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“Are the soldiers—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he repeated. But
she could see it in his face. The strain.
They had rallied to their queen, only to
realize it had been an illusion. That the might
of the Fire-Bringer was not with them. Would
not shield them against the army at their
heels.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
Aedion took the empty cup of water before
he gripped her hand, squeezing gently. “I am
sorry, Lysandra. For all of it.” His throat
bobbed again. “When I saw the ilken, when I
saw you against them ...”
Useless. Lying bitch. The words he’d
thrown at her, raged at her, dragged her
further from the haze of pain. Sharpened her
focus.
“You did this,” he said, voice lowering,
“for Terrasen. For Aelin. You were willing to