It slammed into Rowan, into Fenrys and
Lorcan. Struck their shoulders, hard and deep.
Burning them. Branding them.
Aelin was dead. She was dead, and he had
failed her.
“You are a lesser male,” Lyria said, still
studying the gate where Aelin’s body swayed.
“You deserved this. After what was done to
me, you deserved this.”
Aelin was dead.
He did not wish to live in this world. Not
for a heartbeat longer.
Aelin was dead. And he—
His shoulder twinged. And then it burned.
As if someone had pressed a brand to it. A
red-hot poker.
A flame.
He looked down, but beheld no wound.
Lyria continued on, “You bring only