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“I didn’t crawl after Maeve.” She halted, hair swaying. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. Imperious and cold as the stars overhead. “I crawled …” His throat bobbed. “I crawled after Aelin.”
You do not yield. Then she was gone, like dew under the morning sun. But the words lingered. Blossomed within Aelin, bright as a kindled ember. You do not yield.
“How long?” It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. “Two months, three days, and seven hours.”
“I love you,” he whispered in Elide’s ear. “I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken.” Her tears flowed past him in the wind. “And I will be with you …” His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. “I will be with you always.”
“Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood—let the land be witness, and return home.”
My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid.
