He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew. “Three months,” Rowan breathed. The others stilled. “Three months,” he said again, his knees wobbling. “She’s been making the descent into her power for three months.” Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they’d freed her because she had kept making the plunge. To gather up the full might of her magic. Not for the Lock, not for Erawan. But for Maeve’s death blow. A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it …
