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all?”
She did her best to look down her nose at
him, even as the messenger-thief towered over
her. Aelin had never mentioned a Nox Owen.
“Why should I remember one of Darrow’s
lackeys?”
“A decent attempt, but Celaena Sardothien
looked a little more amused when she cut men
into ribbons.”
He knew—who Aelin was, what she’d
been. Lysandra said nothing, and kept walking
toward her tent. If she told Aedion, how
quickly could Nox be buried under the frozen
earth?
“Your secret is safe,” Nox murmured.
“Celaena—Aelin was a friend. Is still one, I’d
hope.”
“How.” She’d admit no more than that
regarding her role in this.
“We fought in the competition together at