“Quiet,” Lorcan hissed. Not at the level of her voice, but the deadly information Elide revealed. Aelin again blinked twice with that strange intentionality. Rowan snarled at the chains, heaving again. But Aelin stretched out a hand to the moss and traced a shape. “What is that?” Elide leaned forward as the queen did it again, her hollow face unreadable. The Fae males paused at her question, and watched Aelin’s finger move through the green. “A Wyrdmark,” Rowan said softly. “To open.” Aelin traced it again, mute and still. As if none of them stood there. “They work on iron?” Gavriel asked,
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