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spare Aelin from enduring it?
Gavriel’s tawny eyes flashed with
wariness. Rowan pointed at Cairn again. “Heal
him.”
They did not have much time. Not to do
what he wanted. What he needed.
Some of the drawers in the tall chest had
been knocked free. Polished tools glinted
within.
A pouch of them had also been set on a
piece of black velvet beside the metal table.
Her blood sang to him of pain and despair,
of utter terror.
His Fireheart.
Gavriel’s magic shimmered, golden light
settling over Cairn.
Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid
out, the ones in the drawer. Carefully,
thoughtfully, he selected one.
A thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer’s tool,