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Aedion sobbed, flinging himself toward her
as Lysandra tried again to rise, using her
shield to balance her weight.
Men rallied behind her, waiting to see what
the Fire-Bringer would do. How she’d burn
the ilken.
There was nothing to see, nothing to
witness. Nothing at all, but her death.
Yet Lysandra rose, Aelin’s golden hair
falling in her face as she hefted her shield and
pointed the sword between her and the ilken.
The queen has come; the queen fights
alone.
Men ran back to the front line. Turned on
their heels and raced for her.
Lysandra held her sword steady, kept it
pointed at the ilken in defiance and rage.
Ready for the death soon to come.
She had been willing to give it up from the
start. Had agreed to Aelin’s plans, knowing it