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“But we know what Maeve fears, why she
fears it,” Gavriel countered, his tawny eyes
bright. “Fire, and the healers. If Maeve comes
with that army of hers, we are not
defenseless.”
It was true. Rowan could have cursed
himself for not thinking of it already. Another
question formed, though. “Her army,” Rowan
said. “It’s made up of Fae.”
“So was her armada,” Gavriel said warily.
Rowan ran a hand through his hair. “Will
you be able to live with it—fighting our own
people?” Killing them.
“Will you?” Gavriel countered.
Rowan didn’t answer.
Gavriel asked after a moment, “Why didn’t
Aelin offer me the blood oath?”
The male hadn’t asked these weeks. And
Rowan wasn’t sure why Gavriel inquired now,
but he gave him the truth. “Because she won’t