Ice flooded his veins. She was wearing the Wyrdkey. “Aelin.” But Rowan felt it then. Felt that bottom of her power crack open as if the beast within that Wyrdkey stomped its foot, and ash and crusted rock crumbled away beneath it. And revealed a roiling, molten core of magic beneath it. As if it were the fiery heart of Mala herself. Aelin plunged into that power. Bathed in it.
