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Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother.
“You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her.”
“The world,” Aelin said, “will be saved and remade by the dreamers, Rolfe.”
But if we win this war, it will be a new world—a free world. That is my promise—to you, to anyone who will march under my banner. A better world. And you will have to decide where your place in it shall be.”
Love had broken a perfect killing tool. Lorcan wondered if it would take him centuries more to stop being so pissed about it.
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.
They had not come ten years ago. She wanted them to know she had not forgotten it.
“I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”
“I’d walk into the burning heart of hell itself to find you.”
“I’ll always find a way back to you.”
The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart …
They both turned, giving Rowan Whitethorn horrifyingly innocent smiles. The Fae Prince, to his credit, only winced after they looked away again.
Rowan hissed, “Where is my wife?”
“We have come to fulfill our life debt to Celaena Sardothien—to Aelin Galathynius.
Unleashing a cry that set the world trembling, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.
