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dispatched to go out, too. Whether the letter to
Aedion and Lysandra would reach them was
up to the gods, she supposed, since they
seemed hell-bent on being their puppet
masters. Perhaps they might not bother with
her now, if Dorian was heading for the third
key, if he might take her place.
She did not dwell on it for long.
The ship was a step above ramshackle, all
the finer vessels commandeered for the war,
but it seemed steady enough to make the
weeks-long crossing. For the gold they paid,
the captain yielded his own quarters to Aelin
and Rowan. If the man knew who they were,
what they were, he said nothing.
Aelin didn’t care. Only that they sailed
with the midnight tide, Rowan’s magic
propelling them swiftly out to the moonlit sea.
Far from Maeve. From her gathered forces.
From the truth that Aelin might have