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Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they
inspected the boat, and when his mate
emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and
various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the
sight of her in clothes from Mistward was
enough to make his gut clench.
No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet
none of that wickedness, that joy and
unchecked wildness illuminated her face.
The rest of their party waited on the boat,
seated on the benches built into its high-
lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as
seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get,
Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer
between them.
Rowan lingered at the shore’s edge, a hand
extended for Aelin while she approached.
Each of her steps seemed considered—as if
she still marveled at being able to move
freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without