Rowan glanced toward Aelin. She had
plowed farther ahead, the front line spreading
out, swarms of Morath soldiers between them.
Stay close. He had to stay close.
A Crochan swept by, shooting past Rowan
to rise up, up, up—right to the unprotected
underbelly of an Ironteeth witch’s wyvern.
Sword raised, the witch raced along its
underside, swift and brutal.
Where she passed, blood and gore rained.
The beast groaned, wings splaying, and
Rowan threw out a gust of wind. The wyvern
crashed onto Morath’s ranks with a boom that
sent his own damned horse plowing away.
When the shuddering wings had stilled,
when Rowan had steadied his horse and felled
the soldiers rushing at him, he again searched
for Aelin.
But his mate was no longer near him.
No, charging ahead, a vision of gold and
lily
(lily)
#1