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Manon pulled her bloodred cloak tightly around herself and pressed into the shadows of the closet, listening to the three men who had broken into her cottage.
um hello?
A Crochan witch had come to their little green valley in the north of Fenharrow,
she’d been waiting for this night. It was the same at every village she’d lived in or visited.
wait Manon is a witch?
Oh, the villagers knew exactly what they planned to do with the witch who sold potions and charms from her back door, and who could predict the sex of a babe before it was due. She was surprised it had taken these men so long to work up the nerve to come here, to torment and then destroy what petrified them.
Always the same, at every backwater town and uptight mortal village.
not just looking for her, but stealing whatever they wanted.
Take nothing with you, leave nothing behind.
She’d oiled the hinges on every door in this house.
what a baddie honestly
Silent as death, Manon slid up behind him. The fool didn’t even know she was there until she brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, “Wrong kind of witch.”
😆
a row of dagger-sharp iron teeth pushed from the slits high in her gums, snapping down like armor.
so she’s Irontooth? Not Crochan?
The iron claws shot over her nails in a stinging, gleaming flash.
The man didn’t even scream before she ripped out his throat.
wow
The second man also didn’t get the chance to scream before she gutted him with two swipes of her iron nails.
She counted to ten, because she wanted to hunt, and had been that way since she tore through her mother’s womb and came roaring and bloody into this world.
OH.
Because she was Manon Blackbeak, heir to the Blackbeak Witch-Clan, and she had been here for weeks, pretending to be a Crochan witch in the hope that it would flush out the real ones.
oh damn…
Her first, glorious kill had been a Crochan, no more than sixteen—the same age as Manon at the time.
um.
she’d taken the cloak as a trophy—and still wore it, over a hundred years later.
But from the day Manon stalked into Blackbeak Keep wearing the cloak and holding that Crochan heart in a box—a gift for her grandmother—it had been her sacred duty to hunt them down, one by one, until there were none left.
god. damn.
over the towering Cambrian Mountains that marked the border between mortal-ruled Wendlyn and the immortal lands of Queen Maeve.
In her bones, in her blood and breath and soul, she was so, so tired.
💔
Talking to anyone was too taxing. Which made Rowan the perfect companion: he didn’t say a single word to her.
Perhaps it was now fair to assume that her visit with Maeve wasn’t to be pleasant.
One she could have if she— No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Not after what had happened on the other side of that portal.
She’d shifted then—and it had been awful enough to remind her that she had no interest in ever doing it again.
“Are there so many threats in Wendlyn that we can’t risk a fire?”
“Not from mortals.”
there, lurking over the rim of a nearby boulder, were three sets of small, glowing eyes.
oh god.
They had always known her, the Little Folk.
?
they still recognized what she was. Small gifts left at campsites—a fresh fish, a leaf full of blackberries, a crown of flowers.
She’d ignored them, and stayed out of Oakwald Forest as much as she could. The faeries ke...
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more eyes glowed between the trees. More silent witnesses to her arrival.
Because Celaena was Fae, or something like a mongrel.
She wondered how much these creatures knew about the wars that had destroyed her land, about the Fae and faeries that had been hunted down, about the burning of the ancient forests and the butchering of the sacred stags of Terrasen. She wondered if they had ever learned what became of their brethren in the West.
:(
they seemed so … curious.
He didn’t even know who she was.
She’d been appointed full healer a year ago, and had been called to attend to the prince, the captain, and their friend countless times. And the Crown Prince still had no idea who she was.
:( nooo
she remembered it all.
whatever had existed between the three of them was broken. The girl especially.
Celaena Sardothien. World’s greatest assassin and now the King’s Champion.
She was invisible. And glad of it, most days.
:(
Dorian was heir to the mightiest empire in the world, and Sorscha was the daughter of two dead immigrants from a village in Fenharrow that had been burned to ash—a village that no one would ever remember.
But that didn’t stop her from loving him, as she still did, invisible and secret, ever since she’d first laid eyes on him six years ago.
:o 💔
She’d had enough of friends. Enough of them dying, too.
:(
The aches and pains were soothing somehow. Not comforting, but … distracting. Welcome. Deserved.
Wards—magic wards.
?
if she were staying with the Fae … others might have questions.
It was the dark-haired woman seated behind the desk. Maeve, Queen of the Fae. Her aunt. And then came the words she had been dreading for ten years. “Hello, Aelin Galathynius.”
😆!!
Situated on the border between the Fae and mortal world, they were accessible to anyone who could reach them. It was one of the few good things Maeve had done.
Her mother had done everything she could to keep her from Maeve’s clutches.
she wondered whether Rowan had just brought her there to make her feel bad about the life she’d fallen into.
