Queen of Shadows (Throne of Glass, #4)

by Sarah J. Maas

“When you shatter the chains of this world and forge the next, remember that art is as vital as food to a kingdom. Without it, a kingdom is nothing, and will be forgotten by time. I have amassed enough money in my miserable life to not need any more—so you will understand me clearly when I say that wherever you set your throne, no matter how long it takes, I will come to you, and I will bring music and dancing.”

She was the heir of fire. She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was Aelin Fireheart, and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph.

She was a whirling cloud of death, a queen of shadows, and these men were already carrion.

Rowan was the most powerful full-blooded Fae male alive. And his scent was all over her. Yet she had no gods-damned idea.

“And,” Rowan added, “if you ever speak to her again the way you did last night, I’ll rip out your tongue and shove it down your throat. Understand?”

Rowan stood with his queen in the rain, breathing in her scent, and let her steal his warmth for as long as she needed.

“When we get back,” he said, “remind me to prove you wrong about every thought that just went through your head.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?” He gave her a sly smile that made thinking impossible.

“But would you bleed red, or black?” “I’ll bleed whatever color you tell me to.”

But perhaps the monsters needed to look out for each other every now and then.

you do not yield—

“He never married. And even when he was an old man, I’d sometimes see him sitting on that front porch. As if he were waiting for someone.”

She deserved happiness, perhaps more than anyone.

“We do not look back, Chaol. It helps no one and nothing to look back. We can only go on.”

“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.”

She said softly, “You make me want to live, Rowan. Not survive; not exist. Live.”

Then she smiled with every last shred of courage, of desperation, of hope for the glimmer of that glorious future. “Let’s go rattle the stars.”

gripped the black stone encircling his throat. And, bellowing his grief, his rage, his pain, he snapped the collar from his neck.

“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.

The wicked will tell us anything to haunt our thoughts long after,

“You make me want to live, too, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “Not exist—but live.” He cupped her cheek, and took a steadying breath—as if he’d thought about every word these past three days, over and over again. “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.”

“There is no one else I’d want guarding my back. If my people cannot see the worth of a woman who sold herself into slavery for the sake of a child, who defended my court with no thought for her own life, then they are not my people. And they can burn in hell.”

“You can’t touch me.” Manon dug her nails in deeper. “No, I can’t,” she purred into his ear. “But Aelin Galathynius is alive. And I hear that she has a score to settle.”

And at long last, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius was home.