Queen of Shadows (Throne of Glass, #4)

by Sarah J. Maas

“I miss you,”

“Every day, I miss you. And I wonder what you would have made of all this. Made of me. I think—I think you would have been a wonderful king. I think they would have liked you more than me, actually.”

“I never told you—how I felt. But I loved you, and I think a part of me might always love you. Maybe you were my mate, and I never knew it. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering about that. Maybe I’ll see you again in the Afterworld, and then I’ll know for sure. ...

She’d come here to remind herself—remind herself why that grave before them existed, and why she had those scars on her back.

“It’s not going to be quick, and it’s not going to be clean. That man has many, many debts to pay before he meets his end.”

He looked … she couldn’t stop staring, that’s how he looked.

“You look ravishing, but I’d expect nothing less. Not even a bruise after trapping our guest. Impressive.”

“Thank you for the oil,”

“My skin was a little dry.”

Surprise me sometimes. Good. I’d hate for you to get bored.

This was where she’d last seen Sam, he realized. And her master knew it.

You give the word—just one damn word and he’s dead, and then we can search this house from top to bottom for that amulet

Sam had been tortured in ways she hadn’t even known until she read Wesley’s letter. The worst of it had been requested by Arobynn. Requested, as punishment for Sam’s loving her—punishment for tampering with Arobynn’s belongings.

I’m beginning to admire Lysandra more and more. Seventeen-year-old Aelin must have been a delight to deal with

I would pay good money to see seventeen-year-old Aelin meet seventeen-year-old Rowan.

Seventeen-year-old Rowan wouldn’t have known what to do with you. He could barely speak to females outside his family. Liar—I don’t believe that for a second. It’s true. You would have scandalized him ...

He would probably have been even more scandalized to learn I’m not wearing any underg...

You can’t be serious

Did you see any place where this dress might hide them? Every line and wrinkle would show.

Do you delight in shocking me?

How else am I supposed to keep a cranky immortal entertained?

You wicked, clever fox. And here you were, thinking the red hair was just for vanity. I shall never doubt again

“What will it take, dearest, for you to stop being such a raging pain in my ass?”

“If you betray us tonight, Arobynn,”

“I’ll make what was done to Sam seem like a mercy compared to what I do to you.”

“I’m going to enjoy having you back,”

Then, faster than she could react, he slid the Wyrdstone ring onto her finger.

Aelin lifted her hands in front of her and turned. She pulled off the ring. “So that was what he wanted. I honestly expected something grander.”

“I had to know.” “Know what? That Arobynn is a monster?” “That there was no redeeming him. I knew, but … It was his final test. To show his hand.”

But there was a gentleness to his grip, a care reserved only for those he cherished and protected.

“It’s your call then, Rowan. Do as you see fit.”

He’d almost fallen to his knees when he’d first seen her earlier tonight.

For Wesley. For Sam. For Aelin. And for herself. For the child she’d been, for the seventeen-year-old on her Bidding night, for the woman she’d become, her heart in shreds, her invisible wound still bleeding. It was so very easy to sit up and slice the knife across Arobynn’s throat.

Arobynn was dead.

One last time—you have to wear this mask one last time, and then you can bury Celaena Sardothien forever.

“The point is—I should have been there then, but I am here now. I’m healed. Let me share this burden.”

“And what could I ever ask of you that I couldn’t do myself?” “That’s the problem. Yes, you can do most things on your own. That doesn’t mean you have to.”

“As we have in the past. To whatever end.”

Rowan had thought he knew fear. He had thought he could face any danger with a clear head and ice in his veins. Until Lorcan appeared from the shadows, so fast that Rowan hadn’t even scented him, and put that knife against Aelin’s throat.

He’d slaughter Lorcan in the way only immortals learned and liked to kill: slowly, viciously, creatively. Lorcan’s suffering would be thorough.

“I would have. Gods, Aelin—he had me, and he didn’t even know it. He could have waited another minute and I would have told him, ring or no ring. Erawan, witches, the king, Maeve … I would face all of them. But losing you …”

“I trust you, Rowan.”

“I missed you,”

“When I was in Wendlyn. I lied when I said I didn’t. From the moment you left, I missed you so much I went out of my mind. I was glad for the excuse to track Lorcan here, just to see you again. And tonight, when he had that knife at your throat …”

“I kept thinking about how you might never know that I missed you with only an ocean between us. But if it was death separating us … I would find you. I don’t care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always.”

“I would never allow anyone else at my throat.”

“I want to take my time with you—to learn … every inch of you. And this apartment has very, very thin walls. I don’t want to have an audience,”

“when I make you moan, Aelin.”

Arobynn had done this. A final card up his sleeve. He’d known. About Lysandra—about their friendship. He didn’t like to share his belongings.

She wasn’t alone—not with him, and not with Aedion also beside her.