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And when Galan Ashryver rode off into the sunset, off to war and glory and to fight for good and freedom, she lingered on that roof until he was a speck in the distance.
Because Celaena was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.
“—is from my sister Mora’s bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you.”
waaaaaaiiiiiit soooooo you’re telling me they are technically related and don’t they get together in the end??????????
Orrr am I confused?!?!
No other coven was needed if the Thirteen were present.
Mate—not husband. The Fae had mates: an unbreakable bond, deeper than marriage, that lasted beyond death.
“I don’t think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath.”
“We are the Thirteen, from now until the Darkness claims us.” She said it quietly, but knew all could hear her. “Let’s remind them why.”
“The people you love are just weapons that will be used against you.”
As she dusted the block off, an image emerged of a stag with a glowing star between its antlers, so like the one in Terrasen.
who held an immortal flame between their massive antlers and who had once been stolen from a temple in this land
instantly cold as she severed contact with the delightful heat living within the stone. Part of her could have sworn that ancient, strange power was sad to see her go.
Her mother had called her Fireheart.
He’d burn the library, the city, or the whole world to ashes if she asked him.
“You left me,”
“There is nothing that I can give you. Nothing I want to give you. You are not owed an explanation for what I do outside of training. I don’t care what you have been through or what you want to do with your life. The sooner you can sort out your whining and self-pity, the sooner I can be rid of you. You are nothing to me, and I do not care.”
It would have been nice to have one person who knew the absolute truth about her—and didn’t hate her for it.
With each step she took back to her room, that flickering light inside of her guttered. And went out.
Why are you crying, Fireheart?
It had been ten years—ten long years since she had heard her mother’s voice. But she heard it then over the force of her weeping, as clear as if she knelt beside her.
Fireheart—why do ...
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“First thing,” he breathed, “we’re not friends. I’m still training you, and that means you’re still under my command.” The flicker of hurt must have shown, because he leaned closer, his grip tightening on her jaw. “Second—whatever we are, whatever this is? I’m still figuring it out, too. So if I’m going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.”
Aelin Fireheart,
Aelin of the Wildfire.
“Who did that to you?”
“A lot of people. I spent some time in the Salt Mines of Endovier.”
“How long?”
“A year. I was there a year before … it’s a long story.”
“You were a slave.”