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dissolving on her tongue.
Her magic rumbled, pressing against her
blood, squeezing her bones. Out, it howled.
Out.
Soon, she promised.
Now. It thrashed. Her hands trembled,
curling, as if she could keep it in.
So she turned away, aiming not toward the
trough but the lake beyond.
The air stirred behind her, and she felt him
following. When Rowan gleaned where she
intended to bathe, he warned, “That water is
barely above freezing, Aelin.”
She just dropped the cloak onto the black
stones and stepped into the water.
Steam hissed, wafting around her in
billowing clouds. She kept going, embracing
the water’s bite with each step, even if it
failed to pierce the heat of her.
The water was clear, though the gloom