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But if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was fussing.
Oh, he was definitely fussing, and though it warmed her miserable heart, it was becoming
I love them
I love them
Rowan leaned back in his chair. “Well, there’s the carranam.” The Old Language word was beautiful on his tongue—and if she’d had a death wish, she might have begged him to speak only in the ancient language, just to savor the exquisite sounds.
“There are thousands of slaves in Endovier, and a good number are from Terrasen. Regardless of what I do with my birthright, I’m going to find a way to free them someday. I will free them. Them, and all the slaves in Calaculla, too. So my scars serve as a reminder of that.”
She supposed it was nice, having someone, even an overbearing, snarling Fae warrior, bothering to care whether she lived or died.
nineteen somehow felt rather dull—and
Real
She tried to embrace him, but he would have none of that, and told her as much. Still, the next time she used the bathing room, she’d snuck behind his chair at the worktable and planted a great, smacking kiss on his cheek.
AWW
Celaena and Rowan held tight to each other and did not dare close their eyes for the entirety of the night.
Telling him all that was useless. So she left Rowan in the hall. But it did not stop her from wishing she could keep him.
AWW
I will follow you to whatever end.” And if the creatures devoured her body and soul, then she would not mind. She had earned that fate. For a long moment, he said nothing. But his brows narrowed slightly. “To whatever end?”
And when she grasped the dagger, its weight lighter than she remembered, Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her, and said, “Fireheart.”
AHHH
Fireheart, he had called her. Did he know what that name meant to her?
He didn’t back away again as she approached and said with every ember left in her shredded heart, “I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.”
AHHH
Nehemia’s people, butchered. Her own people, butchered. Her people.
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.
Orynth, that city of light and learning, once a pillar of strength—and her home. It would be both again. She would not let that light go out. 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. She was not afraid.
SHE WILLNOT BE ARAID
She was their queen, and she could offer them nothing less. Aelin Galathynius smiled at her, hand still outreached. “Get up,” the princess said. Celaena reached across the earth between them and brushed her fingers against Aelin’s. And arose.
He knew Aelin was alive, because during all these weeks that they had been breathing each other’s scents, they had become bonded. She was alive, but could be in any level of torment or decay. That was why Gavriel and Lorcan were holding him back. If they didn’t, he would run for the darkness, where Lyria beckoned. But for Aelin, he had tried to break free. “Rowan, the others—”
“To whatever end?” He nodded, and she joined hands with him, blood to blood and soul to soul, his other arm coming around to grip her tightly. Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, “I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
“Once upon a time,” she said to him, to the world, to herself, “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom … very much.”
Oh
It was a message to the world. Aelin was a warrior, able to fight with blade or magic. And she was done with hiding.
Aelin—Aelin had done this, caused this clamor of sound.
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.
Aelin of the Wildfire. Aelin Fireheart. Aelin Light-Bringer. Aelin.
“Aelin,” he murmured, and it wasn’t a reprimand, or a thank-you, but … a prayer. “Aelin,” he whispered again, grinning, and kissed her brow before he dropped to both knees before her.
I don’t want you enslaved to me. I won’t be that kind of queen. You have no court—you are defenseless, landless, and without allies. She might let you walk out of here today, but she could come after you tomorrow. She knows how powerful I am—how powerful we are together. It will make her hesitate. Please don’t do this—I will give you anything else you ask, but not this. I claim you, Aelin. To whatever end.
“Together, Fireheart,” he said, pushing back the sleeve of her tunic. “We’ll find a way together.” He looked up from her exposed wrist. “A court that will change the world,” he promised.
“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 put her arms around him—a promise.
AHH
But she didn’t want to know—didn’t want to think about the Sun Goddess and her agenda as she flung herself on Rowan, breathing in his scent, memorizing the feel of him. The first member of her court—the court that would change the world. The court that would rebuild it. Together.
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.
crying
