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They both moved at once, chucking the amulet and the ring into the space between them. Rowan caught the ring and swiftly pocketed it, but Lorcan just stared at the amulet in his hands, his eyes shadowed.
God dammit rowan
“How mad is Lorcan going to be,” Aelin murmured as they lay down face-to-face, “when he eventually opens up that amulet, finds the Valg commander’s ring inside, and realizes we gave him a fake?”
Thank god
“What if we go on,” he said, “only to more pain and despair? What if we go on, only to find a horrible end waiting for us?”
Aelin looked northward, as if she could see all the way to Terrasen. “Then it is not the end.”
He’d never realized how precious the calm moments were.
So he reached for her hand, sliding closer as he interlaced their fingers. Nesryn stared at their hands for a heartbeat, then sat up. “Maybe once all this … once everything is over,” Chaol said hoarsely, “we could figure that out. Together.”
Its weird that she set this up only to take it Awau?
“We’re not going to hell, Aelin,” he said. “But wherever we go, we’ll go together.”
“You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.”
WITCH KILLER— THE HUMAN IS STILL INSIDE HIM
“For Terrasen,” she said to him. “For our family.” “For Marion.” “For us.”
“Let’s go rattle the stars.”
Corpses in red and gold uniforms.
No
His men. Sixteen of them. His closest companions, his most loyal guards. The first one had the collar of his uniform unbuttoned, revealing a chest crisscrossed with welts and cuts and brands. Ress.
NO!
“who has been conspiring more: the captain, or you, Champion. Or should I call you Aelin?”
Oops
Lorcan had lied. He hadn’t killed the remaining Wyrdhounds. He’d just given them Rowan’s scent.
God dammit lorcan
And then there was Lorcan, swords out and swinging, a battle cry on his lips as he tore into the remaining creatures.
What
Manon tipped her head back to the sky, spread her arms wide, and roared.
The loosing of some great beast inside her. A beast who purred at the shadowfire.
“We get to come back,” Aelin said, pushing her hand harder and harder into her wound until the blood stopped, until it was only her tears that flowed. “Dorian, we get to come back from this loss—from this darkness. We get to come back, and I came back for you.”
And was ripped clean off by a ghost leopard.
Lysandra
When Lysandra dared look, it was in time to see Nesryn Faliq draw another arrow atop the neighboring rooftop, flanked by her rebels, and fire it clean through the eye of the final guard between Lysandra and the castle.
“What did you say?” Dorian. The voice was hoarse, broken.
Dorian. His name was Dorian. Dorian Havilliard, and he was the Crown Prince of Adarlan. And Celaena Sardothien—Aelin Galathynius, his friend … she had come back for him.
There were tears running down Aelin’s face as Dorian gripped the black stone encircling his throat. And, bellowing his grief, his rage, his pain, he snapped the collar from his neck.
Aelin extended her hand—a question and an offer and a promise. “To a better future,” she said. “You came back,” he said, as if that were an answer. They joined hands. So the world ended. And the next one began.
“Broken, but I didn’t make the kill. There was—a light around him. I left him alive.”
The Crown Prince tipped his head back to the sky and roared, and it was the battle cry of a god. Then the glass castle shattered.
Manon dropped Elide’s arm. Elide hardly dared to breathe as the witch said, “How long has it been since you destroyed the demon inside that collar, Kaltain?”
His precious gift, his key, he had called her. A living gate, he promised. Soon, he had said he would add the other. And then find the third.
Omg the scar was the key
“You make me want to live, too, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “Not exist—but live.”
“I spent centuries wandering the world, from empires to kingdoms to wastelands, never settling, never stopping—not for one moment. I was always looking toward the horizon, always wondering what waited across the next ocean, over the next mountain. But I think … I think that whole time, all those centuries, I was just looking for you.”
Just unflinching honesty, as there had been from the very start with her. “What do I do?” She had to swallow before she said, “You light up the darkness.”
Dorian said, “So here we are.” “The end of the road,” Aelin said with a half smile. “No,” Chaol said, his own smile faint, tentative. “The beginning of the next.”
And as they passed by the domed Royal Theater, there was music—beautiful, exquisite music—playing within.
And the smell—of pine and snow … How had she never realized that Rowan’s scent was of Terrasen, of home? Rowan came close enough to graze her shoulder and murmured, “I feel as if I’ve been looking for this place my entire life.”
And at long last, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was home.
