She did it
The Wyrdmarks faded into the rocky ground as the sun rose over
Endovier.
Rowan was on his knees before Aelin, readying for her last breaths,
for the end that he hoped would somehow take him, too.
He’d make it his end. When she went, he’d go.
But then he’d felt it. As the sun rose, he’d felt it, that surge down the
frayed mating bond.
A blast of heat and light that welded the broken strands.
He didn’t dare to breathe. To hope.
Even as Aelin collapsed to her knees where the Wyrdmarks had been.
Rowan was instantly there, reaching for her limp body.
A heartbeat echoed in his ears, into his own soul.
And that was her chest, rising and falling. And those were her eyes,
opening slowly.
The scent of Dorian’s and Chaol’s tears replaced the salt of Endovier
as Aelin stared up at Rowan and smiled.
Rowan held her to his chest and wept in the light of the rising sun.
A weak hand landed on his back, running over the tattoo he’d inked.
As if tracing the symbols he’d hidden there, in a desperate, wild hope. “I
came back,” she rasped.
She was warm, but … cold, somehow. A stranger in her own body.
Aelin sat up, groaning at the ache along her bones.
“What happened?” Dorian asked, held upright by the arm Chaol had
around his waist.
Aelin cupped her palms before her. A small lick of flame appeared
within them.
Nothing more.
She looked at Rowan, then Chaol, and Dorian, their faces so haggard
in the rising light of day.
“It’s gone,” she said quietly. “The power.” She turned her hands, the
Don't
Elide faced Maeve, who did not deign to glance her way. “Please, please
—”
Aelin simply nodded at the Fae Queen. Her acceptance and surrender.
Maeve bowed her head, triumph dancing on her red lips. “Lorcan,
release her.”
The warrior’s hands slackened at his sides.
And because she had won, Maeve even loosened her power’s grip on
Aelin’s bones. Allowed Aelin to turn to Elide and say, “Go with Manon.
She will take care of you.”
Elide began crying, shoving away from Lorcan. “I’ll go with you, I’ll
come with you—”
The girl would. The girl would face Cairn, and Maeve … But Terrasen
would need that sort of courage. If it was to survive, if it was to heal,
Terrasen would need Elide Lochan.
“Tell the others,” Aelin breathed, trying to find the right words. “Tell the
others that I am sorry. Tell Lysandra to remember her promise, and that I
will never stop being grateful. Tell Aedion … Tell him it is not his fault, and
that …” Her voice cracked. “I wish he’d been able to take the oath, but
Terrasen will look to him now, and the lines must not break.”
Elide nodded, tears sliding down her blood-splattered face.
“And tell Rowan …”
Aelin’s soul splintered as she saw the iron box the escorts now carried
between them. An ancient, iron coffin. Big enough for one person. Crafted
for her.
“And tell Rowan,” Aelin said, fighting her own sob, “that I’m sorry I
lied. But tell him it was all borrowed time anyway. Even before today, I
knew it was all just borrowed time, but I still wish we’d had more of it.”
She fought past her trembling mouth. “Tell him he has to fight. He must
save Terrasen, and remember the vows he made to me. And tell him … tell
him thank you—for walking that dark path with me back to the light.”
