The Little Folk truly knew, Fenrys mused, rubbing his jaw. What you were.
Maeve sent a whip of black for the Lady of Perranth.Aelin lunged, fire leaping for Elide, to block that fatal blow.
She realized her mistake within a heartbeat. Realized it as her hands passed through Elides body, and her friend disappeared.An illusion. She had fallen for an illusion, and had left herself open, vulnerable—Aelin twisted back toward Maeve, flames rising again, but too late.
Hands of shadow wrapped around her throat. Immovable. Eternal.Aelin arched, gasping for any bit of air as those hands squeezed and squeezed—
The chamber melted away. The stones beneath her became mud and snow, the roar of the river replaced by the din of battle. They flashed between one heartbeat and the next, between illusion and truth. Warm air for bitter wind, life for sure death.
Aelin wreathed her hands in flame, ripping at the shadow lashed around her throat.And yet, Nehemia had still felt the weight of her choices. Still wished to be free of her burdens.
It had not made her weak. Not in the slightest.Cairn surveyed her chained body, assessing where he would begin. His breathing sharpened in anticipatory delight.
Her hands curled into fists. Iron groaned.Spirit that could not be broken.