Chapter 107
As they rode on, Rowan didn’t ask why she was here and what she’d been doing for the past ten years while the world had gone to hell. He pulled his pale hood over his silver hair and moved ahead, though it was still easy enough to mark him as different, as a warrior and law unto himself. If he was truly as old as she suspected, she was likely little more than a speck of dust to him, a fizzle of life in the long-burning fire of his immortality. He could probably kill her without a second thought—and then move on to his next task, utterly untroubled by ending her existence. It didn’t unnerve her as much as it should have. For a month now, it had been the same dream. Every night, over and over, until Chaol could see it in his waking hours. Archer Finn groaning as Javelle shoved her dagger
- Writer
