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take her place should she fail. That her death
would mean Dorian’s, would send those
hateful gods to demand his life to forge the
Lock ... It was no strange thing, to hate
herself for it. She’d failed enough people,
failed Terrasen, that the additional weight
barely landed. She wouldn’t have much longer
to feel it anyway.
So she drawled toward the sky, the stars,
“Oh, I know there’s not much worth seeing in
that regard, Cairn. And you’re not enough of a
male to be able to use it without someone
screaming, are you?” At his silence, she
smirked. “I thought so. I dealt with plenty of
your ilk at the Assassins’ Guild. You’re all the
same.”
A deep snarl.
Aelin only chuckled and adjusted her body,
as if getting comfortable. “Go ahead, Cairn.
Do your worst.”