She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind. “Mala’s Heir,” Yrene breathed. Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted. The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin. And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.
