1564024802

angled toward him, their defensive poses
mirror images. Trained into their very bones
by the same master, under the same blistering
sun. Neither looked at the other, though.
Ren, Sol, and Ravi had slipped into
position at Lysandra’s—at Aelin’s—side,
their own blades primed to spill blood. A
fledgling court closing ranks around its queen.
Never mind that the older lords had
stumbled behind the safety of the refreshment
table, their weathered faces ashen. Only Galan
Ashryver had taken up a place near the tent
exit, no doubt to intercept their assailant
should he try to flee. A bold move—and a
fool’s one, considering what knelt in the
center of the tent.
“Did no one smell that he was a Valg
demon?” Aedion demanded, hauling Lysandra
to her feet with her uninjured arm. But there
was no collar on the stranger, no ring on his