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Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an
extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the
sun that now broke over the khagan’s army as
she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.
Five, ten—she moved and moved and
moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and
flipping, black blood spraying, her face the
portrait of grim, unbreaking will.
“The queen!” the men shouted. “To the
queen!”
And as Rowan fought his way closer, as
that cry went down the battlements and
Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that
Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to
inspire men to follow. That she had been
waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what
she, without magic, without any godly power,
might do.
He’d never seen such a glorious sight. In
every land, every battle, he had never seen