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It would take a monster to destroy a monster.
Screamed it with ten years’ worth of conviction and
“Hello, Aelin Galathynius.”
Rowan grinned. “There you are.”
Her mother had called her Fireheart.
“But maybe,” he said, quietly enough that she looked at him again. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were inquisitive. “Maybe we could find the way back together.”
He held out a hand. “Together, then.”
And somewhere far and deep inside her, an ember began to glow.
She’d burned him again. And yet he had held on to her—had run all the way here and not let go once.
In the flickering dark, he said roughly, “You’re staying with me from now on.”
“I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.”
It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness.
He knew Aelin was alive, because during all these weeks that they had been breathing each other’s scents, they had become bonded.
If they didn’t, he would run for the darkness, where Lyria beckoned. But for Aelin, he had tried to break free.
“Once upon a time,” she said to him, to the world, to herself, “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom … very much.”
She was the heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.
And then Celaena set the world on fire.
I claim you, Aelin. To whatever end.
“I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To whatever end.”
No longer would they be locked away in her heart. No longer would she be ashamed.
