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steady presence. Even when they’d slept, he’d
remained a few feet away, still not touching,
but just there. Close enough that the pine-and-
snow scent of him eased her into slumber.
Rowan braced a hand along the boat’s rim.
“There are many barrow-wight mounds across
Wendlyn, but no others between the
Cambrians and Doranelle beyond those we
went to. As far as we know,” he amended. “I
didn’t realize their tombs had been carved so
deep.”
“The wights needed some way in, with the
tomb doors likely sealed above,” Gavriel
observed, studying a larger alcove that
appeared on the right ahead. Not an alcove,
but a dry cave mouth that flowed to the edge
of the river before rising out of sight.
“Stop the boat,” Aelin said.
Silence at the order, even from Rowan.
Aelin pointed to the lip of shore by the