“Then we shall shut them,” Gavriel said, and smiled grimly. “Together.” The word was more of a question, subtle and sorrowful. Together. As father and son. As the two warriors they were. Gavriel—his father. He had come. And looking at those tawny eyes, Aedion knew it was not for Aelin, or for Terrasen, that his father had done it. “Together,” Aedion rasped. Not just this obstacle. Not just this battle. But whatever would come afterward, should they survive. Together. Aedion could have sworn something like joy and pride filled Gavriel’s eyes. Joy and pride and sorrow, heavy and old.
