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Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …
Fireheart. The words were a gentle brush down her cheek. Fireheart, why do you cry? And from far away, deep within her, Aelin whispered toward that ray of memory, Because I am lost. And I do not know the way.
Sobs uncontrollably
You do not yield.
They had taken her scars. Maeve had taken them all away.
:(
Silently, Rowan grasped her own hand and eased on the emerald ring. “To whatever end,” he whispered. Silver lined her eyes. “To whatever end.”
“I went to the Torre,” Yrene said, her voice cracking. “I took the money you gave me, and went to the Torre. And I became the heir apparent to the Healer on High. And now I have come back, to do what I can. I taught every healer I could the lessons you showed me that night, about self-defense. I didn’t waste it—not a coin you gave me, or a moment of the time, the life you bought me.” Tears were rolling and rolling down Yrene’s face. “I didn’t waste any of it.”
“Fly, fly, fly!” they shouted. “To the queen! To war!”
“We came,” Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could hear, “to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what she promised us.”
“We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”
Gutted
“Live, Manon.”
She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing at those very stars. Fae.
RHYSAND!!!!
Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.
Gavriel smiled at him. “Close the gate, Aedion,” was all his father said.
