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“It is your fate, and your responsibility.”
“The next time we train,” he said as they eased through the throng of beautifully dressed women, “remind me to wallop you.” An elderly woman turned to glare at him, and Celaena gave her an apologetic and exasperated look, as if to say, Men!
Why hadn’t Elena approached him for her tasks?
My father still says that if Terrasen were to rise again, it might stand a chance; it would be a genuine threat to Adarlan.”
they want to put Aelin Galathynius back on Terrasen’s throne.”
Aelin Galathynius, the lost heir of Terrasen.
despite the fierce cold in his bedroom.
he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a faint ring of frost around where his body had lain on the couch.
And then Rena looked toward the dais. “This song,” she said softly, “is in honor of the esteemed royal family who invited me here tonight.” This song was an ancient legend—an old poem, actually. One Celaena hadn’t heard since childhood, and never set to music. She heard it now as if for the first time: the story of a Fae woman blessed with a horrible, profound power that was sought by kings and lords in every kingdom. While they used her to win wars and conquer nations, they all feared her—and kept their distance.
Nehemia stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “You have power in you, Prince. More power than you realize.” She touched his chest, tracing a symbol there, too, and some of the court ladies gasped. But Nehemia’s eyes were locked on his. “It sleeps,” she whispered, tapping his heart. “In here. When the time comes, when it awakens, do not be afraid.” She removed her hand and gave him a sad smile. “When it is time, I will help you.”
And why, when she had said them, something ancient and slumbering deep inside of him had opened an eye.
The black ring on the king’s hand glinted in the dim light from the beastly fireplace, that mouth-shaped hearth that seemed poised to devour the room. From his spot beside Perrington, Roland gestured to the map. Another black ring glinted on Roland’s hand—the same as the one Perrington wore, too.
For a heartbeat, there was something in his eyes that reminded her of a world long since burned—a glimmer of color and power that still stalked the edges of her nightmares.
“I had an Asterion mare once,” she admitted, and both of them blinked. Celaena went up to the stall and held out her fingers, letting the stallion sniff her. “Her name was Kasida.” She smiled at the memory, stroking the stallion’s velvet-soft nose. “It meant ‘Drinker of the Wind’ in the dialect of the Red Desert. She looked like a storm-tossed sea.” “How did you get an Asterion mare? They’re worth even more than the stallions,” Dorian said. It was the first normal-sounding question he’d asked her in weeks. She looked over her shoulder at them and flashed a fiendish grin. “I stole her from the
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“No,” Nehemia said. “She didn’t tell me. But I know.”
“How do you know about her parents?” he asked. “Some things you hear with your ears. Others, you hear with your heart.”
