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She wouldn’t make it, not over that terrain,
not drained like that—
But she did.
Aelin vanished into the first dip, and
Lorcan’s magic flared over and over. To her,
to Whitethorn.
And then she was up, cresting the hill, and
he could see the slowness taking over, the
sheer exhaustion from a body at its limit.
Arrows twanged from bows, and a wall of
them shot into the sky. Aiming for her on
those exposed hills.
Lorcan sent a wave of his power snapping
them away.
Still more fired. Single shots this time,
from so many directions he couldn’t trace
their sources. Trained archers, some of
Maeve’s best. Aelin had to—
She already was.
Aelin began zagging, depriving them of an