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save. For what he’d done to the shifter who
had held his heart from the moment she’d
shredded into those Valg soldiers in the
sewers of Rifthold.
Aedion unbuckled the ancient sword from
his belt. Ren let out a sound of protest.
But he ignored the lord and tossed the
Sword of Orynth to Darrow.
The lightness where that sword had been
threw off his balance.
The old man stared at the sword in his
hands. Even went so far as to run a finger over
the bone pommel, the hateful bastard unable
to contain his awe.
Aedion just said, “The Sword of Orynth is
only a piece of metal and bone. It always has
been. It’s what the sword inspires in the
bearer that matters. The true heart of
Terrasen.”
“Poetic of you, Aedion,” was Darrow’s