Even as Aelin collapsed to her knees where
the Wyrdmarks had been.
Rowan was instantly there, reaching for her
limp body.
A heartbeat echoed in his ears, into his own
soul.
And that was her chest, rising and falling.
And those were her eyes, opening slowly.
The scent of Dorian’s and Chaol’s tears
replaced the salt of Endovier as Aelin stared
up at Rowan and smiled.
Rowan held her to his chest and wept in the
light of the rising sun.
A weak hand landed on his back, running
over the tattoo he’d inked. As if tracing the
symbols he’d hidden there, in a desperate,
wild hope. “I came back,” she rasped.
She was warm, but ... cold, somehow. A
stranger in her own body.