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take Aelin there one day, though it was
nothing but long-vanished ashes. Just to show
her where the house had been, where he’d
buried Lyria. She was still up there, his mate-
who-had-never-been.
And his true mate ... She strode
unwavering through the trees. No more than a
wraith.
Still they followed the Little Folk, who
beckoned from a tree, a rock, and shrub ahead,
and then vanished. Behind Lorcan, a few
others hid their trail with clever hands and
small magics.
He prayed they had a place to stay for the
night. A place where Aelin might sleep, and
might remain protected from Maeve’s eyes
once she realized she’d been tricked.
They were headed eastward—far from the
coast. Rowan didn’t dare risk telling them
they needed to find a port. He’d see where