stone, as if the gate itself devoured even this
last piece of him. The one who had gone in
her place. The one she’d let go in her place.
The thumping from within the coffin didn’t
cease.
“That box will never open,” they said.
She blinked, and she was inside that box—
the stone so cold, the air stifling. Blinked, and
she was pounding on the lid, screaming and
screaming. Blinked, and there were chains on
her, a mask clamped over her face—
Aelin awoke to dim braziers and the pine-and-
snow scent of her mate wrapped around her.
Outside their tent, the wind howled, setting
the canvas walls swaying and swelling.
Tired. She was so, so tired.
Aelin stared into the dark for long hours
and did not sleep again.