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mend—
Connall’s chest rose in a rattling, shallow
breath.
It didn’t move again.
Fenrys’s howl cleaved the night.
Cairn let go, and Aelin slumped onto the
glass, hands and wrists stinging.
She let herself lie there, half sprawled. Let
the crown tumble off her head and skitter
across the floor, dragon-glass spraying where
it bounced. Bounced, then rolled, curving
across the veranda. All the way to the stone
railing.
And into the roaring, hateful river below.
“There is no one here to help you.”
Maeve’s voice was as empty as the gaps
between stars. “And there is no one coming
for you.”
Aelin’s fingers curled in the ancient glass.
“Think on it. Think on this night, Aelin.”