Inhospitable terrain smoothed out. Little
rivers froze over for their passing. The trees
blocked out the falling snow.
They had traveled through the night
yesterday. And when dawn had broken, the
Lord of the North had knelt beside Aelin and
offered himself as her mount.
There was no saddle for him; none would
ever be permitted or needed. Any rider he
allowed on his back, Aelin knew, would never
fall.
Some had knelt when she rode by. Even
Dorian and Chaol had inclined their heads.
Rowan, atop a fierce-eyed Darghan horse,
had only nodded. As if he had always
expected her to wind up here, at the head of
the army that galloped the final hours to the
edge of Orynth.
She had fitted her battle-crown to her head,
along with the armor she’d gathered in
lily
(lily)
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