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she bit down harder.
“A pity that there’s no audience to witness
this,” said Maeve, her voice far away and yet
too near. “Aelin Fire-Bringer, wearing her
proper Faerie Queen’s crown at last. Kneeling
at my feet.”
A tremor shuddered through Aelin, rocking
her body enough that the glass found new
angles, new entries.
She drifted further back, away. Each breath
tugged her out to sea, to a place where words
and feelings and pain became a distant shore.
Maeve snapped her fingers. “Fenrys.”
The wolf padded past and sat himself
beside her throne. But not before he glanced at
the black wolf. Just a turn of the head.
The black wolf returned the look, bland and
cold. And that was enough for Maeve to say,
“Connall, you may finally tell your twin what
you wish to say.”