arms around her. “I am sorry,” he said into her
hair.
Tentatively, slowly, her hands drifted
across his back. Then settled, embracing him.
“I miss them,” she whispered, shuddering.
Dorian only held her tighter, and let Manon
lean on him for as long as she needed,
Abraxos staring toward that blasted bit of
earth on the plain, toward the mate who would
never return, while the city below celebrated.
Aelin strode with Rowan up the steep streets
of Orynth.
Her people lined those streets, candles in
their hands. A river of light, of fire, that
pointed the way home.
Straight to the castle gates.
To where Lord Darrow stood, Evangeline
at his side. The girl beaming with joy.
Darrow’s face was stone-cold. Hard as the