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so deep in the earth that even the Fae had not
bothered or dared to explore.
This one, it seemed, the Little Folk had
claimed for themselves, going so far as to
outfit the space with sprawling birch branches
against the walls. They’d hung small garlands
and wreaths from the white limbs, and
amongst the leaves, little bluish lights
twinkled.
Magic—old, strange magic, those lights.
Like they’d been plucked from the night sky.
Elide was surveying the space, awe written
over her features. Gavriel and Lorcan,
however, assessed it with a sharper, warier
eye. Rowan did the same. The only exit
seemed to be the one they’d entered through,
and the lake stretched too far to discern if a
shore lay beyond it.
Aelin did not pause as she strode for one of
the glittering walls. There was none of her