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crashed to the tiled veranda. As blood began
to pool.
The owl on Maeve’s throne flapped its
wings once, as if in horror. But Cairn let out a
low laugh, the sound rumbling past Aelin’s
head.
Real. This was real. It had to be.
Something cold and oily lurched through
her. Her hands slackened at her sides. The
light left Connall’s dark eyes, his black hair
spilled on the floor around him in a dark
mirror to the blood leaking away.
Fenrys was shaking. Aelin might have
been, too.
“You tainted something that belonged to
me, Aelin Galathynius,” Maeve said. “And
now it must be purged.”
Fenrys was whining, still attempting to
crawl to the brother dead on the ground. Fae
could heal; perhaps Connall’s heart could