Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

strange mark glowing on her brow. Her hair flowed around her, shorter now and bright like her fire. And her eyes—though they were red-rimmed, the gold in her eyes was a living flame.

Nameless wrydmark

work. She had suspected it for some time now. They were carranam.

Valg were four Wyrdstone collars steaming in the wet grass.

they could knock out one tower

Rifthold, Amaroth, and Noll.

hadn’t been a prince who looked at him. It had

was—the third and final Wyrdkey.

a droplet of water the size of a marble rose from the surface to her cupped palm.

what it meant, to have summoned even a droplet to her hand. To feel her mother smiling at her from realms away.

“Tell them it’s time to fight back.”

Hold on, the riders told the world. Hold on.

Then they would set about changing the world together.

heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.

containing the breath of every being in every realm all at once. It was madness and joy and terror and despair and eternity.”

“Brannon wasn’t royal-born?” Maeve cocked her head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you what the mark on your brow means?”

unwanted child possessed, marking them as nameless, nobody. Each

Brannon’s heirs, despite their noble lineage, has since been graced with it—the nameless mark.”

had recognized Elena—and it had said to both of them, You

were brought here—all of you were. All the players in the unfinished game.

“He could have an army of the dead, inhabited by the Valg.” “An army that does not need to eat or sleep or breathe—an army that will sweep like a plague across your continent, and others. Maybe other worlds, too.”

Brannon—he had possessed all three, yet had chosen to hide them, rather than put them back. And somehow, suddenly, that became the greatest question of all: why?

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.

“Your beloved Athril, dearest friend of Brannon … when Athril fought you, you killed him. You, not the Valg. And in your grief and shame, you were weakened enough that Brannon took the keys from you.

mixed with Mab’s line.” Celaena opened her arms wide, Goldryn burning bright in one hand. “Behold my power, Maeve. Behold what I grapple with in the deep dark, what prowls under my skin.”

“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.

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

Imogen

They said she had been broken in her soul when Keelie died.

“We call you the White Demon. You’re on our list—the list of all you monsters to kill on sight if we ever run into you. And you …” She opened her eyes and grinned, defiant, furious. “You are at the top of that list. For all that you have done.”

our great secret is that we pity you.”

“We pity you, each and every one of you. For what you do to your children. They are not born evil. But you force them to kill and hurt and hate until there is nothing left inside of them—of you. That is why you are here tonight, Manon. Because of the threat you pose to that monster you call grandmother. The threat you posed when you chose mercy and saved your rival’s life.”

Somehow, even though her long life had been gone for ten years … Somehow, that regret made her feel incredibly, heavily mortal.

“Then here I am. You want to know why the captain and I were meeting? It was because your stupid bastard of a boy-captain figured out that I’d been working with one of the rebels. He’s been blackmailing information out of me for months to give to his father to offer you when the Lord of Anielle needed a favor. And you know what?” Aedion grinned at them all, the Northern Wolf incarnate. If the king was shocked about the ring, he didn’t show it. “All you monsters can burn in hell. Because my queen is coming—and she will spike you to the walls of your gods-damned castle. And I can’t wait to help her gut you like the pigs you are.” He spat at the king’s feet, right on top of the fake ring that had stopped bouncing.

That was all it took to sever Sorscha’s head. The scream that erupted out of Dorian was the worst sound that Chaol had ever heard.

“When you come back,” the prince said, “burn this place to the ground.” A wall of crackling black hurtled

No one noticed when the sword was jettisoned over the river, its pommel catching the sun and burning like golden

fire, a flash of light before it was swallowed by the dark water, never to be seen again.