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inked on his hands. How many more lives
would he need to add before they were
through? His soldiers not felled by enemy
blows, but by his own blade?
The sun inched closer to the horizon.
Lorcan began pacing.
Too long. It had taken too long.
The others had fallen silent, too. Gazing
down the hill. Waiting.
A slight tremor rocked Lorcan’s hands, and
he balled them into fists, squeezing hard. Five
minutes. He’d go in five minutes, Aelin
Galathynius and their plan be damned.
Aelin had been trained to endure torture.
Elide ... He could see those scars on her from
the shackles. See her maimed foot and ankle.
She had endured too much suffering and terror
already. He couldn’t allow her to face another
heartbeat of it—
Twigs snapped under light feet, and Lorcan