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She’d use each day to train, to work with
sword and dagger and bow until her hands
were blistered, until new calluses formed.
Until the thinness returned to muscle.
She’d rebuild it—what she had been.
Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a
little while, but she’d do it. If only for
Terrasen.
Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as
he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed
the night-black sea beyond them. “You should
rest.”
She slid him a glance. “I’m not tired.” Not
a lie, not in some regards. “Want to spar?”
He frowned. “Training can start
tomorrow.”
“Or tonight.” She held his piercing stare,
matched his dominance with her own.
“It can wait a few hours, Aelin.”
“Every day counts.” Against Erawan, even