Maeve hissed again, clawing at the blade.
Wreathing her fingers in flame, Aelin
offered her hand to Maeve. “You came here to
escape a husband you did not love. A world
you did not love.”
Maeve paused, studying Aelin’s hand. The
new calluses on it. She winced—winced in
pain at the blade shredding her heart but not
killing her. “Yes,” Maeve breathed.
“And you love this world. You love
Erilea.”
Maeve’s dark eyes scanned Aelin, then
Rowan and Lorcan, before she answered.
“Yes. In the way that I can love anything.”
Aelin kept her hand outstretched. The
unspoken offer in it. “And if I choose to
banish you, you will go wherever it is we
decide. And never bother us again, or any
other.”
“Yes,” Maeve snapped, grimacing at the
lily
(lily)
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