Chaol thought of it—of the life growing in
Yrene’s womb, of the child they’d raise.
Thought of what Gavriel had not experienced.
“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing, really, to
say.
Gavriel shook his head, tawny eyes
glowing golden, flecks of emerald emerging
in the blinding sun. “I did not tell you for
sympathy.” The Lion looked at him, and
Chaol felt the weight of every one of
Gavriel’s centuries weighing upon him. “But
rather to tell you what you perhaps already
know: to savor every moment of it.”
“Yes.” If they survived this war, he would.
Every damn second.
Gavriel angled the reins, as if to lead his
horse back to his companions, but Chaol said,
“I’m guessing that Aedion has not made it
easy for you to appear in his life.”
Gavriel’s grave face tightened. “He has
lily
(lily)
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