A pale, spindly hand rose over a moss-speckled boulder and curled. Come. Rowan asked, voice like granite, “You wish us to follow you?” Again, the hand made the motion. Come. Gavriel murmured, “They know this forest better than even we do.” “And you trust them?” Lorcan demanded. Rowan’s eyes settled on Aelin. “They saved her life once.” That night Erawan’s assassin had returned for Aelin. “They will do so again now.”
