CHAPTER 114

She was dead.
Aelin was dead.
Her lifeless body had been spiked to the
gates of Orynth, her hair shorn to her scalp.
Rowan knelt before the gates, the armies of
Morath streaming past him. It wasn’t real.
Couldn’t be. Yet the sun warmed his face. The
reek of death filled his nose.
He gritted his teeth, willing himself out,
away from this place. This waking nightmare.
It didn’t falter.
A hand brushed his shoulder, gentle and
small.