The glass castle was gone. The king was dead. And Dorian— Aelin scrambled up, her arms buckling under her. There, not three feet away, was Dorian, sprawled on the grass, eyes closed. But his chest was rising and falling. Beside him, as if some benevolent god had indeed been looking after them, lay Chaol. His face was bloody, but he breathed. No other wounds that she could detect.
