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Whenever that had been. If it had even
happened at all.
“I have no doubt that your mate or Elena or
even Brannon himself filled your head with
lies about what I’ll do with the keys.” Maeve
ran a hand over the stone lip of the altar, right
through her splattered blood and shards of
bone. “I meant what I said. I like this world. I
do not wish to destroy it. Only improve it.
Imagine a realm where there is no hunger, no
pain. Isn’t that what you and your cohorts are
fighting for? A better world?”
The words were a mockery. A mockery of
what she’d promised so many. What she had
promised Terrasen, and still owed it.
Aelin tried not to shift against the chains,
against her broken arms, against the tight
pressure pushing on her skin from the inside.
A rising intensity along her bones, in her
head. A little more, every day.