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“My aching, bloodied fingers dug into dented armour and clammy, stiff flesh as I heaved away the last of the High Fae corpses piled atop the fallen Illyrian soldier. The dark hair, the golden-brown skin... The same as Cassian's. But it was not Cassian's death-grey face that gaped at the sky. My breath whooshed from me, my lungs still raw from roaring, my lips dry and chapped. I needed water- badly. But nearby, another set of Illyrian wings poked up from the piled dead. I mumbled and lurched toward it, letting my mind drift someplace dark and quiet while I righted the twisted neck to peer at the face beneath the simple helm. Not him. I picked my way through the corpses to another Illyrian. Then another. And another. Some I knew. Some I didn't. Still the killing field stretched onward under the sky. Mile after mile. A kingdom of the rotting dead. And still I looked.” — Sarah J. Maas