadn’t seemed to be holding a grudge.

“You look like a man who got punched in the balls,” she said at last.

He cut a glare in her direction. And because he did indeed feel that way, because maybe he was again feeling a bit shattered and reckless, he told her what had happened. Who it had happened with. He trusted her, though. In the three weeks they’d been fighting and plotting and surviving together, he’d had no choice but to trust her. Ren had trusted her. — (Queen of Shadows chapter 7)

Regarding Nesryn and Chaol, from what I understand, the two were fine with what they had, but there came a point where Nesryn had feelings for Chaol that he didn't have for her. I'm not saying that Nesryn was crazy in love with him, but she was starting to fall in love, however, the feelings that Chaol had for her were trust, admiration, friendship and obviously, attraction. Just that. (Also, let's face it, we are talking about Nesryn Faliq, the woman is perfect). And he might even love her, but the kind of love that is more on the side of friendship.

Nesryn knew. She knew it hadn’t been mere interest that had prompted Chaol to ask her to talk to him last night, but guilt. She was fine with it, she told herself. She had been a replacement for not one, but two of the women in his life. A third one… She was fine with it... - (Tower of Dawn chapter 24)

And still in Queen of Shadows, Nesryn Faliq won my heart when she saved Lysandra's life and Dorian's life. Being the absurdly amazing Archer that she is.

The blade dipped as she (Aelin) decided, and— Impact slammed into her father ’s sword, knocking her off balance as Aedion shouted. The arrow ricocheted into the garden, hissing against the gravel as it landed. Nesryn was already approaching, another arrow drawn, pointed at Aedion.

“Strike the prince, and I’ll shoot the general.” - (Queen of Shadows chapter 19)

........................

Lysandra leaped. The closest guard fired a clean, spiraling shot right for her chest. She knew, with that leopard’s senses, that it would hit home. Yet Lysandra did not slow. She did not stop. For Evangeline. For her future. For her freedom. For the friends who had come for her. The bolt neared her heart. And was knocked from the air by an arrow.

Lysandra landed on the guard’s face and shredded it with her claws. There was only one sharpshooter with that sort of aim. Lysandra loosed a roar, and became a storm of death upon the guards nearest her while arrows rained on the rest. When Lysandra dared look, it was in time to see Nesryn Faliq draw another arrow atop the neighboring rooftop, flanked by her rebels, and fire it clean through the eye of the final guard between Lysandra and the castle.

“Go!” Nesryn shouted over the panicking crowd. - (Queen of Shadows chapter 75)

One thing that makes me admire Nesryn so much, besides the fact that she is a strong woman, is that even when she suffered a huge loss when she was 13, experienced prejudice throughout her childhood for her origins, suffered prejudice at work for being a woman, she didn't give up. She didn't stop fighting. Never. And if that is not an admirable story, I don't know what is.

“I wouldn’t?” A cold question. “You think that I don’t understand what’s at stake? I don’t care about your prince—not the way you do. I care about what he represents for the future of this kingdom, and for the future of people like my family. I won’t allow another immigrant purge to happen. I don’t ever want my sister ’s children coming home with broken noses again because of their foreign blood. You told me Dorian would fix the world, make it better. But if he’s gone, if we made the mistake today in keeping him alive, then I will find another way to attain that future. And another one after that, if I have to. I will keep getting back up, no matter how many times those butchers shove me down.”

He’d never heard so many words from her at once, had never… never even known she had a sister. Or that she was an aunt. Nesryn said, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stay the course, but also plot another one. Adapt.”

His mouth had gone dry. “Were you ever hurt? For your heritage?” Nesryn glanced toward the roaring hearth, her face like ice. “I became a city guard because not a single one of them came to my aid the day the other schoolchildren surrounded me with stones in their hands. Not one, even though they could hear my screaming.” She met his stare again. “Dorian Havilliard offers a better future, but the responsibility also lies with us. With how common people choose to act.” True—so true. - (Queen of Shadows chapter 22)

.................

“Adarlan is not as … open as the khaganate when it comes to embracing the role of women in the ranks of its guards or armies,” she admitted. “While I might be skilled, men usually were promoted. So I was left to rot on patrol duty at the walls or busy streets. Handling the underworld or nobility was left for more important guards. And ones whose families hailed from Adarlan.” Her sister had raged anytime it happened, but Nesryn had known that if she’d exploded to her superiors, if she’d challenged them … They were the sort of men who would tell her to be grateful to be admitted at all, then demand she turn in her sword and uniform. So she’d figured it was better to remain, to be passed over, not for mere pay, but for the fact that there were so few other guards like her, helping those who needed it most. It was for them she stayed on, kept her head down while lesser men were appointed. “Ah.” Another beat of quiet from the prince. “I’ve heard they were not so welcoming toward people from other lands.”

“To say the least.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 29)

The huge loss that Nesryn has suffered:

Nesryn said quietly, “My mother died when I was thirteen.” She gazed up at the near-glowing Torre. “The old king … you know what he did to those with magic. To healers gifted with it. So there was no one who could save my mother from the wasting sickness that crept up on her. The healer we managed to find admitted to us that it was likely from a growth inside my mother’s breast. That she might have been able to cure her before magic vanished. Before it was forbidden.”

She had never told anyone outside of her family this story. Wasn’t sure why she was really telling him now, but she went on, “My father wanted to get her on a boat to sail here. Was desperate to. But war had broken out up and down our lands. Ships were conscripted into Adarlan’s service, and she was too sick to risk a land journey all the way down to Eyllwe to try to cross there. My father combed through every map, every trade route. By the time he found a merchant who would sail with them—just the two of them—to Antica … My mother was so sick she could not be moved. She would not have made it here, even if they’d gotten on the boat.” Sartaq watched her, face unreadable, while she spoke.

Nesryn slid her hands into her pockets. “So she stayed. And we were all there when she … when it was over.” That old grief wrapped around her, burning her eyes. “It took me a few years to feel right again,” she said after a moment. “Two years before I started noticing things like the sun on my face, or the taste of food —started enjoying them again. My father … he held us together. My sister and I. If he mourned, he did not let us see it. He filled our house with as much joy as he could.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 13)

...............

Yew, ash … She plucked up one of the yew bows, testing its weight, its flexibility and resistance. A solid, deadly weapon. Yet familiar. As familiar as an old friend. She had not picked up a bow until her mother’s death, and during those initial years of grief and numbness, the physical training, the concentration and strength required, had been a sanctuary, and a reprieve, and forge. She wondered if any of her old tutors had survived the attack on Rifthold. If any of their arrows had brought down wyverns. Or slowed them enough to save lives. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 30)

In Tower of Dawn we are shown what an interesting character Nesryn is, and like every SJM character, she has also experienced trauma and grief.

An excerpt that sums up Nesryn's personality for us:

Last night, talking with him (with Sartaq) at the party, even talking with him in the alley outside the Torre a few nights before that … She had not felt quiet or aloof or strange. She had not felt cold or distant. He’d done her an honor in giving her such attention, and in escorting her and Chaol back to their rooms. She did not mind company—quiet as she could be, she enjoyed being around others. But sometimes… - (Tower of Dawn chapter 24)

Something that fascinates me about Nesryn is her development in the series. In Queen of Shadows (and in the beginning of Tower of Dawn) it is as if she is in a cocoon. Closed off to the world and preventing anyone from seeing the beauty within. Because this is one of the best descriptions for Nesryn Faliq. Hard on the outside and sensitive on the inside.

Wind-seeker, her mother had once called her. Unable to keep still, always wandering where the wind calls you. Where shall it beckon you to journey one day, my rose? - (Tower of Dawn chapter 25)

The Modern Nesryn Faliq

Now, let's talk about her prince: Sartaq

We met him in Tower of Dawn, Sartaq is Khagan's second eldest son and the Commander of his father's ruk riders. The Rukhin.

The northern aerial cavalry of his people had long dwelled in the towering Tavan Mountains with their ruks: enormous birds, eagle-like in shape, large enough to carry off cattle and horses. Without the sheer bulk and destructive weight of the Ironteeth witches’ wyverns, but swift and nimble and clever as foxes. The perfect mounts for the legendary archers who flew them into battle.

Sartaq’s face was solemn, his broad shoulders thrown back. A man perhaps as ill at ease in his fine clothes as Chaol. She wondered if his ruk, Kadara, was perched on one of the palace’s thirty-six minarets, eyeing the cowering servants and guards, waiting impatiently for her master’s return. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 2)

Several excerpts about Sartaq and his personality

She yielded a blink. His brown skin was darker than the others’—perhaps from all that time in the skies and sunlight—his eyes a solid ebony. Depthless and unreadable. His black hair remained unbound save for a small braid that curved over the arch of his ear. The rest of his hair fell to just past his muscled chest, and swayed slightly as he gave what Nesryn could have sworn was a mocking incline of his head. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 2)

...................

“I’ve heard the stories.”

“Even in Adarlan?” He lifted a brow. A warrior and a charmer. A dangerous combination, though she could not recall any mention of a spouse. Indeed, no ring marked his finger.

“Even in Adarlan,” Nesryn said, though she did not mention that the average person on the street might not know such tales. But in her house hold… Oh, yes. The Winged Prince, they called him.

.................

“I was twelve when my father brought us all to the mountain aerie. And when I snuck away and climbed onto the captain’s own ruk, soaring into the skies and requiring them to chase me down … My father told me that if I had splattered on the rocks, I would have deserved to die for my stupidity. As punishment, he ordered me to live amongst the rukhin until I could prove I wasn’t a complete fool—a lifetime, he suggested.”

.................

“Thankfully, I did not die of stupidity, and instead came to love the riding, their lifestyle. They gave me hell because I was a prince, but I proved my mettle soon enough. Kadara hatched when I was fifteen, and I raised her myself. I have had no other mount since.” Pride and affection brightened those onyx eyes. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 6)

..................

“Only Fae blades could remain this sharp after a thousand years,” said Sartaq, setting down the knife he’d been inspecting. “Likely forged by the Fae smiths in Asterion, to the east of Doranelle—perhaps even before the first of the demon wars.”

A prince who had studied not only his own empire’s history, but that of many others. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 33)

....................

Nesryn smiled. Charmer. Beneath that unfailingly sure exterior, Sartaq was certainly a shameless flirt. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 29)

................

Borte had insisted that if she, as Houlun’s heir, was to stay, then Sartaq, as the khagan’s potential successor, should remain as well.

To that, Sartaq had merely stalked off into the interior hallways of Altun, saying that if being his father’s successor meant sitting idly by while others fought for him, then his siblings could have the damn crown. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 41)

In order to understand Sartaq further, it is important to know what situation he was in, more precisely, how the Khaganate works. Is something complicated, because in brief, a Khagan has to kill his siblings and their descendants if they might pose any danger or resistance to the Khagan rule. Example: If a Khagan has three siblings, none of whom have had children, all of whom swear loyalty and submission to him, the Khagan may decide to keep them alive, but the three siblings and their companions will be sterilized. Thus making it impossible for anyone to stand up against Khagan.

Unlike Adarlan or Terrasen, inheritance of the empire was decided by the khagan—not by birth order or gender. Having as many children as possible to provide him or her with a wide pool to choose from made that choice only somewhat easier. And rivalry amongst the royal children… It was practically a blood sport. All designed to prove to their parent who was the strongest, the wisest, the most suited to rule.

The khagan was required by law to have a sealed document locked away in an unmarked, hidden trove—a document that listed his or her Heir, should death sweep upon them before it could be formally announced. It could be altered at any time, but it was designed to avoid the one thing the khaganate had lived in fear of since that first khagan had patched together the kingdoms and territories of this continent: collapse. Not from outside forces, but from war within. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 1)

And Sartaq's opinion about it:

Sartaq shrugged. “Kadara is my family. The rukhin, they are my family. My bloodline, though… It’s hard to love one another, when we will one day contend with each other. Love cannot exist without trust.” He smiled at his ruk. “I trust Kadara with my life. I would die for her, and she for me. Can I say the same of my siblings? My own parents?”

“It’s a shame,” Nesryn admitted. “At least I have her,” he said of the ruk. “And my riders. Pity my siblings, who have none of those blessings.”

He was a good man. The prince… he was a good man. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 24)

In fact, Borte and Houlun are more Sartaq's sister and mother than his blood family. Their relationship is quite beautiful. (Borte and Houlun are Sartaq's hearth-sister and hearth-mother).

The Modern Sartaq

Now, finally, let's talk about the couple!!!!

One of the things that makes me love Nestaq so much is that Sartaq is Nesryn's first and biggest fan. He encourages, supports, and admires his woman without reservation.

Nestaq is made up of a wonderful, independent woman, and a perfect man who is not intimidated by his woman's power and doesn't need to do anything over-the-top to make it clear that he is totally a fan of hers.

And I love the fact that from the beginning it was written in the stars, sea and earth that Nesryn and Sartaq had to be together.

Nestaq Moments:

First flight together in Kadara and, as a bonus, we can see that it was already decided: Nesryn was the perfect woman for Sartaq; she loves the Southern Continent and pay attention to how she describes this flight with the prince. (She will make an amazing Grand Empress, get this).

Nesryn had watched the sunrise from the skies. She’d found Prince Sartaq waiting in his aerie in the hour before dawn. The minaret was open to the elements at its uppermost level, and behind the leather-clad prince … Nesryn had braced a hand on the archway to the stairwell, still breathless from the climb.

Kadara was beautiful. Each of the ruk’s golden feathers shone like burnished metal, the white of her breast bright as fresh snow. And her gold eyes had sized Nesryn up immediately. Before Sartaq even turned from where he’d been buckling on the saddle across her broad back. “Captain Faliq,” the prince had said by way of greeting. “You’re up early.” Casual words for any listening ears. “The storm last night kept me from sleep. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“On the contrary.” In the dim light, his mouth quirked in a smile. “I was about to go for a ride—to let this fat hog hunt for her breakfast for once.” Kadara puffed her feathers in indignation, clicking her enormous beak—fully capable of taking a man’s head off in one snip. No wonder Princess Hasar remained wary of the bird. Sartaq chuckled, patting her feathers. “Care to join?”

.................

“I am not particularly skilled with heights, but it would be my honor, Prince.”

..................

Sartaq had buckled and harnessed them both into the saddle, triple-checking the leather straps. Then he clicked his tongue once, and— Nesryn knew it wasn’t polite to squeeze a prince’s arms so hard the bone was likely to break. But she did so anyway as Kadara spread her shining golden wings and leaped out. Leaped down. Her stomach shot straight up her throat. Her eyes watered and blurred. Wind tore at her, trying to rip her from that saddle, and she clenched with her thighs so tightly they ached, while she gripped Sartaq’s arms, holding the reins, so hard he chuckled in her ear. But the pale buildings of Antica loomed up, near-blue in the early dawn, rushing to meet them as Kadara dove and dove, a star falling from the heavens— Then flared those wings wide and shot upward. Nesryn was glad she had forgone breakfast. For surely it would have come spewing out of her mouth at what the motion did to her stomach.

Within the span of a few beats, Kadara banked right—toward the horizon just turning pink. The sprawl of Antica spread before them, smaller and smaller as they rose into the skies. Until it was no more than a cobblestoned road beneath them, spreading into every direction. Until she could spy the olive groves and wheat fields just outside the city. The country estates and small towns speckled about. The rippling dunes of the northern desert to her left. The sparkling, snaking band of rivers turning golden in the rising sun that crested over the mountains to her right. Sartaq did not speak. Did not point out landmarks. Not even the pale line of the Sister-Road that ran toward the southern horizon. No, in the rising light, he let Kadara have her head. The ruk took them floating higher still, the air turning crisp—the awakening blue sky brightening with each mighty flap of her wings.

Open. So open. Not at all like the endless sea, the tedious waves and cramped ship. This was… this was breath. This was… She could not look fast enough, drink it all in. How small everything was, how lovely and pristine. A land claimed by a conquering nation, yet loved and nurtured. Her land. Her home. (Ana's Note: You're going to be the Grand Empress there, girl, you just don't know it yet😏)

The sun and the scrub and the undulating grasslands that beckoned in the distance. The lush jungles and rice fields to the west; the pale sand dunes of the desert to the northeast. More than she could see in a lifetime—farther than Kadara could fly in a single day. An entire world, this land. The entire world contained here. She could not understand why her father had left. Why he had stayed, when such darkness had crept into Adarlan. Why he had kept them in that festering city where she so rarely looked up at the sky, or felt a breeze that did not reek of the briny Avery or the rubbish rotting in the streets.

“You are quiet,” the prince said, and it was more question than statement. Nesryn admitted in Halha, “I don’t have words to describe it.” She felt Sartaq smile near her shoulder. “That was what I felt—that first ride. And every ride since.”

“I understand why you stayed at the camp those years ago. Why you are eager to return.” A beat of quiet. “Am I so easy to read?”

“How could you not wish to return?”

“Some consider my father’s palace to be the finest in the world.”

“It is.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 12)

This conversation took place during their first flight and I think it was very important for the outcome of the story itself.

“And are you? Willing to hear us out?” Sartaq didn’t answer for a long moment, only the screaming wind filling the quiet. “I would listen. To you and Lord Westfall. I would hear what you know, what has happened to you both. I do not hold as much sway with my father as others, but he knows the ruk riders are loyal to me.”

“I thought—”

“That I was his favorite?” A low, bitter laugh. “I perhaps stand a chance at being named Heir, but the khagan does not select his Heir based on whom he loves best. Even so, that particular honor goes to Duva and Kashin.” Sweet-faced Duva, she could understand, but—“Kashin?”

“He is loyal to my father to a fault. He has never schemed, never backstabbed. I’ve done it—plotted and maneuvered against them all to get what I want. But Kashin... He may command the land armies and the horse-lords, he may be brutal when required, but with my father, he is guileless. There has never been a more loving or loyal son. When our father dies… I worry. What the others will do to Kashin if he does not submit, or worse: what his death will do to Kashin himself.” She dared ask, “What would you do to him?” Destroy him, if he will not swear fealty?

“It remains to be seen what sort of threat or alliance he could pose. Only Duva and Arghun are married, and Arghun has yet to sire offspring. Though Kashin, if he has his way, would likely sweep that young healer off her feet.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 12)

Nesryn agrees to go with Sartaq to the Tavan mountains (where the rukhin live). And anyone who has read Tower of Dawn will remember that the time Nesryn spent with them was very good. I will try to make a compilation of all the times Nesryn felt at home in Eridun.

His face remained neutral, even as he added, “I’m sure your family will have my head for offering, but … would you like to accompany me?” Yes, she wanted to breathe. But she made herself ask, “For how long?” For time was not on her side. Their side. And to hunt for answers while so many threats gathered close… “A few weeks. No more than three. I like to keep the riders in line, and if I go absent for too long, they pull at the leash. So the journey will serve two purposes, I suppose.”

“I—I would need to discuss. With Lord Westfall.” She’d promised him as much last night. That they’d consider this precise path, weighing the pitfalls and benefits. They were still a team in that regard, still served under the same banner. Sartaq nodded solemnly, as if he could read everything on her face. “Of course. Though I leave soon.” She then heard it—the grunt of servants coming up the aerie stairs. Bringing supplies.

“You leave now,” Nesryn clarified as she noted the spear leaning against the far wall near the supply racks. His sulde. The russet horsehair tied beneath the blade drifted in the wind weaving through the aerie, the dark wood shaft polished and smooth. Sartaq’s onyx eyes seemed to darken further as he strode to his sulde, weighing the spirit-banner in his hands before resting it beside him, the wood thunking on the stone floor. “I…” It was the first she’d seen him stumble for words.

“You weren’t going to say good-bye?” She had no right to make such demands, expect such things, tentative allies or no. But Sartaq leaned his sulde against the wall again and began braiding back his black hair. “After last night’s party, I had thought you would be … preoccupied.”

With Chaol. Her brows rose. “All day?” The prince gave her a roguish smile, finishing off his long braid and picking up his spear once more. “I certainly would take all day.”

..............

Sartaq was still watching, his face carefully neutral as the last of the servants bowed and vanished. His sulde had been strapped just below the saddle, within easy reach should the prince need it, its reddish horsehairs trailing in the wind. Trailing southward. Toward that distant, wild land of the Tavan Mountains. Beckoning, as all spirit-banners did, toward an unknown horizon. Beckoning to claim whatever waited there. Nesryn said quietly, “Yes.”

The prince blinked. “I will go with you,” she clarified. A small smile tugged on his mouth. “Good.”

.............

She found Sartaq atop Kadara, waiting for her. The prince extended a callused hand to help her up into the saddle. She didn’t hesitate as she took his hand, his strong fingers wrapping around hers, and let him pull her into the saddle before him. He strapped and buckled them in, checked all of it thrice. But he reined in Kadara when she would have soared out of the minaret. Sartaq whispered in Nesryn’s ear, “I was praying to the Eternal Sky and all thirty-six gods that you’d say yes.” She smiled, even if he couldn’t see it.

“So was I,” Nesryn breathed, and they leaped into the skies. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 24)

OK, I HAVE NO DESCRIPTION FOR THAT MOMENT. “So don’t be surprised if there’s now a story or two about you already finding its way across the world.”

“And what are the tales they tell about you, Nesryn Faliq?” She chewed on the salted pork. “No one has any stories about me.” It didn’t bother her. Fame, notoriety … She valued other things more, she supposed.

“Not even the story about the arrow that saved a shape-shifter’s life? The impossible shot fired from a rooftop?” She snapped her head toward him. Sartaq only swigged from his water with a look that said, I told you my spies were good.

.............

“Neith’s Arrow,” Sartaq said after uncounted minutes, leaning back against the rock. Nesryn dragged her gaze from the stars to find his face limned in moonlight, silver dancing along the pure onyx of his braid. He rested his forearms on his knees. “That’s what my spies called you, what I called you until you arrived. Neith’s Arrow.” The Goddess of Archery—and the Hunt, originally hailing from an ancient sand-swept kingdom to the west, now enfolded into the khaganate’s vast pantheon. A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “So don’t be surprised if there’s now a story or two about you already finding its way across the world.”

Nesryn observed him for a long moment, the howling mountain wind blending with Kadara’s snoring. She’d always excelled at archery, took pride in her unmatched aim, but she had not learned because she coveted renown. She’d done it because she enjoyed it, because it gave her a direction to aim that wind-seeking inclination. And yet …

Sartaq cleared away the last of the food and did a quick check that the campsite was secure before heading off between the boulders himself. With only those foreign stars to witness, Nesryn smiled. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 25)

That conversation...... Without words. Nestaq is the serious couple that knows how to be hilarious.

“Were you ever—”

“It’s not worth talking about.” Not when she could sometimes still feel that rock as it collided with her head, hear the taunts of those children. She swallowed and added, “Your Highness.” A low laugh. “So my title makes an appearance again.” But he didn’t press further. He only said, “I’m going to beg you not to call me Prince or Your Highness around the other riders.”

“You’re going to beg me, or you are?” His arms tightened around her in mock warning. “It took me years to get them to stop asking if I needed my silk slippers or servants to brush my hair.” Nesryn chuckled. “Amongst them, I am simply Sartaq.” He added, “Or Captain.”

“Captain?”

“Another thing you and I have in common, it seems.” Shameless flirt indeed. “But you rule all six ruk clans. They answer to you.”

“They do, and when we all gather, I am Prince. But amongst my family’s own clan, the Eridun, I captain their forces. And obey the word of my hearth-mother.” He squeezed her again for emphasis. “Which I’d advise you doing as well, if you don’t want to be stripped and tied to a cliff face in the middle of a storm.”

“Holy gods.”

“Indeed.”

“Did she—”

“Yes. And as you said, it’s not worth talking about.” But Nesryn chuckled again, surprised to find her face aching from smiling so often these past few minutes. “I appreciate the warning, Captain.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 29)

"Emissary or bride?" “Sartaq never brings such pretty ladies home—from Adarlan or Antica. Be careful walking around the cliff edges, Captain Faliq, or some of the girls here might give you a shove.” Borte, you are of my clan, girl.

A faint gleam of approval entered Borte’s dark eyes just before the girl jerked her chin toward Nesryn. “A Balruhni woman in the leathers of a rukhin. Now, there’s a sight.” Sartaq didn’t answer. He only glanced in Nesryn’s direction. An invitation. And challenge. So Nesryn slipped her hands into the pockets of her close-fitting pants and sauntered to the prince’s side. “Will it be improved if I tell you I caught Sartaq filing his nails this morning?”

Borte stared at Nesryn, blinking once. Then she tipped back her head and howled. Sartaq threw an approving yet beleaguered glance in Nesryn’s direction before saying, “Meet my hearth-sister, Borte. Granddaughter and heir of my hearth-mother, Houlun.” He reached between them to tug one of Borte’s braids. She batted his hand away. “Borte, meet Captain Nesryn Faliq.” He paused for a breath, then added, “Of the Royal Guard of Adarlan.” Silence. Borte’s arched dark brows rose. An aging man in rukhin leathers pressed forward. “But what is more unusual: that a Balruhni woman is their captain, or that a captain of Adarlan has ventured so far?” Borte waved the man off. “Always the idle chatter and questions with you,” she scolded him. And to Nesryn’s shock, the man winced and shut his mouth. “The real question is...” A sly grin at Sartaq. “Does she come as emissary or bride?” Any attempt at a steady, cool, calm appearance vanished as Nesryn gaped at the girl. Right as Sartaq snapped, “Borte.”

Borte gave a downright wicked grin. “Sartaq never brings such pretty ladies home—from Adarlan or Antica. Be careful walking around the cliff edges, Captain Faliq, or some of the girls here might give you a shove.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 29)

I didn't know whether to smile or scream.

Sartaq’s smile grew. “Perhaps we could also do a bit of archery practice.” He looked her over with a frankness that made her shift in her seat. “I’m certainly keen to match myself against Neith’s Arrow, and I’m sure the young warriors are, too.” Nesryn pushed back her own plate, brows lifting. “They’ve heard of me?” Sartaq grinned. “I might have told a story or two the last time I came here. Why do you think there were so many people gathered when we arrived? They certainly don’t usually bother to drag themselves here to see me.” “But Borte seemed like she’d never—”

“Does Borte seem like a person who gives anyone an easy time?” Something deeper in her warmed. “No. But how could they have known I was coming?” His answering grin was the portrait of princely arrogance. “Because I sent word a day before that you were likely to join me.” Nesryn gaped at him, unable to maintain that mask of calm. Rising, Sartaq scooped up their plates. “I told you that I was praying you’d join me, Nesryn Faliq. If I’d shown up empty-handed, Borte would have never let me hear the end of it.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 29)

"They didn’t mention that you’re beautiful." huh huh!!

“Pick a mark,” Nesryn told Borte. The woman smirked. “Neck, heart, head.” She pointed to each of the three dummies, a different mark for each one. Wind rattled them, the aim and strength needed to hit each utterly different. Borte knew it—all the warriors here did. Nesryn lifted an arm behind her head, dragging her fingers along the fletching, the feathers rippling against her skin as she scanned the three targets. Listened to the murmur of the winds racing past Rokhal, that wild summons she heard echoed in her own heart. Wind-seeker, her mother had called her. One after another, Nesryn withdrew an arrow and fired.

Again, and again, and again.

And when she finished, only the howling wind answered—the wind of Torke, the Roarer. Every training ring had stopped. Staring at what she’d done. Instead of three arrows distributed amongst the three dummies, she’d fired nine. Three rows of perfectly aligned shots on each: heart, neck, and head. Not an inch of difference. Even with the singing winds. Sartaq was grinning when she turned to him, his long braid drifting behind him, as if it were a sulde itself. But Borte elbowed past him, and breathed to Nesryn, “Show me.”

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But then Sartaq said, “You’re a good teacher.”

“Thank you.” It was all she could think to say. He’d kept close to her side while she walked the others through her various positions and techniques, but had said little. A leader who did not need to constantly be filling the air with talking and boasting. He blew out a breath, shoulders loosening. “And I’m relieved to see that the reality lives up to the legend.” Nesryn chuckled, grateful to be back on safer ground. “You had doubts?” They reached the landing that would take them to the great hall. Sartaq let her fall into step beside him. “The reports left out some key information. It made me doubt their accuracy.” It was the sly gleam in his eye that made Nesryn angle her head. “What, exactly, did they fail to mention?” They reached the great hall, empty save for a cloaked figure just barely visible on the other side of the fire pit—and someone sitting beside her.

But Sartaq turned to her, examining her from head to toe and back again. There was little that he missed. “They didn’t mention that you’re beautiful.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 30)

Nesryn saving Sartaq's life.

“Don’t.” He gave her an incredulous look over his shoulder. Nesryn kept her own face like stone. “Your ej said these towers were laid with traps. Just because we have yet to see one does not mean they are not still here.” She pointed with her arrow toward the open archway to the levels belowground. “We keep quiet, tread carefully. I go first.” To hell with being the rearguard, if he was prone to plunging into danger. The prince’s eyes flared, but she didn’t let him object. “I faced some of the horrors of Morath this spring and summer. I know how to mark them—and where to strike.” Sartaq looked her over again. “You really should have been promoted.” Nesryn smiled, releasing his muscled bicep. Wincing as she realized the liberties she’d taken by grabbing him, touching a prince without permission—

“Two captains, remember?” he said, noting the cringe she failed to hide. Indeed. Nesryn inclined her head and stepped in front of him—and into the archway of the stairs leading below. Her arm strained as she pulled the bowstring taut, scanning the darkness immediately beyond the stairwell entrance. When nothing leaped out, she slackened the bow, placed her arrow back in the quiver, and plucked up a handful of rocks from the ground, shards and chips from the felled blocks of stone around them. A step behind, Sartaq did the same, filling his pockets with them. Listening carefully, Nesryn rolled one of the rocks down the spiral stairs, letting it bounce and crack and— A faint click, and Nesryn hurled herself back, slamming into Sartaq and sending them both sprawling to the ground. A thud sounded within the stairwell below, then another. In the quiet that followed, her heavy breathing the only sound, she listened again. “Hidden bolts,” she observed, wincing as she found Sartaq’s face mere inches away. His eyes were upon the stairwell, even as he kept a hand on her back, the other angling his long knife toward the archway.

“Seems I owe you my life, Captain,” Sartaq said, and Nesryn quickly peeled back, offering a hand to help him rise. He clasped it, his hand warm around hers as she hauled him to his feet. “Don’t worry,” Nesryn said drily. “I won’t tell Borte.” She plucked up another handful of rocks and sent them rolling and scattering down the gloom of the stairs. A few more clicks and thumps—then silence. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 33)

Sartaq saving Nesryn's life.

Click. Nesryn was so focused on the wall ahead that she didn’t consider where the click had come from. Not in front, but below. One heartbeat, she was crouched on a step. The next, it had slid away beneath her feet, a black pit yawning open beneath— Strong hands wrapped around her shoulder, her collar, a blade clattering on stone— Nesryn scrabbled for the lip of the nearest stair as Sartaq held her, grunting at her weight, his long knife tumbling into the blackness beneath. Metal hit metal. Bounced off it again and again, the clanking filling the stairwell. Spikes. Likely a field of metal spikes—

Sartaq hauled her up, and her nails cracked on stone as she grappled for purchase on the smooth step. But then she was up, half sprawled on the stairs between Sartaq’s legs, both of them panting as they peered to the gap beyond. “I think we’re even,” Nesryn said, fighting and failing to master her shaking. The prince clasped her shoulder, while his other hand brushed down the back of her head. A comforting, casual touch. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 33)

We know who's in command in the relationship

Nesryn caught him before he could eat dirt, and snapped at Sartaq, “If you don’t get him bandages and supplies right now, I’ll give you a wound to match.” The prince blinked at her, mouth falling open. Then he whistled through his teeth, sharp and swift, while he strode for Kadara, his steps clipped. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 35)

This is more how Nesryn felt among the rukhin than a Nestaq moment. I'm going to kind of open a giant parenthesis to leave this here.

She’d never seen anything so great and unforgiving, so vast and beautiful. And even though she was as insignificant as a mayfly compared with the size of the mountains around them, some piece of her felt keenly a part of it, born from it. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 30)

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It was the warm welcome that still surprised her. The smiles of the rukhin who asked, some shyly, some boldly, for demonstrations with her bow and arrow. But for all she showed them, she, too, learned. Went soaring with Sartaq through the mountain passes, the prince calling out targets and Nesryn striking them, learning how to fire into the wind, as the wind. He even let her ride Kadara alone—just once, and enough for her to again wonder how they let four-year-olds do it, but … she’d never felt so unleashed. So unburdened and unbridled and yet settled in herself.

So they went, clan to clan, hearth to hearth. Sartaq checking up on the riders and their training, stopping to visit new babes and ailing old folk. Nesryn remained his shadow—or tried to. Anytime she lingered a step back, Sartaq nudged her forward. Anytime there was a task to be done with the others, he asked her to do it. The washing-up after a meal, the returning of arrows from target practice, the cleaning-out of the ruk droppings from halls and nests. The last task, at least, the prince joined her in. No matter his rank, no matter his status as captain, he did every chore without a word of complaint. No one was above work, he told her when she’d asked one night. And whether she was scraping crusted droppings from the ground or teaching young warriors how to string a bow, something restless in her had settled.

She could no longer picture it—the quiet meetings at the palace in Rifthold where she had given solemn guards their orders and then parted ways amongst marble floors and finery. Could not remember the city barracks, where she’d lurked in the back of a crowded room, gotten her orders, and then stood on a street corner for hours, watching people buy and eat and argue and walk about. Another lifetime, another world. Here in the deep mountains, breathing in the crisp air, seated around the fire pit to hear Houlun narrate tales of rukhin and the horse-lords, tales of the first khagan and his beloved wife, whom Borte had been named after… She could not remember that life before. And did not want to go back to it. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 37)

“Another tale to spread of Neith’s Arrow.” I didn't cry here. And beautiful, smart, excellent archer, and sings well. Nesryn Faliq, the complete package.

“But I can sing for you.” Silence. Houlun set down her whetstone. “A song would be appreciated.” A scowl at Borte and Sartaq. “Since neither of my children can carry a tune to save their lives.” Borte rolled her eyes at her hearth-mother, but Sartaq bowed his head in apology, a crooked grin now on his mouth. Nesryn smiled, even as her heart pounded at her bold offer. She’d never really performed for anyone, but this … It was not performing, as much as it was sharing. She listened to the wind whispering outside the cave mouth for a long moment, the others falling quiet.

“This is a song of Adarlan,” she said at last. “From the foothills north of Rifthold, where my mother was born.” An old, familiar ache filled her chest. “She used to sing this to me—before she died.” A glimmer of sympathy in Houlun’s steely gaze. But Nesryn glanced to Borte as she spoke, finding the young woman’s face unusually soft—staring at Nesryn as if she had not seen her before. Nesryn gave her a small, subtle nod. It is a weight we both bear. Borte offered a small, quiet smile in return. Nesryn listened to the wind again. Let herself drift back to her pretty little bedroom in Rifthold, let herself feel her mother’s silken hands stroking her face, her hair. She had been so taken with her father’s stories of his far-off homeland, of the ruks and horse-lords, that she had rarely asked for anything about Adarlan itself, despite being a child of both lands.

And this song of her mother’s … One of the few stories she had, in the form she loved best. Of her homeland in better days. And she wanted to share it with them—that glimpse into what her land might again become. Nesryn cleared her throat. Took a bracing breath. And then she opened her mouth and sang. The crackle of the fire her only drum, Nesryn’s voice filled the Mountain-Hall of Altun, wending through the ancient pillars, bouncing off the carved rock. She had the sense of Sartaq going very still, had the sense that there was nothing hard or laughing on his face. But she focused on the song, on those long-ago words, that story of distant winters and speckles of blood on snow; that story of mothers and their daughters, how they loved and fought and tended to each other.

Her voice soared and fell, bold and graceful as a ruk, and Nesryn could have sworn that even the howling winds paused to listen. And when she finished, a gilded, high note of the spring sun breaking across cold lands, when silence and the crackling fire filled the world once more… Borte was crying. Silent tears streaming down her pretty face. Houlun’s hand was tightly wrapped around her granddaughter’s, the whetstone set aside. A wound still healing—for both of them.

And perhaps Sartaq, too—for grief limned his face. Grief, and awe, and perhaps something infinitely more tender as he said, “Another tale to spread of Neith’s Arrow.”

She ducked her head again, accepting the praise of the others with a smile. Falkan clapped as best he could manage and called for another song. Nesryn, to her surprise, obliged them. A merry, bright mountain song her father had taught her, of rushing streams amid blooming fields of wildflowers. But even as the night moved on, as Nesryn sang in that beautiful mountain-hall, she felt Sartaq’s stare. Different from any he’d given before. And though she told herself she should, Nesryn did not look away. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 37)

I can't be the only person who is passionate about the conversations Nestaq has in the sky.

Nesryn chewed her lip. “Why—why is it that you haven’t married?” She’d never had the nerve to ask. Though she’d certainly found herself wondering it during these weeks. Sartaq’s hands flexed on the reins before he answered. “I’ve been too busy. And the women who have been presented as potential brides… They were not for me.”She had no right to pry, but she asked, “Why?” (Ana's Note: because them were not you, duh.)

“Because whenever I showed them Kadara, they either cowered, or pretended to be interested in her, or asked just how much time I’d be spending away.”

“Hoping for frequent absences, or because they’d miss you?” Sartaq chuckled. “I couldn’t tell. The question itself felt like enough of a leash that I knew they were not for me.”

“So your father allows you to wed where you will?” Dangerous, strange territory. She waited for him to tease her about it, but Sartaq fell quiet. “Yes. Even Duva’s arranged marriage … She was all for it. Said she didn’t want to have to sort through a court of snakes to find one good man and still pray he hadn’t deceived her. I wonder if there’s something to be said for it. She lucked out, anyway—quiet as he is, her husband adores her. I saw his face the moment they met. Saw hers, too. Relief, and … something more.” And what would become of them—of their child—if another Heir were chosen for the throne? Nesryn asked carefully, “Why not end this tradition of competing with each other?” Sartaq was silent for a long minute. “Perhaps one day, whoever takes the throne will end it. Love their siblings more than they honor the tradition. I like to believe we have moved past who we were centuries ago—when the empire was still fledgling. But perhaps now, these years of relative peace, perhaps this is the dangerous time.” He shrugged, his body shifting against hers. “Perhaps war will sort the matter of succession for us.” And maybe it was because they were so high above the world, because that dim land swept ever closer, but Nesryn asked, “There is nothing that would keep you from war if it called, then?”

“You sound as if you are reconsidering this goal of yours to drag us into the north.” She stiffened. “I will admit that these weeks here … It was easier before to ask for your aid. When the rukhin were a nameless, faceless legion. When I did not know their names, their families. When I did not know Houlun, or Borte. Or that Borte is betrothed.” A low laugh at that. Borte had refused—outright refused—to answer Nesryn’s questions about Yeran. She said it wasn’t even worth talking about. “I’m sure Borte would be glad to go to war, if only to compete with Yeran for glory on the battlefield.”

“A true love match, then.” Sartaq smiled at her ear. “You have no idea.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 41)

It was all too intense here, damn spiders, Kadara hurt, Nesryn and Sartaq almost dying, the confession... And no, I didn't cry. Again. You realize how important Kadara is to the Sartaq.

Sartaq pivoted them, his body a solid wall around hers as Nesryn realized where the sky was, where the pass floor was— He roared as they struck the shale, as he kept her atop him, taking the full brunt of the impact.

.................

“Not broken,” he rasped. “Not broken.” It was more to himself than her. But Nesryn managed to keep her fingers steady as she freed the buckles. The thick riding leathers had saved his life, saved his skin from being flayed off his bones. He’d taken the impact for her, moved her so that he’d hit it first— She clawed at the shale covering his shoulders and his upper arms, sharp rock cutting into her fingers. The leather strap at the end of her braid had come free in the impact, and her hair now fell about her face, half blocking her view of the forest behind and rock around them. “Get up,” she panted. “Get up.” He took a breath, blinking furiously. “Get up,” she begged him. Shale shifted ahead, and a low, pained cry echoed off the rock. Sartaq snapped upright. “Kadara—”

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The mighty ruk tried and failed to rise. “FLY,” Sartaq bellowed. Slowly, so slowly the ruk lumbered to her legs, her scraped beak dragging through the loose rock. She wasn’t going to make it. Wasn’t going to get airborne in time. For just beyond the web-shrouded tree line… Shadows writhed. Scuttled closer. Nesryn sheathed her sword and drew her bow, arrow shaking as she aimed it toward the rock the hatchling had been hauled behind, then the trees a hundred yards off.

“Go, Kadara,” Sartaq begged. “Get up!” The bird was barely in shape to fly, let alone carry riders— Rock clacked and skittered behind her. From the labyrinth of rock within the pass. Trapped. They were trapped— Falkan shifted in her pocket, trying to wriggle free. Nesryn covered him with her forearm, pressing hard. “Not yet,” she breathed. “Not yet.” His powers were not Lysandra’s. He had tried and failed to shift into a ruk this week. But the large wolf was as big as he could manage. Anything larger was beyond his magic.

“Kadara—” The first of the spiders broke from the tree line. As black and sleek as her fallen sister. Nesryn let her arrow fly. The spider fell back, screaming—an unholy sound that shook the rocks as that arrow sank into an eye. Nesryn instantly had another arrow drawn, backing toward Kadara, who was just now beginning to flap her wings— The ruk stumbled. Sartaq screamed, “FLY!”

Wind stirred Nesryn’s hair, sending shards of shale skittering. The ground rumbled behind, but Nesryn did not dare take her eyes off the second spider that emerged from the trees. She fired again, the song of her arrow drowned out by the flap of Kadara’s wings. A heavy, pained beat, but it held steady— Nesryn glanced behind for a breath. Just one, just to see Kadara bobbing and waving, fighting for every wing beat upward through the narrow pass, blood and shale dripping from her. Right as a kharankui emerged from one of the shadows of the rocks high up the peak, legs bending as if it would leap upon the ruk’s back— Nesryn fired, a second arrow on its tail. Sartaq’s. Both found their marks. One through an eye, the other through the open mouth of the spider. It shrieked, tumbling down from its perch. Kadara swung wide to dodge it, narrowly avoiding the jagged face of the peak. The spider’s splat thudded through the maze of rock ahead. But then Kadara was up, into the gray sky, flapping like hell. Sartaq whirled toward Nesryn just as she looked back at the pine forest. To where half a dozen kharankui now emerged, hissing. Blood coated the prince, his every breath ragged, but he managed to grab Nesryn’s arm and breathe, “Run.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 42)

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Nesryn just pushed onward, the pass becoming a fraction wider, counting her breaths. They were likely some of her last— Thinking that way helped no one and nothing. She’d stared down death this summer, when that wave of glass had come crashing toward her. Had stared it down, and been saved. Perhaps she would be lucky again, too. Sartaq stumbled out behind her, breathing hard. Water. They desperately needed water—and bandages for his wounds. If the spiders did not find them, then the lack of water in the arid pass might very well kill them first. Long before any help arrived from the Eridun rukhin. Nesryn forced one step in front of another, the path narrowing again, the rock as tight as a vise. She twisted sideways, edging through, her swords scraping. Sartaq grunted, then let out a pained curse. “I’m stuck.”

She found him indeed wedged behind her, the bulk of his broad chest and shoulders pinned. He shoved himself forward, blood leaking from his wounds as he pushed and pulled. “Stop,” she ordered. “Stop—wriggle back out if you can.” There was no other way through and nothing to climb over, but if they removed his weapons— His dark eyes met hers. She saw the words forming. You keep going.

“Sartaq,” she breathed. They heard it then. Claws clicking on stone. Skittering along. Many of them. Too many. Coming from behind, closing in. Nesryn grabbed the prince’s hand, tugging. “Push,” she panted. “Push.” He grunted in pain, the veins in his neck bulging as he tried to squeeze through, his boots scraping on the loose rock— Nesryn dug her own feet in, gritting her teeth as she hauled him forward. Click, click, click—

“Harder,” she gasped. Sartaq angled his head, shoving against the rock that held him.

“What a fine morsel, our guest,” hissed a soft female voice. “So large he cannot even fit through the passage. How we shall feast.” Nesryn heaved and heaved, her grip treacherously slippery with sweat and blood from both of them, but she clamped onto his wrist hard enough that she felt bones shift beneath—

“Go,” he whispered, straining to push through. “You run.” Falkan was shifting in her pocket, trying to emerge. But with the rock pressing on her chest, the passage was too tight for even him to poke out his head—

“A pretty pair,” that female continued. “How her hair shines like a moonless night. We shall take you both back to our home, our honored guests.” A sob clawed its way up Nesryn’s throat. “Please,” she begged, scanning the rock high above them, the lip into the upper reaches of the narrow pass, the curving horns of the peaks, tugging and tugging on Sartaq’s arm. “Please,” she begged them, begged anyone.

But Sartaq’s face went calm. So calm. He stopped pushing, stopped trying to haul himself forward. Nesryn shook her head, pulling on his arm. He did not move. Not an inch. His dark eyes met hers. There was no fear in them. Sartaq said to her, clear and steady, “I heard the spies’ stories of you. The fearless Balruhni woman in Adarlan’s empire. Neith’s Arrow. And I knew…” Nesryn sobbed, tugging and tugging. (Ana's Note: here I was almost creating a new ocean with so many tears)

Sartaq smiled at her—gently. Sweetly. In a way she had not yet seen. “I loved you before I ever set eyes on you,” he said. “Please,” Nesryn wept. Sartaq’s hand tightened on hers. “I wish we’d had time.” A hiss behind him, a rising bulk of shining black— Then the prince was gone. Ripped from her hands.

As if he had never been. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 47)

Coming out of hell at last.

Another cry split the night, one she’d learned as well as her own voice. And there was Kadara, sailing hard for them, two other ruks in her wake. Sartaq let out what might have been a sob as one of the other ruks broke away, diving to where Borte swept and lunged and shattered through the kharankui ranks.

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Borte was not done. A light sparked atop her ruk. A flaming arrow. Borte fired it high into the sky. A signal, Nesryn realized as countless wings filled the air around them. And as Borte’s arrow landed atop a web, flame erupting, hundreds of lights kindled in the sky. Ruk riders. Each bearing a flaming arrow. Each now pointing downward. Like a rain of shooting stars, the arrows fell upon the darkness of Dagul. Landed on web and tree. And caught fire. One after another after another.

Until the night was lit up, until smoke streamed, mingling with the rising screams from the peaks and wood. The ruks veered northward, Nesryn shaking as she clung to the talons holding her. Across the way, Sartaq met her gaze, his now-shoulder-length hair rippling in the wind. With the flames below, it made the wounds to his face, his hands, his neck all the more gruesome. His skin was wan, his lips pale, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and relief. And yet…

Sartaq smiled, barely a curve of his mouth. The words the prince had confessed drifted on the wind between them. She could not take her eyes from him. Could not look away. So Nesryn smiled back.

And below and behind them, long into the night, the Dagul Fells burned. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 51)

She loves him, yes. No one can tell me otherwise. Look at this relationship. Look how they interact. Only one thing: perfection.

When Nesryn faced Sartaq, it was in time to see him sway. She lunged, her aching body protesting as she caught the prince around the middle. Someone shouted for a healer, but Sartaq got his legs beneath him, even as he kept his arms about her. Nesryn found herself disinclined to remove her own arms from his waist. Sartaq stared down at her, that soft, sweet smile on his mouth again. “You saved me.”

“It seemed a sorry end for the tales of the Winged Prince,” she replied, frowning at the gash in his leg. “You should be sitting—” Across the hall, light flashed, people cried out… and then the spider was gone. Replaced by a man, covered in slashing cuts and blood. When Nesryn looked back, Sartaq’s gaze was on her face. Her throat closed up, her mouth pressing into a trembling line as she realized that they were here. They were here, and alive, and she had never known such true terror and despair as she had in those moments when he had been hauled away.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his mouth over the tears that escaped. He said against her skin, “Whatever would they say about Neith’s Arrow then?” Nesryn laughed despite herself, despite what had happened, and wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she dared, resting her head against his chest. Sartaq just wordlessly stroked her hair and held her right back.

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Nesryn had slept the entirety of the day before. Not in her room, but curled in bed beside the prince now standing with her before the assembled group. They had both been patched up and bathed, and though Sartaq had not so much as kissed her… Nesryn had not objected when he led her by the hand and limped into his bedroom. So they had slept. And when they had awoken, when their wounds had been rebandaged, they’d emerged to find the hall full of riders. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 57)

In this scene, I really see them as the future Khagan and future Grand Empress. And together, leading, the two do not complete each other, they overflow each other.

All eyes shifted between them, some warm and welcoming, some worried, some hard. Sartaq said to the group gathered, “The kharankui have stirred again.” Murmurs and shifting rustled through the hall. “And though the threat was dealt with bravely and fiercely by the Berlad clan, the spiders will likely return again. They have heard a dark call through the world. And they are poised to answer it.” Nesryn stepped forward. Lifted her chin. And though the words filled her with dread, speaking them here felt as natural as breathing. “We learned many things in the Pass of Dagul,” Nesryn said, voice ringing out across the pillars and stones of the hall. “Things that will change the war in the north. And change this world.” Every eye was on her now. Houlun nodded from her spot near Borte, who smiled in encouragement. Yeran sat nearby, half watching his betrothed. Sartaq’s fingers brushed hers. Once—in urging. And promise.

“We do not face an army of men in the northern continent,” Nesryn went on. “But of demons. And if we do not rise to meet this threat, if we do not rise to meet it as one people, of all lands… Then we will find our doom instead.” So she told them. The full history. Of Erawan. And Maeve. She did not mention the quest for the keys, but by the time she was done, the hall was astir as clans whispered to one another.

“I leave this choice to you,” Sartaq said, voice unfaltering. “The horrors in the Dagul Fells are only the start. I will pass no judgment, should you choose to remain. But all who fly with me, we soar under the khagan’s banner. We shall leave you to debate amongst yourselves.” And with that, taking Nesryn by the hand, Sartaq led her from the hall, Falkan falling into step behind them. Borte and Houlun remained, as heads of the Eridun clan. Nesryn knew how they would side, that they would fly north, but the others… - (Tower of Dawn chapter 57)

Back to Antica. Finally, Nesryn and Chaol are resolved. The Rukhin ready to go to war. Sartaq ready to marry.

“I know,” Sartaq said quietly. The prince turned to Nesryn, and as she held his stare … Chaol saw it. The glimmer between them. A bond, new and trembling. But there it was, right along with the cuts and wounds they both bore. “I know,” Sartaq said again, his fingers brushing Nesryn’s.

Nesryn met Chaol’s eyes then. She smiled softly at him, glancing to where Yrene now asked Hafiza about whether she could stand. He’d never seen Nesryn appear so … settled. So quietly happy. Chaol swallowed. I’m sorry, he said silently. Nesryn shook her head as Sartaq scooped his sister into his arms with a grunt, the prince balancing his weight on his good leg. I think I did just fine.

Chaol smiled. Then I am happy for you.

................

Nesryn wiped away her tears as Chaol closed the distance between them and embraced her tightly. “Thank you,” he said in Nesryn’s ear. She squeezed him back. “Thank you—for bringing me here. To all of this.” To the prince who now looked at Nesryn with a quiet, burning sort of emotion. She added, “We have many things to tell you.” Chaol nodded. “And we you.”

They pulled apart, and Yrene approached—throwing her arms around Nesryn as well. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 64)

And honestly, I love the fact that Nesryn and Yrene get along. There are people who wanted the two to hate each other and I'm like: people, why?

This is not a Nestaq moment either, it is a point about Nesryn and Salkhi, which in a way, Sartaq was the one who gave it a little push to happen.

“That one over there,” the prince said at last, pointing to a reddish-brown ruk sitting by the opposite wall. She’d seen the ruk often—mostly noting that he was alone, never visited by a rider, unlike some of the others. “His rider died a few months back. Clutched at his chest in a meal and died. The rider was old, but the ruk …” Sartaq smiled sadly at the bird. “He’s young—not yet four.”

“What happens to the ones whose riders die?”

“We offer them freedom. Some fly off to the wilds. Some remain.” Sartaq crossed his arms. “He remained.”

“Do they ever get new riders?”

“Some do. If they accept them. It is the ruk’s choice.” Nesryn heard the invitation in his voice. Read it in the prince’s eyes. Her throat tightened. “Our three weeks are up.”

“Indeed they are.” She faced the prince fully, tilting her head back to see his face. “We need more time.”

“So what did you say?”A simple question. But she’d taken hours to figure out how to word her letter to Chaol, then given it to Sartaq’s fastest messenger. “I asked for another three weeks.” He angled his head, watching her with that unrelenting intensity. “A great deal can happen in three weeks.” Nesryn made herself keep her shoulders squared, chin high. “Even so, at the end of it, I must return to Antica.” Sartaq nodded, though something like disappointment guttered his eyes. “Then I suppose the ruk in the aerie will have to wait for another rider to come along.” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 37)

......................

Nesryn murmured to the bird, guiding him toward the Runni Quarter while they flew on a salt-kissed breeze as fast as his wings could carry them. She had claimed him upon leaving the Eridun aerie.

Had gone right to the nests, where he had still waited for a rider who would never return, and looked deep into his golden eyes. Had told him that her name was Nesryn Faliq, and she was daughter of Sayed and Cybele Faliq, and that she would be his rider, if he would have her. She wondered if the ruk, whose late rider had called him Salkhi, had known the burning in her eyes had not been from the roaring wind as he’d bowed his head to her. Then she’d flown him, Salkhi keeping pace with Kadara at the head of the host as the rukhin sailed northward. Raced to Antica. - (Tower of Dawn chapter 66)

I SIMPLY HAVE NO WORDS. I am completely in love with the Sartaq (with all due respect, Nesryn). And guys, here's a big Appreciation to Nesryn's family too. I love them. Her father, her sister, her nephews and nieces, her uncle and aunt, her cousins....... What a people..... They are one of the funniest families I have ever seen in my life.

How Sartaq found her two hours later, Nesryn didn’t know. Though she supposed a ruk sitting in the street of a fancy quarter of Antica was sure to cause a stir. And be easy to spot. She had wept and laughed and held her family for untold minutes, right in the middle of the street, Salkhi looking on. And when her uncle and aunt had called them in to at least cry over a good cup of tea, her family had told her of their adventures. The wild seas they had sailed, the enemies their ship had dodged on their voyage here. But they had made it—and here they would stay while the war raged, her father said, to the nods of her uncle and aunt. When she emerged from the house gates at last, her father claiming the honor of escorting Nesryn to Salkhi—after he’d shooed off her sister to go manage that circus of children—Nesryn had halted so quickly her father had nearly slammed into her.

Because standing beside Salkhi was Sartaq, a half smile on his face. And on the other side of Salkhi… Kadara patiently waited, the two ruks a proud pair indeed. Her father’s eyes widened, as if recognizing the ruk before the prince. But then her father bowed. Deeply. Nesryn had told her family—in moderate detail—what had befallen her amongst the rukhin. Her sister and aunt had glared at her when the various children began to declare that they, too, would be ruk riders. And then took off through the house, shrieking and flapping their arms, leaping off furniture with wild abandon.

She expected Sartaq to wait to be approached, but the prince spotted her father and strode forward. Then reached out and clasped his hand. “I heard Captain Faliq’s family had at last arrived safely,” Sartaq said by way of greeting. “I thought I’d come to welcome you myself.” (Ana's Note: meeting his father-in-law 😏😌)

Something swelled in her chest to the point of pain as Sartaq inclined his head to her father. Sayed Faliq looked like he might very well keel over dead, either from the gesture of respect or Kadara’s mere presence behind them. Indeed, several small heads now popped behind his legs, scanning the prince, then the ruks, and then—

“KADARA!”

Her aunt and uncle’s youngest child—no more than four—screamed the ruk’s name loud enough that anyone in the city who didn’t know the bird was on this street was now well aware. Sartaq laughed as the children shoved past Nesryn’s father, racing for the golden bird. Her sister was on their heels, warning springing from her lips— Until Kadara lowered herself to the ground, Salkhi following suit. The children halted, reverence stealing over them as they reached out tentative hands toward the two ruks and stroked them gently. Nesryn’s sister sighed with relief. Then realized who stood before Nesryn and their father. Delara went red. She patted her dress, as if it would somehow cover the fresh food stains courtesy of her youngest. Then she slowly backed into the house, bowing as she went.

Sartaq laughed as she vanished—but not before Delara gave Nesryn a sharp look that said, Oh, you are so smitten it’s not even a laughing matter.

Nesryn gave her sister a vulgar gesture behind her back that their father chose not to see. Her father was saying to Sartaq, “I apologize if my grandchildren, nieces, and nephews take some liberties with your ruk, Prince.” But Sartaq smiled broadly—a brighter grin than any she’d seen him give before. “Kadara pretends to be a noble mount, but she’s more of a mother hen than anything.” Kadara puffed her feathers, earning squeals of delight from the children. Nesryn’s father squeezed her shoulder before he said to the prince, “I think I’ll go keep them from trying to fly off on her.”

And then they were alone. In the street. Outside her uncle’s house. All of Antica now gawking at them. Sartaq did not seem to notice. Certainly not as he said, “Walk with me?” - (Tower of Dawn chapter 66)

The end is only the beginning. One of my favorite scenes, I literally screamed with happiness.

They headed toward the quiet, clean alley behind her uncle’s house, walking in silence for a few steps. Until Sartaq said, “I spoke to my father.” And she wondered, then, if this meeting was not to be a good one. If the army they had brought was to be ordered back to its aeries. Or if the prince, the life she saw for herself in those beautiful mountains… if perhaps the reality of that, too, had found them. For he was a prince. And for all that she loved her family, for all that they made her so proud, there was not one noble drop of blood in their lineage. Her father shaking Sartaq’s hand was the closest any Faliq had ever come to royalty. Nesryn managed to say, “Oh?”

“We… discussed things.” Her chest sank at the careful words. “I see.”

Sartaq stopped, the sandy alley humming with the buzzing bees in the jasmine that climbed the walls of the bordering courtyards. The one behind them: the back, private courtyard belonging to her family. She wished she could slither over the wall and hide within. Rather than hear this. But Nesryn made herself meet the prince’s eyes. Saw him scanning her face.

“I told him,” Sartaq said at last, “that I planned to lead the rukhin against Erawan, with or without his consent.” Worse. This was getting worse and worse. She wished his face weren’t so damn unreadable. Sartaq took a breath. “He asked me why.”

“I hope you told him that the fate of the world might depend upon it.”

Sartaq chuckled. “I did. But I also told him that the woman I love now plans to head into war. And I intend to follow her.” (Ana's Note: SARTAQ, YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH YOU TOUCH MY HEART, WHAT A MAN)

She didn’t let the words sink in. Didn’t let herself believe any of it, until he’d finished. “He told me that you are common-born. That a would-be Heir of the khagan needs to wed a princess, or a lady, or someone with lands and alliances to offer.” Her throat closed up. She tried to shut out the sound, the words. Didn’t want to hear the rest.

But Sartaq took her hand. “I told him if that was what it took to be chosen as Heir, I didn’t want it. And I walked out.” (Ana's Note: oh my Holy God)

Nesryn sucked in a breath. “Are you insane?” (Ana's Note: Yes, friend, for you)

Sartaq smiled faintly. “I certainly hope not, for the sake of this empire.” He tugged her closer, until their bodies were nearly touching. “Because my father appointed me Heir before I could walk out of the room.” (Ana's Note: I collapsed.)

Nesryn left her body. Could only manage to breathe. And when she tried to bow, Sartaq gripped her shoulders tightly. Stopped her before her head could even lower. “Never from you,” he said quietly. Heir—he’d been made Heir. To all this. This land she loved, this land she still wished to explore so much it ached. Sartaq lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his calluses scraping against her skin. “We fly to war. Much is uncertain ahead. Save for this.” He brushed his mouth against hers. “Save for what I feel for you. No demon army, no dark queen or king, will change that.” Nesryn shook, letting the words sink in. “I—Sartaq, you are Heir—” He pulled back to study her again. “We will go to war, Nesryn Faliq. And when we shatter Erawan and his armies, when the darkness is at last banished from this world … Then you and I will fly back here. Together.” He kissed her again—a bare caress of his mouth. “And so we shall remain for the rest of our days.”

She heard the offer, the promise. The world he laid at her feet. She trembled at it. What he so freely gave. Not the empire and crown, but … the life. His heart.

Nesryn wondered if he knew her heart had been his from that very first ride atop Kadara.

Sartaq smiled as if to say yes, he had. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was tentative, and soft, and full of wonder, that kiss. He tasted like the wind, like a mountain spring. He tasted like home. Nesryn clasped his face in her hands as she pulled back. “To war, Sartaq,” she breathed, memorizing every line of his face. “And then we’ll see what comes after.”

Sartaq gave her a knowing, cocky grin. As if he’d fully decided what would come after and nothing she could say would ever convince him otherwise. And from the courtyard just a wall away, her sister shouted, loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear, “I told you, Father! (😂😂😂😂😂)

This is another giant parenthesis to let you know that Sartaq deserves appreciation, yes.

“My sulde still blows northward. Who knows what I may find on the road ahead? Especially now that Sartaq has the burden of being Heir, and I’m free to do as I please.” The city had been in an uproar about it. Celebrating, debating—it still raged on. What the other royal siblings thought, Yrene did not know, but… there was peace in Kashin’s eyes. And in the eyes of the others, when Yrene had seen them. And part of her indeed wondered if Sartaq had struck some unspoken agreement that went beyond Never Duva. To perhaps even Never Us.

Bonus: An excerpt of Nestaq in Kingdom of Ash.

A soft spot—her ruk had developed a soft spot and an undimming admiration for Sartaq’s mount. Though Nesryn supposed the same could be said about her and the ruk’s rider. Nesryn tore her eyes from the swirling gray clouds and glanced to the rider at her left. His shorn hair had grown out—barely. Just enough to be braided back against the wind. Sensing her attention, the Heir to the khaganate signaled, All is well? Nesryn blushed despite the cold, but signaled back, her numbed fingers clumsy over the symbols. All clear.

A blushing schoolgirl. That’s what she became around the prince, no matter the fact that they’d been sharing a bed these weeks, or what he’d promised for their future.

To rule beside him. As the future empress of the khaganate.

It was absurd, of course. The idea of her dressed like his mother, in those sweeping, beautiful robes and grand headdresses… No, she was better suited to the rukhin leathers, to the weight of steel, not jewels. She’d said as much to Sartaq. Many times. He’d laughed her off. Had said she might walk around the palace naked if she wished. What she wore or didn’t wear wouldn’t bother him in the least. But it was still a ridiculous notion. One the prince seemed to think was the only course for their future. He’d staked his crown on it, had told his father that if being prince meant not being with her, then he’d walk away from the throne. The khagan had offered him the title of Heir instead. - (Kingdom of Ash chapter 6)

And this shouts out Nesryn as Grand Empress!!!!!!!!

Sorry, Nesryn, but I've lived to see you in a dress like this.

It was great to make this post about that amazing couple, it was great to reread some of their scenes, and most of all, it's amazing to be able to bring this Appreciation to Nesryn and Sartaq. These two strong, interesting, brave characters, who have known pain and loss, but have not become victimized or angry at the world. Sartaq and Nesryn made a difference in Throne of Glass, yes. And Tower of Dawn is one of the best books I have ever read in my entire life.

Seeing Nesryn smiling more, even feeling her face hurt from laughing so hard.... That was priceless.

Nestaq is the couple that has respect, admiration, trust and equality as the basis for their relationship. At all times Sartaq treated Nesryn as an equal, always showed the admiration he felt for her, never underestimated her or put her aside, on the contrary, Sartaq took Nesryn ahead of all the clans of the rukhin, and made it clear to his father that she was worth more to him than the crown of one of the largest empires in the world.

Nestaq will always have a special place in my heart.

✧*。Wind-Seeker and her Winged Prince✧*。

✧*。The Commander of the rukhin, the future Khagan and his Neith's Arrow✧*。

Thank you for reading this far, you are welcome to add more, just don't forget to be respectful!!!

#and nesryn is such an interesting and complex character. i love her your grace.#nesryn x sartaq #nesryn faliq #nesryn x salkhi #sartaq rukhin #sartaq #throne of glass series #tower of dawn #queen of shadows #kingdom of ash #nestaq #nestaq appreciation #ladybookstan post #sarah j. maas #chaol westfall #yrene towers #aelin galythinius #borte rukhin

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 8: A Golden Afternoon

Its the middle of the night - so Im definitely going to post this again in the morning - but here you go! thanks for the nice words I really appreciate it ❤︎

word count: 4120

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Barely five minutes had passed before Lysandra was sauntering down the stairs, arms now empty and her gaze lazily sweeping over Rowan’s bare chest. Her eyes burned with intent, but he knew she was cataloguing him, marking the strength, height, weapons in his hands – the gaze of a spy. And Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if she really was just spying for Aelin. With those wildcat eyes…who else would she be serving but herself? Was there a chance she might betray them?

Rowan could practically feel Aedion’s eyes on him from behind, his scent burning with jealousy. Rowan had to keep his own eyes from rolling.

Lysandra shot Rowan a wry smile as she passed them, and Rowan caught a whiff of her scent on the breeze. It was strange, almost…layered. He couldn’t quite figure it out, and before he could get a full breath, Lysandra had wrenched the rolling door open and left the warehouse, pulling it shut behind her.

Then Aelin appeared on the stairs, a pile of garments in her arms. “These are for you,” she to Rowan. “Looks like I owe Nesryn a favor, she asked Lysandra to bring them this morning.”

Aelin continued as Rowan started up the stairs to take the clothes off her hands. “She also brought news. Arobynn received a report last night that two prison wagons were spotted heading south to Morath – chock full of all those missing people. We need to send for Chaol.”

Aedion nodded, already heading out the door, while Rowan continued into the apartment to see if the new clothes would fit. When he passed Aelin, she smirked at him.

So that’s a no on the fit. Rowan held in a sigh. Knowing Aelin, she’d put him in tight clothing on purpose.

···

To Rowan’s relief, the clothes hadn’t been all that tight. The pants were loose enough that they no longer restricted his movement, even if they were nearly four inches too short at the ankle. But Aelin had still given him an overly-pleased once over when his back was turned. She was spending too much time with Lysandra.

By late morning, Chaol was standing in the middle of the clearing, his eyes fixed on the map between his fingers. His steel, cotton, and birchwood-flavored scent was exactly as Rowan remembered from when he’d first tasted it in Aelin’s blood all those months ago, in that reckless first bite.

The memory alone was enough for ice to crack through Rowan’s veins, freezing his expression in place. This man had been responsible for sending Aelin across the sea, with no warning and no protection, right into the arms of his former queen. Who had been responsible for the broken heart she had arrived with. And then, when she returned here, he had the impudence to tell her that it was her fault he had failed to protect his King. That it was her fault her cousin had ended up in prison and Dorian the walking dead.

Rowan wanted to rip his face off with his teeth.

But instead, Rowan just stood guard by the door. Keeping his eyes locked on the former captain of the guard.

The man was of slightly higher than average stature, with brown eyes and hair, and hardened features. He held his broad shoulders straight back, his spine rigid, but his limbs were unsettled. He couldn’t stop shifting in place, discomforted.

Rowan suppressed another grin.

The man’s eyes also kept shifting to Aelin, and as he moved in place yet again, Rowan caught the slightest hint of jasmine and flame in his scent – Aelin.

Even though he couldn’t detect even a trace of the captain’s scent on Aelin anymore, the captain was still holding on to her. Still carrying her scent. Fury bubbled in Rowan’s gut.

Despite the vile words he’d hurled at her, the captain still wanted Aelin, and now that Rowan was looking for it, he could see the pain from her rejection written all over him.

Rowan almost regretted being polite to the man. But he knew Aelin would be rightfully furious with him if he attacked Chaol when their alliance was already so fragile. So he stuck to the door.

But that didn’t mean Aelin didn’t notice his icy stare, nor the captain’s discomfort. Her eyes glinted. “You know, he won’t bite,” she crooned.

Chaol leveled a stare at her. “Can you just explain what these maps are for?”

“Anything you, Ress, or Brullo can fill in regarding these gaps in the castle defenses would be appreciated,” she said.

His lips pursed as he folded up the map, tucking it into the inner pocket of his tunic. “For you to bring down the clock tower?”

“Maybe,” Aelin said flatly.

Chaol bristled. He was still obviously avoiding Rowan’s gaze. “I haven’t heard from Ress or Brullo for a few days,” he said tersely. “I’ll make contact soon.”

Aelin just nodded, pulling out a second map – this one of the sewer network. She weighed it down on the table with two of the daggers hidden up her sleeves.

Chaol shot her a disapproving look that made Rowan want to snarl.

Aelin ignored them. “Arobynn learned that the missing prisoners were taken to Morath last night. Did you know?”

Chaol tensed. “No.”

“They can’t have gotten far. You could gather a team and ambush the wagons.”

“I know I could.”

“Are you going to?”

He laid a hand on the map, his face darkening. If Rowan didn’t know any better, he might have felt sympathetic. The man was obviously in pain.

His words were low, but hard. “Did you bring me here to prove a point about my uselessness?”

Aelin straightened. Rowan leaned forwards slightly, readying himself. Aelin spoke, choosing her words very carefully, “I asked you to come because I thought it would be helpful for the both of us. We’re both – we’re both under a fair amount of pressure these days.”

“When do you make your move?” the captain asked, his eyes roving over the map.

“Soon.”

Another purse of the lips. Apparently, he didn’t like her non-answers. “Anything else I should know?”

“I’d start avoiding the sewers. It’s your death warrant if you don’t.”

“There are people trapped down there—we’ve found the nests, but no sign of the prisoners. I won’t abandon them.”

“That’s all well and good,” Aelin said calmly, even as Chaol slammed his teeth together, “but there are worse things than Valg grunts patrolling the sewers, and I bet they won’t turn a blind eye to anyone in their territory. I would weigh the risks if I were you.”

The captain was angry, but he kept silent as Aelin combed her fingers through her hair and asked, “So are you going to ambush the prison wagons?”

“Of course I am.”

Rowan couldn’t doubt the sincerity there, and it seemed Aelin couldn’t either. Her eyes softened in concern, her scent flickering. And Rowan knew that there was still some affection left for the old captain of the guard. But how much?

Aelin sighed softly. Then said, “They use warded locks on the wagons. And the doors are reinforced with iron. Bring the right tools.”

It was Rowan’s turn to clench his jaw. Aelin would know, she had spent weeks in one. Chained up and in the dark. On her way to slavery.

It took all of his self control to remain still and standing.

The captain straightened up, making to leave.

“Tell Faliq that Prince Rowan says thank you for the clothes,” Aelin said. And even though confusion passed over Chaol’s face, he nodded his agreement. Rowan stepped aside with a murmur of farewell as the captain stepped into the bright sunlight of the golden afternoon.

···

To his great surprise, Aelin told him that there wasn’t anything pressing they needed to take care of that day, so instead, she spent the time showing him her city.

She took him through the slums, keeping to the shadows whenever possible, and they walked all the way through the capital to the elegant residential districts and the busy markets squares, now crammed with vendors selling goods for the summer solstice in two weeks.

She talked all the while, pointing out paths and walkways, busy intersections and guard postings, along with all those little details that made this place her home, the good and the bad. And so much of it seemed to be connected to Sam.

Places they had walked together, ate together, laughed together – where they had grown up. She even pointed out the place Sam had rescued her from the sewers when she had been kidnapped and nearly drowned.

The cobbles were warm with the afternoon sunlight, and despite the darkness of the Valg guards, the pair of them walked through the city as if belonged to them. As if the streets and buildings were but a carpet unrolled before their feet.

“The man who runs that store always used to give me free tarts.”

“That dressmaker was my favorite, she always knew exactly how to alter a garment to suit you perfectly.”

“I had dance lessons here for years, the instructor is an amazing woman, you would have loved her. She let me play her piano, even if my back was never straight enough for her. She helped me rescue Aedion.”

They even spent almost half an hour in an old music repair shop, wandering among the aisles of old instruments and piles of music sheets. Even if, in Rowan’s opinion, no piece of music could be more beautiful than the sound of her laugh as he nearly tripped over some twisted pieces of metal she told him belonged to a broken brass horn.

Aelin also took him to one of Nesryn’s family bakeries, where she tried force him to eat some of a pear tart, no matter how many times he told her that it smelled sickly sweet to him.

At the docks however, Rowan actually managed to convince Aelin to try some pan-fried trout. She cringed and swore at first, but once she’d tried it, she finished her fish in record time and soon was trying to sneak bites of his. Rowan snarled at her, but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching into a smile.

After their late lunch, they sat at the edge of the docks and cooled by the water. They were mostly silent, instead listening to the sounds of the shipyards, seabirds and waves.

Rowan found that his thoughts kept sliding to Sam. He’d been just a boy when he died, barely eighteen. They’d had so little time together. And before Aelin had gotten a chance to deal with his death, she had been sold into slavery.

Rowan tried to find the words to ask her about Sam, about how she felt for him, but before he could, the sound of a whip cracked through their pleasant silence.

Aelin met his eyes, her face grave. Soundlessly, they stood and walked away from the water and back to the shore, where they watched as a cluster of chained slaves hauled cargo onto one of the ships. People who, no doubt, were captured and enslaved because of their opposition to Adarlanian rule. Rebels in chains, allies of Terrasen and its queen.

They watched, and could to nothing.

A cold, endless fury burned in Aelin’s eyes; a fury that made him want to call a storm of ice and wind so strong it would turn the shipyards to rubble, the slavers with them. But he couldn’t, and not only because his magic was locked inside his body. Instead they just stared. And swore to themselves that soon, perhaps very soon, those slaves would be freed.

He and Aelin wandered away, back through the market stalls from which they came, though now the silence between them felt heavy with darkness.

Now the wooden paths were full of the scent of roses and wild lilies, the ocean breeze sweeping petals of every shape and color past their feet as the flower girls shouted about their wares. Husbands leaned over bouquets to bring home to their wives, bachelors picked out arrangements for their intended, while girls giggled over daisies and shot the boys looks from beneath their lashes when they thought no one was watching.

Rowan stopped in his tracks. The smell, the laughter, the color – it was all so familiar that it made his heart wrench in two.

There was a woman across from them in the center of the square, a basket of hothouse peonies on her thin arm. She was young, pretty, and dark-haired, and her eyes sparkled with something hidden – twin to his mate of two centuries earlier.

Memories began flashing behind his eyes – a mountain home in smoke, arms digging a grave, blood running tracks down the backs of his hands. The face of a woman in a market across the sea, flowers in her arms and hair, a smile lighting up her face. Even the queen by his side couldn’t dull the screaming reverberating in his head.

Rowan didn’t hear what Aelin said as she turned to him, but he saw her face. Her eyes widened, and she clenched and unclenched her fingers, any words lodged in her throat.

Rowan just stared at the girl, who was smiling, alight with life and a vibrant energy that sliced through him like a knife. She smiled at a passing woman, holding out her peonies for a sale.

Rowan breathed, Aelin’s anxiety brushing past him with a wash of flickering embers. Truth. The only thing he could offer her.

“I didn’t deserve her,” he said quietly.

Aelin swallowed hard. A long pause. Then, “I didn’t deserve Sam.”

Rowan turned to look at Aelin, her eyes downturned, her mouth soft. He would do anything to keep that sadness off her face. Anything.

Rowan reached out to brush her fingers with his, maybe to hold her hand, or pull her body into his. But at the last moment, he remembered himself, and dropped his arm back to his side.

He must have invented that glint of disappointment in Aelin’s eyes.

“Come,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

They left the flower girls behind, moving deeper into the city, but Rowan was unable to completely let go of the pain wrapping his heart in ice.

···

Aelin scrounged up some dessert from the street vendors while Rowan waited in a shadowed alley, then she pulled him deeper into the city proper, until they darted into a side alley and ducked into a hidden entrance that led to a rickety wooden staircase.

Now, Aelin was munching on a lemon cookie while they sat on one of the wooden rafters in the gilded dome of the darkened Royal Theater, Aelin swinging her legs in the open air below.

The space was dark and silent, unnaturally so. As if the very seats and aisles longed for the return of the music that had once blanketed them. Sunlight poured in from the roof door they’d entered through, illuminating the rafters and the golden dome, gleaming faintly off the polished brass banisters and the blood red curtains of the stage below.

“This used to be my favorite place in the entire world,” Aelin said, her words full of a loving nostalgia. “Arobynn owns a private box, so I went any chance I could. The nights I didn’t feel like dressing up or being seen, or maybe the nights I had a job and only an hour free, I’d creep in here through that door and listen.”

Rowan finished the cookie Aelin had foisted on him, still just gazing into the dark space below. He still hadn’t said anything since they’d left the flower vendors, and he could smell the scent of Aelin’s worry wafting around them. Wanting to ease her tension, and to turn away from the icy marble deep in his chest, he turned back to her.

Aelin seemed to practically sigh in relief as he said, “I’ve never seen an orchestra – or a theater like this, crafted around sound and luxury. Even in Doranelle, the theaters and amphitheaters are ancient, with benches or just steps.”

“There’s no place like this anywhere, perhaps. Even in Terrasen.”

“Then you’ll have to build one.”

“With what money? You think people are going to be happy to starve while I build a theater for my own pleasure?”

“Perhaps not right away, but if you believe one would benefit the city, the country, then do it. Artists are essential.”

Aelin sighed, seemingly unable to handle another burden, small as it was. “This place has been shut down for months, and yet I swear I can still hear the music floating in the air.”

Rowan angled his head, studying. “Perhaps the music does live on, in some form.” It was almost as though he could feel its absence, in the taste of the air and the flutter of the curtains. The space wasn’t just empty, it was waiting.

A silver lining appeared in Aelin’s eyes. “I wish you could have heard it – I wish you had been there to hear Pytor conduct the Stygian Suite. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still sitting down in that box, thirteen years old and weeping from the sheer glory of it.”

“You cried?” he blinked, watching as the memories passed behind her eyes and wishing he could see them as she did.

“The final movement – every damn time,” she sighed, almost laughing at herself. “I would go back to the Keep and have the music in my mind for days, even as I trained or killed or slept. It was a kind of madness, loving that music. It was why I started playing the pianoforte – so I could come home at night and make my poor attempt at replicating it.”

“Is there a pianoforte in here?” he asked, looking back into the darkness without waiting for an answer, the ghost of a smile passing over his face.

···

“I haven’t played in months and months. And this is a horrible idea for about a dozen different reasons,” Aelin complained for the tenth time as she finished rolling back the curtains on the stage.

Rowan kept quiet, focusing on lighting the single candle he had found backstage. He knew that the space had once been grand and beautiful, but now, amid the gloom of the dead theater, it felt like standing in a tomb. The chairs were still perfectly arranged for a massive orchestra, though they were now covered in dust. No one had been in here in weeks.

Rowan turned and walked over to the pianoforte, which was near the front of the stage. He had never learned to play, his court lessons not extending so far as learning an instrument.

Rowan had been to his fair share of balls and events, but it had been a rare thing for him to have an opportunity to listen to music just for music’s sake. Much of those events had been heavily overshadowed by the annoyance of dealing with court maneuvering. And after Lyria’s death, he had avoided such things at all costs.

He could barely remember the last time he had been able to listen to any kind of music and just listen. To have the pleasure of experiencing the art, the magic of it. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the instrument as if it were a prize horse, marveling at the potential the lay within.

Aelin was hesitating at his side. “It seems like sacrilege to play that thing,” she said, her words echoing too loudly in the space.

“Since when are you the religious type, anyway?” Rowan gave her an encouraging smile. He just hoped that it wasn’t too crooked. “Where should I stand to best hear it?”

“You might be in for a lot of pain at first.”

“Self-conscious today, too?” Maybe teasing would get it out of her.

“If Lorcan’s snooping about,” she grumbled, “I’d rather he not report back to Maeve that I’m lousy at playing.”

He just grinned as she pointed to a spot on the stage. “There. Stand there, and stop talking, you insufferable bastard.” He chuckled, and moved across to the center of the stage.

She swallowed as she slid onto the smooth bench and folded back the lid, revealing the gleaming keys beneath. She positioned her feet on the pedals, but made no move to touch the keyboard. “I haven’t played since before Nehemia died,” she admitted, the words heavy.

“We can come back another day, if you want,” he said softly.

“There might not be another day. And – and I would consider my life very sad indeed if I never played again.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. So get on with it then.

She sighed, but turned back to face the keys and slowly set her hands on the instrument, a great beast of sound and joy about to be awakened.

“I need to warm up,” she blurted, then plunged in, the notes soft and light.

It was just a random selection of chords and scales, but still, the music filled the hall with its caring whisper. The whole space seemed to breathe again, as if soaking up the music like light, or air.

And then she began for real.

The piece she played wasn’t merely happy or sad, calm or excited – it was far, far more than that. The complexity of the notes, the way they layered together and bounded off each other – it felt like the melody of life itself. Of the love and glory and pain and beauty in simply breathing.

It filled Rowan up with its warmth, and he felt Aelin’s fiery heat overflowing within each note. The music seemed to be made of her fire, and together they burned. All the while the music built, up and up and up and up, until the sound breaking from the instrument was like the heart-song of a long lost goddess.

Rowan stood and waited, letting the sound wrap around his form like a blanket, letting it slowly melt the ice around his heart. Aelin had always been able to do that, melt away his pain and resistance, without even realizing she could. And now she did so not with words, but with this music that flew from her fingers like small winged creatures, into the empty seats behind them.

Rowan drifted over to stand beside the instrument. He was drawn to her, to the fire that made him feel so alive. Then she whispered to him, “Now,” and the crescendo shattered into the world, note after note after note. The music crashed around them, roaring through the emptiness of the theater.

She brought the piece home to its final explosive, triumphant chord, and Rowan could feel tears lining his eyes. When she looked up, panting slightly, he just gazed at her, at the queen who had lit up his darkness, and marveled.

He struggled for words, but then finally breathed, “Show me - show me how you did that.”

···

They spent the better part of an hour seated together on the bench, Aelin teaching him the basics of the pianoforte – explaining the sharps and flats, the pedals, the notes and chords. At last when Rowan heard someone coming to investigate the music, they slipped out.

On their way back to the apartment, they stopped at the Royal Bank. Aelin went inside alone, having ordered Rowan to wait in the shadows across the street, impatient and pissed off. Luckily she only took a few minutes, returning with a bag of gold clasped to her belt.

“So you’re using your own money to support us?” Rowan asked, masking his irritation as best he could.

“For now.”

“And what will you do for money later?”

She glanced sidelong at him. “It’ll be taken care of.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

He clenched his teeth, anger mounting. “Explain.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She gave him a small smile that drove him completely insane. Rowan made to grab her by the shoulder, but she ducked away from his touch.

“Ah, ah. Better not move too swiftly, or someone might notice.”

He snarled viciously but she only chuckled. “Just be patient and don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

Rowan clenched his jaw, stopping another snarl in its tracks. This conversation could wait until they were both home. Maybe then he would be able to convince her that he absolutely needed to be let in on her plans. It was the only way to keep her safe.

But would she listen?

Rowan scowled at that thought, and took off into the shadows behind Aelin, following her back to the warehouse.

···

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