Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

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

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.

Thirteen from now until the Darkness embraced them,

Wendlyn. Land of nightmares made flesh, where legends roamed the earth.

Her mother had called her Fireheart.

“You are in control now,” Rowan said from the shore. “You are its master.”

“You do not apologize,” he said, “for defending the people you care about.”

Sorscha kissed him and was at the door, a hand on the knob. “My greatest wish,” she said with a little smile, “is for a morning when I don’t have to run out the door at first light.”

“You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.”

That was when they noticed that every musician on the stage was wearing mourning black. That was when they shut up. And when the conductor raised his arms, it was not a symphony that filled the cavernous space. It was the Song of Eyllwe. Then the Song of Fenharrow. And Melisande. And Terrasen. Each nation that had people in those labor camps. And finally, not for pomp or triumph, but to mourn what they had become, they played the Song of Adarlan. When the final note finished, the conductor turned to the crowd, the musicians standing with him. As one, they looked to the boxes, to all those jewels bought with the blood of a continent. And without a word, without a bow or another gesture, they walked off the stage. The next morning, by royal decree, the theater was shut down. No one saw those musicians or their conductor again.