Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

The wolf gave him a curt nod. Elide reached for one of the packs stashed near the base of a tree. “Which way?” But Rowan didn’t get to answer. Silent as wraiths, they appeared across the glen. As if they’d simply sparked into existence in the shade of the foliage. Little bodies, some pale, some black as night, some scaled. Mostly concealed, save for spindly fingers and wide, unblinking eyes. Elide gasped. “The Little Folk.” Elide hadn’t seen a whisper of the Little Folk since the days before Terrasen fell. Then, it had been flashes and rustling within Oakwald’s ancient shade. Never so many, never so openly. Or as open as they would ever allow themselves to be. The half dozen or so who had gathered across the clearing kept mostly hidden behind root and rock and cluster of leaves. None of the males moved, though Fenrys’s ears cocked toward them. A miracle—that’s what had happened with the queen and the wolf. Though Fenrys seemed drained, his eyes were clear as the Little Folk gathered. Aelin barely looked toward them. A pale, spindly hand rose over a moss-speckled boulder and curled. Come. Rowan asked, voice like granite, “You wish us to follow you?” Again, the hand made the motion. Come. Gavriel murmured, “They know this forest better than even we do.” “And you trust them?” Lorcan demanded. Rowan’s eyes settled on Aelin. “They saved her life once.” That night Erawan’s assassin had returned for Aelin. “They will do so again now.”