The girl wore her scars the way some women wore their finest jewelry.

Celaena stared at the dark, tilled earth, a chill wind rustling her veil.

Her chest ached, but this was the one last thing she had to do, the one last honor she could give her friend.

Celaena tilted her head to the sky, closed her eyes, and began to sing.

I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don't care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.

And then I am going to rattle the stars.

Because I am lost," she whispered onto the earth. "And I do not know the way.

And she was snarling, snarling like some kind of animal as she snapped for his neck. He reared back, throwing her against the marble floor again. "Stop."

But the Celaena he knew was gone. The girl he'd imagined as his wife, the girl he'd shared a bed with for the past week, was utterly gone. Her clothes and hands were caked with the blood of the men in the warehouse.