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wall. There was no expression on her face, no
tension in her body.
Yet she inclined her head to the Little Folk
half-hidden in the branches and boughs before
her. Her jaw moved—speaking. Brief, short
words.
He’d never so much as heard of the Little
Folk talking. But there was his queen, his
wife, his mate, murmuring with them.
At last, she turned away, her face still
blank, her wildfire eyes as flat and cold as the
lake. Fenrys fell into step beside her, and
Rowan remained in place as Aelin aimed for
the small fire.
Safe. The Little Folk must have told her
this cave was safe, if she now moved for the
fire, her own sphere of it still burning bright.
The others halted their assessment of the
supplies.
But Aelin paid them no heed, paid the