Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass, #2)

by Sarah J. Maas

In that moment, after ten long years, Celaena looked at Chaol and realized she was home.

He turned. 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. But he blinked, and it was gone.

“Chaol,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Dorian’s eyes were frozen, his jaw clenched. “Treat her well.”

By the Valg, three were made, Of the Gate-Stone of the Wyrd: Obsidian the gods forbade And stone they greatly feared. In grief, he hid one in the crown Of her he loved so well, To keep with her where she lay down Inside the starry cell. The second one was hidden In a mountain made of fire, Where all men were forbidden Despite their great desires. Where the third lies Will never be told By voice or tongue Or sum of gold.

steps. “Well, most of the songs were never written down. And why would they be?” “Surely the scholars in Terrasen recorded some of them. Orynth had the greatest library in Erilea at one time,” Chaol countered. “That they did,” Sensel said, a twinge of sorrow in his words. “But I don’t think anyone ever bothered to write down their dirges. At least, not in a way that would have made it here.” “What about in other languages? My guard from Terrasen mentioned something about a dirge he once heard sung in another tongue—though he never learned what it was.”

“Another language? Everyone in Terrasen speaks the common tongue. No one’s spoken a different language there for a thousand years.”

Chaol pressed a bit harder. “So there are no dirges in Terrasen that are sung in a different language?” “No,” he said, drawing out the word as he pondered. “But I once heard that in the high court of Terrasen, when the nobility died, they sang their laments in the language of the Fae.”

Chaol’s blood froze and he almost tripped, but he managed to keep walking and say, “Would these songs have been known by everyone—not just the nobility?” “Oh, no,” Sensel said, only half-listening as he recited whatever history was in his head. “Those songs were sacred to the court. Only those of noble blood ever learned or sang them. They were taught and sung in secret, their dead buried by the light of the moon, when no other ears could hear them. At least, that’s what rumor claimed. I’ll admit to my own morbid curiosity in that I’d hoped to hear them ten years ago, but by the time the slaughter had ended, there was no one left in those noble houses to sing them.”

Regardless of what territory her parents had lorded over, if Celaena ever took up the mantle she’d lost, and if Terrasen ever got to its feet … Then Celaena could become a powerhouse—potentially capable of standing against Adarlan. And that made Celaena more than just his enemy. It made her the greatest threat he’d ever encountered.

Now … now, she didn’t particularly care. It was hard to care, she realized as she started the trek back to the castle. Incredibly hard to care, when you didn’t have anyone left to care about.

Celaena pulled the riddle from her pocket and read it aloud. When she was done, Yellowlegs slowly turned her head to Celaena, her voice low and rough. “Where did you find that?” Celaena shrugged. “Give me the answer and I might tell you. What sort of objects does this riddle describe?” “Wyrdkeys,” Yellowlegs breathed, eyes glowing. “It describes the three Wyrdkeys to open the Wyrdgate.”

“The Wyrd governs and forms the foundation of this world. Not just Erilea, but all life. There are worlds that exist beyond your knowledge, worlds that lie on top of each other and don’t know it. Right now, you could be standing on the bottom of someone else’s ocean. The Wyrd keeps these realms apart.”

“There are gates—black areas in the Wyrd that allow for life to pass between the worlds. There are Wyrdgates that lead to Erilea. All sorts of beings have come through them over the eons. Benign things, but also the dead and foul things that creep in when the gods are looking elsewhere.”

“But long ago, before humans overran this miserable world, a different sort of evil broke through the gates: the Valg. Demons from another realm, bent on the conquest of Erilea, and with the force of an endless army behind them. In Wendlyn, they fought against the Fae. Try as the immortal children might, they could not defeat them.

“So the riddle is a … a map to where the keys are hidden?” Celaena asked, trembling now as she realized just what kind of power Nehemia and the others had been after. Worse, what the king might be after. “Yes.”

Celaena licked her lips. “What might one do with the Wyrdkeys?” “The person who holds all three Wyrdkeys would have control over the broken Wyrdgate—and all Erilea. They would be able to open and close the gate at will. They could conquer new worlds or let in all sorts of life to bend to their cause. But even one key could make someone immensely dangerous. Not enough power to open the gate, but enough to be a threat. You see, the keys themselves are pure power—power to be shaped as the wielder wills it. Tempting, isn’t it?”

Celaena brought the ax down, throwing every bit of strength into her arms. Blue blood sprayed everywhere. There was a smile on Baba Yellowlegs’s decapitated head as it thudded to a stop.

The metal began to heat along the edge of the door, glowing red, then fizzing— Magic was here; magic was working right now, trying to seal the door against the creature. But it wasn’t coming from her. Dorian’s eyes were scrunched in concentration, his face deathly pale. She’d been right. Dorian did have magic. This was the information Yellowlegs had wanted to sell to the highest bidder, sell to the king himself. It was knowledge that could change everything. It could change the world. Dorian had magic.

Celaena was Fae.

Celaena Sardothien wasn’t in league with Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.

Celaena was the lost Queen of Terrasen.