Aelin yanked uselessly, her feet sliding against the still-cool metal. Not like this— Cairn reached into his pocket and withdrew some flint. This wasn’t just a breaking of her body. But a breaking of her—of the fire she’d come to love. To destroy the part of her that sang. He’d melt her skin and bones until she feared the flame, until she hated it, as she hated those healers who had come again and again to repair her body, to hide what was real from what had been a dream. Fenrys’s snarl rolled on, endless.
