Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5)

by Sarah J. Maas

“I would sooner die tomorrow than live for a thousand years with a coward’s shame.”

And it was the way his words broke, the way his eyes shone, that had her reaching for his hand once more.

a counterbeat to her own racing heart.

You could heat it—for both of us.”

Her words were breathless, barely more than a whisper.

“You trust nothing.” She met his eyes. “I trust you.”

She’d been in love with him for a while now. Longer than she wanted to admit.

Rowan laughed again—and Aelin thought she might never get sick of it, that laugh. That smile.

That she would do anything—ruin herself, sell herself—to protect.

The spark in Aelin’s eyes died a bit

But pushing her about it one last time, making sure she knew …

day after day.

But Aelin had promised herself, months and months ago, that she would not pretend to be anything but what she was.

More would be better, but—she was not empty-handed. She had done that for herself. For them all.

It was enough.

Rowan is my carranam. He is above any doubt.”

“I will tell my people,” Aelin said quietly but not weakly, “the entire truth.

No fire burned in her, not even an ember.

She had laughed once at Dorian—laughed and scolded him for admitting that the thought of marriage to anyone but his soul-bonded was abhorrent.

Perhaps the gods did hate her. Perhaps this was her test. To escape one form of enslavement only to walk into another.

“When you find me again, we will have that night. I don’t care where, or who is around.” He pressed a kiss to her neck and said onto her rain-slick skin, “You are my Fireheart.”

Even the rain seemed to pause as they at last drew away, panting. And through the rain and fire and ice, through the dark and lightning and thunder, a word flickered into her head, an answer and a challenge and a truth she immediately denied, ignored.

“I wish we had time to speak. Time for me to explain.” “You’re good at walking away from this kingdom. I don’t see why now would be different.”

“I promise you that no matter how far I go, no matter the cost, when you call for my aid, I will come.

Silence was his answer.

Too soon, and the sound too short-lived.

Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him. Not a whiff of fear. Interesting.

He wondered, though, if she was imagining the magic that had sparked there.

“I promise.” The girl had no idea that for the past five centuries, promises were the only currency he really traded in. “I will not abandon you.”

She did not have room for fear in her husk of a heart.

But there was a hollowness in Petrah’s face that had not been there months ago.

Witches did not mourn, because witches did not love enough to allow it to break them.

A life debt—that was what lay between them.

Manon had been beaten before. She could endure her grandmother’s fists again.

But that gold didn’t ease the cracking in her heart—that

“The choice is yours how much you allow it into your life,

“I have known many kings in my life, Dorian Havilliard. And it was a rare man indeed who asked for help when he needed it, who would put aside pride.”

“The first time you met Aelin, did you know …?” A snort. “No. Gods, no. We wanted to kill each other.” The amusement flickered. “She was … in a very dark place. We both were. But we led each other out of it. Found a way—together.”

“You always have an answer to everything.” She shook her head. “It’s insufferable.”

He wondered if he’d ever feel it—that degree of love.

She still dreamt of him.

I will not be afraid; I will not be afraid—

Each heartbeat was a lifetime; each breath ached.

Her mistake—it was her own mistake, her own damned choices, that had led to this.

“She goes to her death to keep your secrets.”

Something in Manon’s chest broke—broke so violently that she wondered if it was possible for no one to have heard it. Manon lifted her sword. All it would take was one word from Asterin, and she could save her own hide. Spill Manon’s secrets, her betrayals, and she’d walk free. Yet her Second uttered no other word.

Manon understood in that moment that there were forces greater than obedience, and discipline, and brutality. Understood that she had not been born soulless; she had not been born without a heart. For there were both, begging her not to swing that blade.

Forgiveness shone in the faces of her Thirteen. Forgiveness and understanding and loyalty that was not blind obedience, but forged in pain and battle, in shared victory and defeat. Forged in hope for a better life—a better world.

A hundred years—and yet Manon wished she’d had more time.

He never stopped loving your mother. Loving her,” she spat. “And loving you.