in Eyllwe, when Rowan had felt a tug in the bond between him and Aelin—the mating bond—and had followed its call across the ocean. Yet when they’d reached these shores after several dreadful weeks on storm-wild waters, there had been nothing left to track. No sign of Maeve’s remaining armada. No whisper of the queen’s ship, the Nightingale, docking in any port. No news of her returning to her seat in Doranelle. Rumors were all they’d had to go on, hauling them across mountains piled deep with snow, through dense forests and dried-out plains. Until the previous kingdom, the previous city, the
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