Queen of Shadows ( PDFDrive )

“Are you hurt?” His voice was hoarse.
Aelin silently shook her head. Gods. Gods. Without that hood, now that she
could see his features … He was exactly as she remembered—that ruggedly
handsome, tan face perhaps a bit more gaunt and stubbly, but still Chaol. Still
the man she’d come to love, before … before everything had changed.
There were so many things she had thought she’d say, or do, or feel.
A slender white scar slashed down his cheek. She’d given him that. The night
Nehemia had died, she’d given him that, and tried to kill him.
Would have killed him. If Dorian hadn’t stopped her.
Even then, she’d understood that what Chaol had done, whom he had chosen,
had forever cleaved what was between them. It was the one thing she could not
forget, could not forgive.
Her silent answer seemed enough for the captain. He looked to the woman
beside Aelin—to his scout. His scout—who reported to him. As though he were
leading them all.
“The path ahead is clear. Stick to the eastern tunnels,” she said.
Chaol nodded. “Keep moving,” he said to the others, who had now reached
his side. “I’ll catch up in a moment.” No hesitation—and no softness, either. As
if he’d done this a hundred times.
They wordlessly continued on through the tunnels, casting glances Aelin’s
way as they swept past. Only the young woman lingered. Watching.
“Nesryn,” Chaol said, the name an order in itself.
Nesryn stared at Aelin—analyzing, calculating.
Aelin gave her a lazy grin.
“Faliq,” Chaol growled, and the woman slid her midnight eyes toward him. If
Nesryn’s family name didn’t give away her heritage, it was those eyes, slightly
uptilted at the corners and lightly lined with kohl, that revealed at least one of
her parents was from the Southern Continent. Interesting that the woman didn’t
try to hide it, that she chose to wear the kohl even while on a mission, despite
Rifthold’s less-than-pleasant policies toward immigrants. Chaol jerked his chin
toward their vanishing companions. “Get to the docks.”
“It’s safer to have one of us remain here.” Again that cool voice—steady.
“Help them get to the docks, then get the hell back to the craftsman district.
Your garrison commander will notice if you’re late.”
Nesryn looked Aelin up and down, those grave features never shifting. “How
do we know she didn’t come here on his orders?”
Aelin knew very well who she meant. She winked at the young woman. “If I’d