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the burden of chains.
“Why?” Lorcan mused aloud, more to
himself. “Why go to these lengths for us?”
He got his answer—they all did—a
heartbeat later.
Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat
and Rowan’s outstretched hand. She turned
back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk
peeked from those birch branches, from the
rocks, from behind stalagmites.
Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them.
Rowan could have sworn all those tiny
heads lowered in answer.
A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a
nearby rock, something glittering held
between them, and set the object on the stone.
Rowan went still. A crown of silver and
pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned
into upswept swan’s wings.
“The Crown of Mab,” Gavriel breathed.