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market in Xandria.”
Aelin arched a brow. “Hopefully, the horse
I stole didn’t belong to you.”
A cough from Fenrys. Aelin threw the
warrior a grin over her shoulder.
The young man’s eyes darted over her face,
then landed on the enormous emerald on her
finger. The even bigger ruby in Goldryn’s hilt.
Borte blurted to Nesryn, “One minute, we
were eating dinner at the campfire, then the
next, Falkan clutched his stomach like he was
going to puke up his guts all over everyone”—
a glare from Falkan at Borte—“and then his
face was young. He’s young.”
“I was always young,” Falkan muttered. “I
just didn’t look it.” His gray eyes again found
Aelin’s. “I gave you a piece of Spidersilk.”
For a heartbeat, the then and the now
blended and wobbled. “The merchant,” Aelin
murmured. She’d last seen him in the Red