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(Autumn Admireceo1iq) #1

She unsheathed Goldryn and her dagger, then
lifted her brows at Whitethorn in silent
challenge.
The warrior-prince obeyed, unsheathing his
blade and hatchet before sinking into a
defensive crouch.
Training—retraining her body. No whisper
of her power manifested, yet her eyes burned
bright.
Aelin angled her weapons. “To Terrasen,”
she said at last.
And began.

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