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its recesses, but as the blue light of the lantern
touched it, gold glittered along the rocky
floor. Ancient gold.
“What’s a barrow-wight?” Elide
whispered.
“Creatures of malice and thought,” Lorcan
answered, scanning the passageway, a hand
drifting to the hilt of his sword. “They covet
gold and treasure, and infested the ancient
tombs of kings and queens so they might
dwell amongst it. They hate light of any kind.
Hopefully, this will keep them away.”
Elide cringed, and Aelin felt inclined to do
the same.
Instead, she dredged up enough speech to
ask Rowan, “Are these the same ones beneath
the burial mounds we visited?”
Rowan straightened, eyes sparking at her
question—or at the fact that she’d spoken at
all. He’d kept by her these days, a silent,