Kingdom of Ash

suffering to those you love.”
The words were distant. Secondary to that
burning wound.
It singed him again, a phantom wound, a
memory—
Not a memory. Not a memory, but a
lifeline thrown into the dark. Into an illusion.
An anchor.
As he had once anchored her, hauling her
from a Valg prince’s grip.
Aelin.
His hands curled at his sides. Aelin, who
had known suffering as he did. Who had been
shown peaceful lives and still chosen him,
exactly as he was, for what they had both
endured. Illusions—those had been illusions.
Rowan gritted his teeth. Felt the thing
wrapped around his mind. Holding him
captive.
He let out a low snarl.