The Lord of Allsbrook turned back to him,
mouth open to say something. But Aedion’s
head swam, his body plunging into a coldness
he’d never known. Then there was nothing.
The battle was so much worse than
Evangeline had imagined.
The sound alone made her quake in her
bones, and only delivering messages to Lord
Darrow where he stood on one of the higher
castle balconies saved her from curling into a
ball.
Her breath was a ragged, dry thing as she
raced back onto the balcony, to where Darrow
stood by the stone railing, two other Terrasen
lords beside him. “From Kyllian,” Evangeline
managed to say, bobbing a curtsy, as she had
each time she’d delivered a message.
Battles were no place for manners, she
knew—Aelin certainly would have said that.