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she had escaped, and her mate had come for
her. Had found her, just as they had found
each other despite centuries of bloodshed and
loss and war.
Aelin. She was Aelin, and this was not
some illusion, but the real world.
Aelin.
She swam out into the lake, and Rowan
followed the jutting lip of stone along the
shore’s edge.
She dropped beneath the surface, letting
herself sink and sink and sink, toes grasping
only open, cool water, straining for a bottom
that did not arrive.
Down into the dark, the cold.
The ancient, icy water pulled away the
flame and heat and strain. Pulled and sucked
and waved it off.
Cooled that burning core of her until she
took form, a blade red-hot from the fire