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Yrene’s mouth quivered as she opened the
silver locket and pulled out a piece of paper.
Hands trembling, she extended it to the queen.
Aelin’s own hands shook as she accepted
the scrap.
“Thank you,” Yrene whispered.
Chaol supposed it was all that really
needed to be said.
Aelin unfolded the paper, reading the note
she’d written, seeing the lines from the
hundreds of foldings and rereadings these past
few years.
“I went to the Torre,” Yrene said, her voice
cracking. “I took the money you gave me, and
went to the Torre. And I became the heir
apparent to the Healer on High. And now I
have come back, to do what I can. I taught
every healer I could the lessons you showed
me that night, about self-defense. I didn’t
waste it—not a coin you gave me, or a