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Manon said softly to Sorrel, “Turn her around. My Second shall see the dawn one last time.”
Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother.
And then Aelin said to Rowan with a secret smile, “You, I don’t know. But I’d like to.” Rowan’s lips tugged upward. “I’m not on the market, unfortunately.” “Pity,” Aelin said,
“You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her.”
“Even if Maeve had kept me enslaved, I would have fought her. Every day, every hour, every breath.” He kissed her softly and said onto her lips, “I would have fought for the rest of my life to find a way to return to you again. I knew it the moment you emerged from the Valg’s darkness and smiled at me through your flames.”
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.
“Even when you’re in another kingdom, Aelin, your fire is still in my blood, my mouth.”
“Slow,” Rowan repeated, as if sensing the hair-trigger that her power was now on, “and steady.” His shackled arm slid around her waist to hold her to him. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She lifted her head to study his face, the harsh planes and the curving tattoo. He leaned in to brush a kiss to her mouth. And as his lips met hers, he joined their bleeding palms. Magic jolted through her, ancient and wicked and cunning, and she arched against him, knees buckling as his cataclysmic power roared into her. All anyone on deck saw, she knew, was two lovers embracing. But Aelin tunneled
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