Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

Fireheart—why do you cry? “Because I am lost,” she whispered onto the earth. “And I do not know the way.”

Something molten rushed through her, pouring over every crack and fracture still left gaping and open. Not to hurt or mar—but to weld. To forge.

“Tell me which one of your little cadre is the handsomest, and if he would fancy me.” Rowan choked. “The thought of you with any of my companions makes my blood run cold.” “They’re that awful? Your kitty-cat friend looked decent enough.”

Louder the beat sounded, as if the wyverns down in the pits knew what was happening. It grew and grew, until it reached the cavern—until Asterin reached for her shield and joined in. Until each one of the Thirteen took up the beat. “You hear that? That is for you.”

“From now until the Darkness cleaves us apart. You are mine, and I am yours.

That was when they noticed that every musician on the stage was wearing mourning black.

She was not afraid.