bullshit,” Fenrys said, and offered Aelin a half
smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Reproach lay there—not for her choice, but in
not telling them. Yet he still tried to make
light of it.
Doomed—that lovely, wolfish grin might
be in its final days of existence.
They might all be in their last days of
existence now. Because of her.
Rowan read it in her eyes, her face. His
hand tightened on her waist. “Let’s find the
others.”
Standing inside one of the khagan’s fine war
tents, Dorian held his hands out before a fire
of his own making and winced. “That meeting
could have gone better.”
Chaol, seated across the fire, Yrene in his
lap, toyed with the end of his wife’s braid. “It
really could have.”