and blood, this was real.
“Wake up, Aelin,” Maeve whispered.
Aelin blinked. And found herself in the
iron box, Maeve leaning over the open lid.
Smiling. “We’re here,” the Fae Queen said.
Not Fae. Valg. Maeve was Valg—
“You’ve been dreaming,” Maeve said,
running a finger over the mask still clamped
to her face. “Such strange, wandering dreams,
Aelin.”
No. No, it had been real. She managed to
lift her head enough to peer down at herself.
At the shift and too-thin body. The scars still
on her.
Still there. Not wiped away. No new skin.
“I can make this easy for you,” Maeve
went on, brushing Aelin’s hair back with
gentle, loving strokes. “Tell me where the
Wyrdkeys are, swear the blood oath, and these
chains, this mask, this box ... all of it will go
lily
(lily)
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