1564024802

reddish-gold aura, a shield that he knew would
melt the flesh of anyone who tried to cross. It
flowed and rippled around them, a bubble of
coppery air, and through it, Rowan watched as
she ran a hand down the wolf’s battered side.
Gavriel had healed most of the wounds, but
the blood remained.
Aelin made long, gentle strokes over his
fur, her head angled as she spoke too softly
for Rowan to hear.
Slowly, painfully, Fenrys cracked open an
eye. Agony filled it—agony and yet
something like relief, and joy, at the sight of
her bare face. And exhaustion. Such
exhaustion that Rowan knew death would be a
welcome embrace, a kiss from Silba herself,
goddess of gentle ends.
Aelin spoke again, the sound either
contained or swallowed by her shield. No
tears. Only that sorrow—and clarity.