The scent of Dorian’s and Chaol’s tears replaced the salt of Endovier as Aelin stared up at Rowan and smiled. Rowan held her to his chest and wept in the light of the rising sun. A weak hand landed on his back, running over the tattoo he’d inked. As if tracing the symbols he’d hidden there, in a desperate, wild hope. “I came back,” she rasped.
