More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Even with the hood, she knew the way he moved. She knew the shape of the chin poking from the shadows of the cowl, the way his left hand tended to brush against his scabbard. But the sword with the eagle-shaped pommel was not hanging at his side.
Chaol
Odds were, Arobynn had planned the whole thing to coincide with her arrival. He’d probably sent Tern to the Shadow Market just to catch her eye, to draw her here. Maybe he knew what the captain was up to, whose side the young lord was now on; maybe he’d just lured her here to worm his way into her mind, to shake her up a bit.
Interesting choice of words
Arobynn continued to pin her with that lover’s gaze. “Nothing is without a price.” He brushed a kiss against her cheekbone, his lips soft and warm. She fought the shudder that trembled through her, and made herself lean into him as he brought his mouth against her ear and whispered, “Tell me what I must do to atone; tell me to crawl over hot coals, to sleep on a bed of nails, to carve up my flesh. Say the word, and it is done. But let me care for you as I once did, before … before that madness poisoned my heart. Punish me, torture me, wreck me, but let me help you. Do this small thing for
...more
Fake
When he did, with that raw magic of his, free when hers was not … It could be critical in defeating the Valg.
Why is his magic free and everyone else’s is not?
“Why don’t you say whatever it is you’re getting at, Aelin?” He hissed her name barely loud enough for her to hear. “Can you kill the king? When it comes down to it, could you kill your king?” “Dorian is my king.”
“You’ll find that she tends to do what she wants, when she wants, and doesn’t ask for permission first.”
Should be the name of the series
Aelin slipped back under the water, scrubbing at her hair, her face, her bloody body. She could forgive the girl who had needed a captain of the guard to offer stability after a year in hell; forgive the girl who had needed a captain to be her champion. But she was her own champion now. And she would not add another name of her beloved dead to her flesh.
Usually though, especially in these wretched meetings, the duke’s attention was fixed upon the beautiful, raven-haired woman who was never far from his side, as though tethered to him by an invisible chain. It was to her that Manon now looked while the duke pointed out the areas on the map he wanted Ironteeth scouts to survey. Kaltain—that was her name. She never said anything, never looked at anyone. A dark collar was clasped around her moon-white throat, a collar that made Manon keep her distance.
If Kaltain has a collar, she must have magic. What’s her purpose? If she’s survived all this time with a collar, then maybe Dorian has a chance of making it out alive. He’s far more powerful than she is.
The duke stroked an idle hand down Kaltain’s thin arm, its white flesh marred with too many bruises to be accidental. And then there was the thick red scar just before the dip of her elbow, two inches long, slightly raised. It had to be recent. But the woman didn’t flinch at the duke’s intimate touch, didn’t show a flicker of pain as his thick fingers caressed the violent scar.
So he rapes her because she’s tethered to him. Great.
Manon faced forward, frowning. Thank the Darkness that the Blackbeak Matron wasn’t here to see this, or more than Asterin would be threatened. It would be Manon’s own neck, too, for allowing such wildness to bloom. And being unwilling to stomp it out entirely.
Shes changing
No more than eleven, she was delicately built, her red-gold hair braided back to reveal citrine eyes that gobbled up the drenched street and women before her. As stunning as her mistress—or would have been, were it not for the deep, jagged scars on both cheeks. Scars that explained the hideous, branded-out tattoo on the inside of the girl’s wrist. She’d been one of Clarisse’s acolytes—until she’d been marred and lost all value.
Arobynn’s?
If she herself could change so much in two years, perhaps so could Lysandra. And for a moment, she wondered how another young woman’s life would have been different if she had stopped to talk to her—really talk to Kaltain Rompier, instead of dismissing her as a vapid courtier. What would have happened if Nehemia had tried to see past Kaltain’s mask, too.
“Why are you here, Dorian?” Aedion had never addressed the prince by his given name, but using it, reminding him, somehow seemed important.
“I came to look at the infamous general before they execute you like an animal.” No chance of being killed today, then. “The same way they executed your Sorscha?” Though the prince didn’t move, Aedion could have sworn he recoiled, as if someone yanked on a leash, as if there was still someone in need of leashing.
He’s fighting
“Still resisting?” the man said, glancing at the dark ring on his finger as though it possessed the answer already. “I can feel both of you in there. Interesting.”
“Take off your hood,” Brullo said quietly. Aelin looked up. “Why, and no.” “I want to see your face.” Aelin went still. But Nesryn turned back and leaned a hand on the table. “I saw her face last night, Brullo, and it’s as pretty as before. Don’t you have a wife to ogle, anyway?” Aelin snorted. “I think I rather like you, Nesryn Faliq.” Nesryn gave Aelin a half smile. Practically beaming, coming from her. Chaol wondered whether Aelin would like Nesryn if she knew about their history. Or whether the queen would even care. Aelin tugged back her hood only far enough for the light to hit her face.
...more
He can read her?
The duke summoned her endlessly for meetings with the tall, thin man who called himself Vernon and who looked at Manon with not nearly enough fear and respect. She could hardly get in a few hours of training with the Thirteen, let alone be airborne for long periods of time, without being called for.
Are they doing that on purpose? To keep her from getting too good?
The duke was studying a giant map spread across his table, his companion or advisor or jester, Lord Vernon Lochan, standing at his side. Down a few seats, staring at the dark glass surface, sat Kaltain, unmoving save for the flutter of her white throat as she breathed. The brutal scar on her arm had somehow darkened into a purplish red. Fascinating.
“If you have need of me, just call for Elide. The guards will know where to find me.”
Aelin’s handmaid Marion’s daughter
The girl might still be a spy, Manon told herself, turning toward the desk, where Elide’s scent was strongest. Sure enough, the sprawling map of the continent held traces of Elide’s cinnamon-and-elderberries scent in concentrated spots. Fingerprints. A spy for Vernon, or one with her own agenda? Manon had no idea. But anyone with witch-blood in their veins was worth keeping an eye on. Or Thirteen.
Having Sorrel in Asterin’s position was … strange. As if the balance of the world had shifted to one side. Even now, their wyverns were skittish around each other, though neither male had yet launched into outright combat. Abraxos usually made space for Asterin’s sky-blue female—even brushed up against her.
Not a soul in sight, not even wretched Tern. They were either out or under orders to stay away until this meeting was done—as though Arobynn didn’t want to be overheard.
This is a trap
Magic—Chaol had told her how to free it. So easy, and yet—a monumental task. In need of careful planning.
Cain was digging af the garden wyrdstone. Why? Was his demon trying to unleash magic too? What did he know about the wyrdstone?
The commander of the patrol—the demon inside him—looked at her and smiled as though it already knew what her blood tasted like.
Disgusting. Almost as bad as what wafted from the sewer grate at the other end of the alley—already open. Already oozing that too-familiar darkness.
Manon turned the paper over, but that was it. Crunching it in a fist, she sighed. Abraxos nudged at her again, and she idly stroked his head. Made, made, made. That was what the Crochan had said before Manon slit her throat. You were made into monsters.
I wonder if Crochan’s are the “regular” witches and the iron teeth are the ones the valg produced and that’s how they were “made”? Is that why they have iron… to keep the magic in check?
Her scent hit him. For a second, he could only breathe it deep into his lungs, his Fae instincts roaring that this was his family, this was his queen, this was Aelin. He would have known her even if he were blind. Even if there was another scent entwined with hers. Staggeringly powerful and ancient and—male. Interesting.
Haha
“Blue,” she whispered. “My blood runs blue.” “Good choice, witchling,” Manon said, and the word was a challenge and an order.
Isn’t Dorian called princeling
“Welcome to the Blackbeaks.” Witchling. Elide stared after her. She had likely just made the biggest mistake of her life, but … it was strange. Strange, that feeling of belonging.
“Rowan’s never been to this continent.” She said it with such casualness—Rowan. She really had no clue who she now considered a member of her court, who she’d freed from his oath to Maeve. Who she frequently referred to as a pain in her ass. Rowan was the most powerful full-blooded Fae male alive. And his scent was all over her. Yet she had no gods-damned idea.
Ren already knew that the blood oath was Aedion’s by right, and any other child of Terrasen would know, too. So first thing Aedion would do when the prince arrived would be to make sure he understood that little fact. It wasn’t like in Wendlyn, where warriors were offered the oath whenever their ruler pleased. No—since Brannon had founded Terrasen, its kings and queens had picked only one of their court to swear the blood oath, usually at their coronation or soon after. Just one, for their entire lives.
Uh oh
So they armed and cloaked themselves and made it two steps outside before he detected a female scent—like mint and some spice he couldn’t identify—approaching them. Fast. He’d caught that scent before, but couldn’t place it.
In the dungeons?
Aedion palmed his fighting knives as the male’s scent hit him—unwashed, but with a hint of pine and snow. And then he smelled Aelin on the stranger, the scent complex and layered, woven into the male himself.
Rowan
“Why are you crying?” he asked, trying to push her back far enough to read her face again. But she held on to him, so fiercely she could feel the weapons beneath his clothes. It would all be fine, even if it went to hell, so long as he was here with her.
Rowan loosed a breath. “I like this one best.” She fingered the solid black velvet sleeve. “I saw it in a shop when I was sixteen and bought it immediately. But when the dress was delivered a few weeks later, it seemed too … old. It overpowered the girl I was. So I never wore it, and it’s hung here for three years.”
He ran a scarred finger down the golden spine of the dragon. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he said softly. “Someday, I want to see you wear this.”
She slid onto the bed beside him, her scent caressing him. Jasmine, and lemon verbena, and crackling embers. Elegant, feminine, and utterly wild. Warm, and steadfast—unbreakable, his queen.
The duke studied her, and she met his gaze, met every inch of blackness within it. And found something slithering inside that had no place in this world.
What’s inside the duke?
They all whirled, weapons up, as Lysandra closed the rolling door behind her, boxes and bags in her arms. She had an uncanny way of sneaking into places unnoticed.
Could she end up with Aedion?
Though he supposed that Aelin was a queen. She did not falter. She did not do anything but plow ahead, burning bright. Even if it meant killing Dorian. They hadn’t spoken of it since the day of Aedion’s rescue. But it still hung between them. And when she went to free magic … Chaol would again have the proper precautions in place. Because he did not think she would put her sword down the next time.
Rowan angled his head, studying the dark with those immortal senses. “Perhaps the music does live on, in some form.” The thought made her eyes sting. “I wish you could have heard it—I wish you had been there to hear Pytor conduct the Stygian Suite. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still sitting down in that box, thirteen years old and weeping from the sheer glory of it.” “You cried?” She could almost see the memories of their training this spring flash in his eyes: all those times music had calmed or unleashed her magic. It was a part of her soul—as much as he was.
How i feel about the ocean
The sunlight danced on the Avery, nearly blinding. “You’re ready to do it?” She looked back at the gravestone, and at the grass concealing the coffin beneath. “I have no choice but to be ready.”
With the burning weight of Rowan’s attention upon her, she turned to show them the back—the roaring golden dragon clawing up her body. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Rowan’s eyes again slide south, and linger.
The dress he asked her to wear
“Apparently,” he said, walking toward her and offering an arm, “we both clean up well.” She gave him a sly grin as she took his elbow, the scent of almonds wrapping around her again.
Is he wearing it too?
She could feel Rowan bristling, sense Aedion’s disgust, but she blocked them out.
“Thank you for the oil,” he added. “My skin was a little dry.”
Hahahahhhahaa
What? he seemed to ask. You just … She shook her head again. Surprise me sometimes. Good. I’d hate for you to get bored. Despite herself, despite what was to come, a smile tugged on her lips as Rowan took her hand and gripped it tightly. When she turned to head into the dungeons, her smile faded as she found Arobynn watching.
With every step down the stairs, Aelin’s shoulders seemed to droop, her hair seeming to grow duller, her skin paler. This was where she’d last seen Sam, he realized. And her master knew it.
Keeping her face neutral was an effort as she reached for it. Her fingers grazed the golden chain, and she wished then and there that she’d never heard of it, never touched it, never been in the same room with it. Not right, her blood sang, her bones groaned. Not right, not right, not right. The amulet was heavier than it looked—and warm from his body, or from the boundless power dwelling inside of it. The Wyrdkey. Holy gods. That quickly, that easily, he’d handed it over. How Arobynn hadn’t felt it, noticed it … Unless you needed magic in your veins to feel it. Unless it never … called to him
...more
Deep in that abyss, thunder rumbled. Oh, gods. Oh, gods—
??
