down swinging for this.
Maeve met her each blow, and they burned
and raged through the room.
The altar cracked. Melted away.
The hook from the ceiling dissolved into
molten ore that hissed upon the stones.
She blasted away the spot where Fenrys
had sat, chained by invisible bonds.
Again and again, the last embers of her fire
rallying, sweat beading on her brow, Aelin
struck at Maeve.
The iron coffin heated, glowing red. Only
here, in this illusion, might it do so.
Maeve had thought to trap her once more.
But the queen would not be the one
walking away this time.
Aelin pivoted, driving Maeve back. Toward
the smoldering coffin.
Step by step, she pushed her toward it.
Herded her.
lily
(lily)
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