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Queen Maeve of the Fae. Maeve knew everything—as was expected when you were older than dirt.
Wendlyn. A land of myths and monsters—of legends and nightmares made flesh.
Galan Ashryver, Crown Prince of Wendlyn,
Aedion Ashryver—the King of Adarlan’s infamous General of the North and cousin to Aelin Galathynius—stalked
the Bane—Aedion’s legion—was
“The Sword of Orynth,” Aedion drawled.
Manon
Manon Blackbeak, heir to the Blackbeak Witch-Clan,
In her bones, in her blood and breath and soul, she was so, so tired.
Poor girl
And there, lurking over the rim of a nearby boulder, were three sets of small, glowing eyes.
They had always known her, the Little Folk.
Sorscha,”
Silba, goddess of healers and bringer of peace—and gentle deaths—she’d
“Prince Rowan—” Prince. She swallowed the urge to turn to him. “—is from my sister Mora’s bloodline.
Such a rare gift—the ability to summon and manipulate flame.
Become queen.
Faster than she could sense, faster than anything had a right to be, he punched her.
Manon’s Thirteen,
her grandmother’s gold-flecked black eyes, the heirloom of the Blackbeak Clan’s purest bloodline,
when her grandmother had seen that Manon’s were wholly of pure, dark gold, the Matron had carried her away from her daughter’s still-cooling corpse and proclaimed Manon her undisputed heir.
Asterin, her second in command,
Sorrel, her Third.
It had been a while—too damn long—but Manon could feel the threads of fate twisting around them, tightening.
Emrys,”
Luca,”
Three-Faced Goddess
the Blueblood Matron was tall and willowy, more priestess than warrior. She wore the traditional deep blue robes, and a band of iron stars circled her brow.
The bluebloods remind me of priestesses in ACOTAR outfit and desxdiption
Mist shrouded everything below the bridge—a mist that hadn’t vanished in the day they’d been here, or the days they’d hiked up the Gap.
Mists?? Like thin places in this world (CC3 mists)
The first shred of Aelin’s court. The court he’d raise for her to shatter Adarlan’s chains.
Her mother had called her Fireheart.
Mora and Mab had fallen in love with human men, and yielded their immortality.
ILYSM AELIN 😭🥹
that flickering light inside of her guttered. And went out.
“Maybe we could find the way back together.”
He held out a hand. “Together, then.”
“Together,” she said, and took his outstretched hand. And somewhere far and deep inside her, an ember began to glow.
ugh i can’t wait for them to reunite. my baby needs her family 😭
“You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.”
YASSSSS DORIAN, TELL HIM
the carranam.”
It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood.
With horrific gentleness, Rowan grasped her hand. “No. The soldiers killed every slave in Calaculla.”
It was the Song of Eyllwe. Then the Song of Fenharrow. And Melisande. And Terrasen. Each nation that had people in those labor camps.
The next morning, by royal decree, the theater was shut down. No one saw those musicians or their conductor again.
“Fireheart.”
You were brought back, it said. All the players in the unfinished game.
the gold and red and blue flames utterly hers, this heir of fire.
“I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
Sorscha was finishing up a letter to her friend
The amulet, decorated with the sacred stag on one side … and Wyrdmarks on the other.
“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.”
