horses, toward the bright day beyond the
castle gates. Toward their kingdom to the
south. Shattered now, but not forever.
Not forever.
Aelin was quiet for a long time afterward, and
Rowan stayed with her, following as she
strode up to the castle battlements to watch
Chaol, Dorian, and Yrene ride down the road
that cut through the savaged Plain of Theralis.
Until even they had vanished over the horizon.
Rowan kept his arm around her, breathing
in her scent as she rested her head against his
shoulder.
Rowan ignored the faint ache that lingered
there from the tattoos she’d helped him ink
the night before. Gavriel’s name, rendered in
the Old Language. Exactly how the Lion had
once tattooed the names of his fallen warriors
on himself.