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proud women. But she motioned to her
companions, who stepped forward. “Allow me
to introduce my friends. Lord Gavriel, of
Doranelle.” A nod toward the tawny-eyed and
golden-haired warrior who bowed. Tattoos
covered his neck, his hands, but his every
motion was graceful. “My uncle, of sorts,”
Aelin added with a smirk at Gavriel. At
Chaol’s narrowed brows, she explained, “He’s
Aedion’s father.”
“Well, that explains a few things,” Nesryn
muttered.
The hair, the broad-planed face ... yes, it
was the same. But where Aedion was fire,
Gavriel seemed to be stone. Indeed, his eyes
were solemn as he said, “Aedion is my pride.”
Emotion rippled over Aelin’s face, but she
gestured to the dark-haired male. Not
someone Chaol ever wanted to tangle with, he
decided as he surveyed the granite-hewn