Aelin’s finger scratched along the curved
edge of the altar again.
The wolf blinked at her—thrice. In the
early days, months, years of this, they had
crafted a silent code between them. Using the
few moments she’d been able to dredge up
speech, whispering through the near-invisible
holes in the iron coffin.
One blink for yes. Two for no. Three for
Are you all right? Four for I am here, I am
with you. Five for This is real, you are awake.
Fenrys again blinked three times. Are you
all right?
Aelin swallowed against the thickness in
her throat, her tongue peeling off the roof of
her mouth. She blinked once. Yes.
She counted his blinks.
Six.
He’d made that one up. Liar, or something
like it. She refused to acknowledge that
lily
(lily)
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