In the months leading to and during the war, Nesta had managed. Had stepped into this world, with these people, and started to see it—a future. Until she’d been hunted by the King of Hybern and the Cauldron. Until she’d realized that everyone she cared for would be used to hurt her, break her, trap her. Until that last battle when she couldn’t stop one thousand Illyrians from dying, and had instead been able to save only one.
