Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. "We will face them together. Maeve and Erawan."
"And the hundred thousand soldiers marching on Orynth?"
"Together, Fireheart," was all he said: She found only centuries of training and cool calculation within his face.
That unbreakable will.
She rested her head against his shoulder, her temple digging into the light armor. "Will we make it? Will there be anything left at all?"
He brushed the hair from her face. "We will try. That is the best we can do." The words of a commander who had walked on and off killing fields for centuries.
He joined their hands, and together they gazed at the army below. The shred of salvation it offered.
Had she been a fool, to expend those three hard-won months of descent into her power on that army, rather than Maeve? Maeve and Erawan? Even if she began now, it wouldn't, could never, be the same.
"Don't burden yourself with the what-ifs," Rowan said, reading the words on her face.
I don't know what to do, she said silently He kissed the top of her head. Together.
And as the wind howled through the peaks, Aelin realized that her mate, perhaps, did not have a solution, either.
