CHAPTER 8

Blackness greeted Aelin as she rose to
consciousness. Tight, contained blackness.
A shift of her elbows had them digging into
the sides of the box, chains reverberating
through the small space. Her bare feet could
graze the end if she wriggled slightly.
She lifted her bound hands to the solid wall
of iron mere inches above her face. Traced the
whorls and suns embossed onto its surface.
Even on the inside, Maeve had ordered them
etched. So Aelin might never forget that this
box had been made for her, long before she’d
been born.