Across the ravine, cut off entirely, the golden-haired witch was on her knees. “Manon!“
I don’t think you’ve ever groveled for anything in your life, Wing Leader, the king had said.
But there was a Blackbeak witch on her knees, begging whatever gods they worshipped; and there was Manon Blackbeak, struggling to rise as the temple island crumbled away.
Aelin took a step onto the bridge.
Asterin—that was the golden-haired witch’s name. She screamed for Manon again, a plea to rise, to survive.