Queen of Shadows

She’d kill whoever was needed, whore herself, wreck herself, if it meant getting Aedion to safety.

“You do not get to blame me for that. For his actions.”

Chaol had run. He’d run, and Dorian had been left to been slaved by the collar.

You should have gotten Dorian and Sorscha out the day the king butchered those slaves. Did you learn nothing from Nehemia’s death? Did you somehow think you could win with your honor intact, without sacrificing something? You shouldn’t have left him; how could you let him face the king alone? How could you, how could you, how could you?

No, Celaena Sardothien certainly did not exist anymore. That woman—the woman he had loved... Perhaps she’d drowned in the vast, ruthless sea between here and Wendlyn. Perhaps she’d died at the hands of the Valg princes. Or maybe he’d been a fool all this time, a fool to look at the lives she’d taken and blood she’d so irreverently spilled, and not be disgusted.

A faint sort of amusement shone in her dark eyes. The same sort of amusement that had been there last year whenever they would meet, at inns or in rooms above taverns or sometimes even up against the wall of an alley.

“It meant something to me. What you and I had. More than that, your friendship meant something to me. I never told you the truth about who I was because I couldn’t face that truth. I’m sorry if what I said to you on the docks that day—that I’d pick you—made you think I’d come back, and it would all be fixed. Things changed. I changed.”

There was so little left of the guard she’d come to care for....

You remind me of what the world ought to be; what the world can be, she’d once said to Chaol. Her face burned. A girl had said those things; a girl so desperate to survive, to make it through each day, that she hadn’t questioned why he served the true monster of their world.

Yes, she’d loved Sam—more than she’d ever loved anyone. Even Chaol.

Do you understand what it was like for us here? While you were off playing with magic, off gallivanting with your faerie prince, do you understand what happened to me—to Dorian?

A chill fog had blanketed the world the night before, seeping in through every nook and cranny. Nestled under layers of quilts and down blankets, Aelin rolled over in bed and stretched a hand across the mattress, reaching lazily for the warm male body beside hers.

After all that she had endured, after what she had overcome in Wendlyn, to return to this... She wished Rowan were beside her, wished she could smell his pine-and-snow scent and know that no matter what news Arobynn bore, no matter how it shattered her, the Fae warrior would be there to help put the pieces back together.

She did not need the extra strength, speed, and agility of her Fae form to bring down her enemies.

Everything—everything was for Dorian, for his friend. For himself, he had nothing left to lose. He was nothing more than a nameless oath-breaker, a liar, a traitor.

Manon Blackbeak, heir of the Blackbeak Witch-Clan, bearer of the blade Wind-Cleaver, rider of the wyvern Abraxos, and Wing Leader of the King of Adarlan’s aerial host, stared at the portly man sitting across the black glass table and kept her temper on a tight leash.

She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was Aelin Fireheart, and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph.

“Aelin ran a hand over the rough rock, and the sun-warmed stone tingled as if in greeting.
Then she stepped beyond the stone.
And at long last, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was home.”

“Aelin ran a hand over the rough rock, and the sun-warmed stone tingled as if in greeting.
Then she stepped beyond the stone.
And at long last, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was home.”

“Lysandra leaped. The closest guard fired a clean, spiraling shot right for her chest.
She knew, with that leopard’s senses, that it would hit home.
Yet Lysandra did not slow. She did not stop.
For Evangeline. For her future. For her freedom. For the friends who had come for her.”

“If I die because of you, I’ll beat the shit out of you in hell.”

“She didn’t know why she’d bothered to go; why she’d been curious.
But there had been the prince, no collar to be seen around his neck.
And he had lifted his hand in greeting—as if to say I remember you.”

“She was a wolf.
She was death, devourer of worlds.”

“I’ll take my time with you, though.”
Aelin lifted her sword in both hands.
Then—
“What did you say?”
Dorian.
The voice was hoarse, broken.
The king and Aelin both turned toward the prince.
But Dorian’s eyes were on his father, and they were burning like stars. “What did you say. About Chaol.”

Slowly, Aedion drew his blade and knelt, his head bowed as he lifted the Sword of Orynth. “Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.”

“I want to take my time with you—to learn … every inch of you. And this apartment has very, very thin walls. I don’t want to have an audience,” he added as he leaned down again, brushing his mouth over the cut at the base of her throat, “when I make you moan, Aelin.”

“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster,” he said with a grin broad enough to show off his elongated canines. She let out a rough laugh, close enough that it warmed his face.

When she lifted her head, her eyes were blazing bright. “Tell me that we’ll get through tomorrow. Tell me that we’ll survive the war. Tell me—” She swallowed hard. “Tell me that even if I lead us all to ruin, we’ll burn in hell together.”
“We’re not going to hell, Aelin,” he said. “But wherever we go, we’ll go together.”