Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

It didn’t unnerve her as much as it should have.

Because Celaena was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.

Mate—not husband. The Fae had mates: an unbreakable bond, deeper than marriage, that lasted beyond death.

“These days, I am very glad to be a mortal, and to only have to endure this life once. These days, I don’t envy you at all.”

Rowan raced beside her, but made no move to grab her. No, Rowan was … playing. He threw a glance at her, breathing hard but evenly. And it might have been the sun through the canopy, but she could have sworn that she saw his eyes alight with a glimmer of that same, feral contentment. She could have sworn he was smiling.

Why are you crying, Fireheart?

The music was a tapestry woven of light and dark and color, building delicate links in a chain that latched on to her heart and spread out into the world, binding her to it, connecting everything.

Oh, he was definitely fussing, and though it warmed her miserable heart, it was becoming rather irritating.

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.” Rowan’s brows rose high. “I don’t think my kitty-cat friend would know what to do with you—nor would any of the others. It would likely end in bloodshed.”

All she knew was that whatever and whoever climbed out of that abyss of despair and grief would not be the same person who had plummeted in.

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.”

She had lied to him. She had wanted to save lives, yes. But she had gone out there with no intention of saving her own.

Rowan was screaming as the creature pulled her into its arms. As she stopped fighting. As her flames winked out and darkness swallowed her whole.

She would fill the world with it, with her light—her gift. She would light up the darkness, so brightly that all who were lost or wounded or broken would find their way to it, a beacon for those who still dwelled in that abyss. It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness.

It was a message to the world. Aelin was a warrior, able to fight with blade or magic. And she was done with hiding.

She was as much a queen as Maeve. She was the sovereign of a strong people and a mighty kingdom. She was the heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.

She knew the gold in her eyes had shifted to flame, because when she looked to Maeve, the queen’s face had gone bone-white. And then Celaena set the world on fire.

“I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To whatever end.”

No longer would they be locked away in her heart. No longer would she be ashamed.

“And then I am going to rattle the stars.”

She lifted her face to the stars. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of two mighty bloodlines, protector of a once-glorious people, and Queen of Terrasen. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—and she would not be afraid.