The curving stones of the gateway loomed, and she drew the sword from her back with her right hand, her left hand enveloped in flame. Nehemia’s people, butchered. Her own people, butchered. Her people. Celaena stepped under the archway of stones, magic zinging and kissing her skin. Just a few steps would take her outside the barrier. She could feel Rowan lingering, waiting to see if she would survive the first moments. But she would—she was going to burn these things into ash and dust.
Please go off
