Chapter Thirty-Six
Orla could hear the wind and feel the cold. She could hear herself drawing her last breaths. They were heavy, filled with bubbling blood flowing into her lungs.
She promised Lorcan she’d marry him when this was over. Now here she was, unable to fulfill her promise. She had unfinished business. She couldn’t let it end like this. She was special. She’d been born and raised to lead. She had spent her life as a thief because she didn’t want to kill. She’d sacrificed her access to power. And it wasn’t all to end her life on a cold floor, unable to protect her lover.
She heard herself chanting the ancient vow—the vow of devotion, the vow of herself—to her ancestor. The smell of jasmine rose up from the floor and thickened in the air. Whorls of black mist hovered around her.
