Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

Here in the dark, the silence was complete—eternal. She could feel the Valg slinking around her, hungry and eager and full of cold, ancient malice.

When your people are lying dead around you, don’t come crying to me. It had come true—now thousands of slaves from Eyllwe had been slaughtered for their bravery.

This was hell—and looked like hell, as she saw the bloodbath she’d created on the day she rampaged through Endovier. The screams of the dying—the men she’d cut apart—tore at her like phantom hands. This was what she deserved.

the King of Adarlan himself, who rode near the front on a great black warhorse. There was a pony beside him, bearing a smaller figure. “His sniveling son,” Aedion told her.

Lady Marion, her mother’s dearest friend and handmaiden.

Behind the lovely lady peeked a night-black head of hair and onyx eyes—Elide, her daughter. The girl was too quiet and breakable for her to bother with usually. And Lady Marion, her nursemaid, coddled her own daughter endlessly.

Aedion at her heels as always, and perched on her little throne set beside her father’s. Aedion took up his place flanking her, shoulders back and head high, already her protector and warrior.

She hated the King of Adarlan.

He’d only looked at her twice so far: once during that initial meeting, when he’d stared at her long and hard enough that her father had demanded to know what he found so interesting about his daughter,

Hated the way he ignored his dark-haired son, who stood like a pretty doll beside him, his manners so elegant and graceful, his pale hands like little birds as they moved.

There were daggers on Lady Marion’s legs beneath her dress—she knew because she kept bumping into them. Lord Cal, Marion’s husband, sat beside his wife, the steel on him gleaming.

But her attention was on the prince across from her, who seemed utterly ignored by his father and his own court, shoved down near the end with her and Aedion.

He ate so beautifully, she thought, watching him cut into his roast chicken. Not a drop moved out of place, not a scrap fell on the table. She had decent manners, while Aedion was hopeless, his plate littered with bones and crumbs scattered everywhere, even some on her own dress. She’d kicked him for it,

His skin was pale from the winter, his blue-black hair neatly trimmed; his sapphire eyes lifted from his plate to meet hers.

And he looked lonely enough that she said, “If you like, you could be my friend.”

“I have a friend. He is to be Lord of Anielle someday, and the fiercest warrior in the land.”

The pounding in her head increased, and she took a drink of her water. Water—always water to cool her insides.

Right between her eyes, it ached and pressed at her head, trying to get in.

But the magic was churning in her gut—burning up. Each pulse of pain in her head made it worse.

Distantly, as if she were underwater, she heard Lady Marion say her name, reach for her, but she wanted her mother’s cool touch.

“What is it, Fireheart?”

Her head gave a throb—a blast of pain, and then … A wriggling, squirming inside her head. A worm of darkness, pushing its way in. Her magic roiled, thrashing, trying to get it out, to burn it up, to save them both, but—“Aelin.”

“Get it out,” she rasped, pushing at her temples as she backed away from the table.

Her magic bucked like a stallion as the worm wriggled farther in. “Get it out.”

The worm would latch into her mind and never let go.

Then water—a wall of water crashing down on her, slamming her to the stones, flowing down her throat, into her eyes, choking her. Drowning her. Until there was no air for her flame, only water and its freezing embrace. The King of Adarlan looked at her for a third time—and smiled.

The Valg princes enjoyed that memory, that terror and pain. And as they paused to savor it, Celaena understood. The King of Adarlan had used his power on her that night. Her parents could not have known that the person responsible for that dark worm, which had vanished as soon as she’d lost consciousness, was the man sitting beside them.

“You’ve found me a prize that will interest our liege. Do not waste her. Sips only.”

And when Dorian’s flawless manners faltered and he knocked over the teapot, spilling on her new dress, she’d made a good show of having Aedion threaten to pummel him.

that night she dreamt of the maggot invading her mind, waking with screams and flames in her mouth.

At dawn, her parents took her out of the castle, headed for their manor two days away.

She suggested Lady Marion take her, but her parents ...

Aedion remained in Orynth, her parents promising he would be sent for when she was settled again. But she knew it was for his safety.

Lady Marion went with them, leaving her husband and Elide at the palace—for their safety, too.

A monster, that was what she was. A monster who had to be cont...

Lady Marion kept her company, reading to her, brushing her hair, telling her stories...

Marion had been a laundress in the palace from her childhood. But when Evalin arrived, they had become friends—mostly because the princess had stained her new husband’s favorite shirt with ...

Handsome Cal Lochan, who somehow became the dirtiest man in the castle and constantly needed Marion’s advice on how to remove various stains. Who one day asked a bastard-born servant to be his wife—and not just wife, but Lady of Perranth, the second-largest territory in Terrasen. Two years later, she had borne him Elide, heir of Perranth.

😭😭😭😭😭

“I’m sorry,” her mother whispered onto her head. For the nightmares had also been of drowning—of icy water closing over her head. “I am so sorry, Fireheart.”

“But this will protect you from harm—this will keep you safe always.”

The Amulet of Orynth. The heirloom honored above all others of their house. Its round disk was the size of her palm, and on its cerulean front, a white stag had been carved of horn—horn gifted from the Lord of the Forest. Between his curling antlers was a burning crown of gold, the immortal star that watched over them and pointed the way home to Terrasen.

that no one could remember. “Father gave this to you when you were in Wendlyn. To protect you.” The smile remained. “And before that, his uncle gave it to him when he came of age. It is a gift meant to be given to people in our family—to those who need its guidance.”

“Never take it off. Never lose it.” Her mother kissed her brow. “Wear it, and know that you are loved, Fireheart—that you are safe, and it is the strength of this”—she placed a hand on her heart—“that matters. Wherever you go, Aelin,” she whispered, “no matter how far, this will lead you home.”

She had lost the Amulet of Orynth. Lost it that very next night.

Hours after her mother had given her the Amulet of Orynth, a storm had struck. It was a storm of unnatural darkness, and in it she felt that wriggling, horrific thing pushing against her mind again.

Her parents remained unconscious along with everyone else in the manor, even though a strange smell coated the air.

The rain had soaked everything, but—but they had to be exhausted from dealing with her, and from the anxiety they tried to hide. So she shut the window for them, and carefully crawled into their damp bed so that she did not wake them. They didn’t reach for her, didn’t ask what was wrong, and the bed was so cold—colder than her own, and reeking of copper and iron, and that scent that did not sit well with her.

Lady Marion stayed.

Murdered. Her family was—dead. There was no coming back from death, and her parents …

It couldn’t be true. This was another nightmare, and she would awaken to her father stroking her hair, her mother smiling, awaken in Orynth, and—