flew. He didn’t dare look up long enough to
hunt for a gleam of silver-white hair, or for
the shimmer of Spidersilk-grafted wings.
He did not see any of the Thirteen. Or
recognize any of the Crochans as they swept
overhead.
So Dorian kept fighting, his brother in soul
and in arms beside him.
He’d only let himself count at the end of
the day. If they survived. If they made it to the
city walls.
Only then would he tally the dead.
There was only Aelin’s besieged city, and the
enemy before it, and the ancient sword in her
hand.
Siege towers neared the walls, three
clustering near the southern gate, each
teeming with soldiers.
Still too far away to reach. And too distant