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It would take a monster to destroy a monster.
Whatever determination, whatever rage, whatever anything she’d felt upon leaving Adarlan had ebbed away, devoured by the nothingness that now gnawed at her.
There was such glittering darkness in her, an endless rift straight through her core.
Aedion chuckled, finishing off the lamb. “I am His Majesty’s faithful servant, as I have always been.” Those Ashryver eyes once more settled on Dorian. “Perhaps I’ll be your whore someday, too.”
Every creature on earth would know who she was—what she was—even if they were blind and deaf.
Slay queen
“I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen.”
“Why should I waste flattery on a child who’s already in love with herself ?”
There were few sounds she enjoyed more than the groans of dying men, but the wind was one of them.
You didn’t need a weapon at all when you were born one.
She could almost see the three souls in the kitchen lined up beside each other: theirs bright and clear, hers a flickering black flame. Do not let that light go out. Nehemia’s last words to her that night in the tunnels.
Obedience, discipline, and brutality were the most beloved words in the Blackbeak Clan. All else was to be extinguished without second thought.
Smiles were rare amongst witches—unless you were on the hunt or on a killing field.
But when she reached in, toward the place in her chest where that monster dwelled, she found only cobwebs and ashes.
Her horror achieved new depths as she realized she’d been staring at his mouth, fingers still in her tin of salve. “I’m sorry,” she said, wondering whether she should throw herself from the tower and end her humiliation.
She usually talked like this when she was nervous. Which, Dorian had noticed with some satisfaction, was when he came near. And not in a bad way—if he’d sensed that she was truly uncomfortable, he’d have kept his distance. This was more … flustered. He liked flustered.
“See what you want, Aelin, and seize it. Don’t ask for it; don’t wish for it. Take it.”
“You are not most people, and I think you like it that way.
“She is eight—and she has told me that her dearest friends are characters in books.”
It had just been a kiss, Sorscha told herself every day afterward. A quick, breathless kiss that made the world spin.
But she didn’t want to be unnoticed—not with him, not forever. He made her want to laugh and sing and shake the world with her voice.
It could all go to hell tomorrow, but she had to know what it was like, just for a little while, to belong to someone, to be wanted and cherished.
“I see her slipping away, bit by bit, because you shove her down when she so desperately needs someone to help her back up.”
“You are the keeper of your own fate,”
There were still truths she hadn’t confessed to, stains on her soul she couldn’t yet explore or express. But maybe—maybe he wouldn’t walk away whenever she did find the courage to tell him.
“How—how did you come back from that kind of loss?” “I didn’t. For a long while I couldn’t. I think I’m still … not back. I might never be.” She nodded, lips pressed tight, and glanced toward the window. “But maybe,” he said, quietly enough that she looked at him again. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were inquisitive. “Maybe we could find the way back together.”
“Because if I free Eyllwe and destroy the king as Celaena, I can go anywhere after that. The crown … my crown is just another set of shackles.”
“Who did that to you?”
FINALLY
She’d burned him again. And yet he had held on to her—had run all the way here and not let go once.
He felt his magic and his warrior’s instincts honing into a lethal combination the longer he stared—howling to rip apart the people who had done that with his bare hands.
There was a flutter of wings and a flash of light, and before she could roll over, he’d scooped her up, blanket and all. If she’d had any energy, she might have objected. But he carried her up the two flights of stairs, down the hall, and then— A roaring fire, warm sheets, and a soft mattress. And a heavy quilt that was tucked in with surprising gentleness. The fire dimmed on a phantom wind, and then the mattress shifted. In the flickering dark, he said roughly, “You’re staying with me from now on.”
She yawned, and Rowan rubbed his eyes, his other hand still in hers. But he didn’t let go. And when she awoke before dawn, warm and safe and rested, Rowan was still holding her hand, clasped to his chest.
Oh, he was definitely fussing, and though it warmed her miserable heart, it was becoming rather irritating.
“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.”
“At least if you’re going to hell,” he said, the vibrations in his chest rumbling against her, “then we’ll be there together.”
She pursed her lips and turned to go to their room. He gripped her wrist. “Don’t do that.” A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “With that … disgust.”
So she left Rowan in the hall. But it did not stop her from wishing she could keep him.
So I am staying. Because you are needed, and because I will follow you to whatever end.”
“I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.”
The darkness had no end and no beginning.
She was a waste of space and breath, a stain on the world.
It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness.
Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
She was now flushed with color, her eyes bright and clear, and though she’d regained the weight she’d lost that winter, her face was leaner. A woman—a woman was smiling back at her, beautiful for every scar and imperfection and mark of survival, beautiful for the fact that the smile was real, and she felt it kindle the long-slumbering joy in her heart.
It was a message to the world. Aelin was a warrior, able to fight with blade or magic. And she was done with hiding.
