Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass, #5)

by Sarah J. Maas

“But I do not think my brother and sister in this room would allow me to live for very long if they suspected I meant their queen ill—or their kingdom.” Aedion gave a grim nod, but beside him, Lysandra straightened—not in anger or surprise, but pride.

Aedion swore. He understood. If the Lords of Terrasen could not keep one child safe in their kingdom, could not find it in themselves to save Evangeline, to look after someone who could do them no good, gain them no wealth or rank … they would deserve to perish.

Aelin said, “I promise you that no matter how far I go, no matter the cost, when you call for my aid, I will come. I promise you on my blood, on my family’s name, that I will not turn my back on Terrasen as you have turned your back on me. I promise you, Darrow, that when the day comes and you crawl for my help, I will put my kingdom before my pride and not kill you for this. I think the true punishment will be seeing me on the throne for the rest of your miserable life.”

The demon inside his father had done that, too—snapped Chaol’s spine. The man fighting inside his father had kept the blow from being fatal. Dorian had possessed no such control, no such strength, when he watched the demon use his own body—when the demon had tortured and killed and taken what it wanted. Maybe his father had been the stronger man in the end. The better man.

Together, they pulled off their hoods. Someone gasped behind them. Not at their golden hair, their faces. But at the hand wreathed in blue flame as Aelin lifted it above her head and said to the soldiers pointing crossbows at them, “Get the hell out of my temple.” The soldiers blinked. One of the townsfolk behind them began weeping as a crown of fire appeared atop Aelin’s hair.

The soldiers exchanged glances. The flame around Aelin’s head burned brighter, a beacon in the dark. Symbols have power indeed. There she was, crowned in flame, a bastion against the gathered night. So Aedion drew the Sword of Orynth from its sheath along his spine. Someone cried out at the sight of that ancient, mighty blade.

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. And 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.

Manon looked to the Thirteen, standing around Asterin in a half circle. One by one, they lifted two fingers to their brows. A murmur went through the crowd. The gesture not to honor a High Witch. But a Witch-Queen.

Lorcan’s mouth tightened, but he took her hand—her fingers dwarfed in his. His calluses scraped against her own. He noticed it at the same moment she did, sliding his hand to cup hers so he might inspect her palm. She closed her hand, rotating it to grip his again.

Marion rolled her eyes, patting Lorcan’s knee. He nearly cringed at every touch. Even with his lovers, outside the bed itself, he didn’t like casual, careless contact. Some found that intolerable. Some thought they could break him into a decent male who just wanted a home and a good female to work beside him. Not one of them had succeeded.

I'm excited to see how this will change for him when it comes to Elide