She had the vague sense of Lysandra
joining Rowan and the others behind her, but
didn’t turn. Not as her own joyous laugh died
upon seeing Aedion’s haggard, weary face.
The sorrow in it.
She laid a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Aedion closed his eyes, leaning into her
touch, mouth wobbling.
She didn’t remark on the shield across his
back—her father’s shield. She had never
realized he carried it.
Instead she asked softly, “Where is he?”
Wordlessly, Aedion led her from the dining
hall. Down the winding passageways of the
castle, their castle, to a small, candlelit room.
Gavriel had been laid on a table, a wool
blanket obscuring the body she knew was
shredded beneath. Only his handsome face
visible, still noble and kind in death.
Aedion lingered by the doorway as Aelin
lily
(lily)
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