Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass, #6)

by Sarah J. Maas

She likely stopped people dead in the street with those eyes, a vibrant golden brown that seemed lit from within.

The healer—for there was no one else she could be, with that calm grace, those clear eyes, and that simple, pale blue muslin dress—glanced between them.

Save for the emotional healing the lord would need as well. A man not used to voicing his feelings, his fears and hopes and hurts—that much was obvious.

Yet she had met plenty of bad people in her life. Lived among them, served them, in Innish. She had taken one look at Lord Westfall’s brown eyes and had known, deep down, he was not one of them. Neither was his companion.

As if to say, You must enter where you fear to tread.

Yrene was light-headed when she crawled off the bed, taking his ruined shirt with her, and hurried for the bathing chamber. From the blood loss, she told herself. Even as she smiled throughout her bath.

Yrene sipped her mint tea and did not comment one way or the other.

period queen

crestfallen,

It was natural, for the emotional healing to be as difficult as the physical.

“Deep breaths,” he told her. “Center yourself. Fear will get you killed as easily as a weapon.”

“Don’t you waste one heartbeat being afraid of a coward who hunts women in the darkness,” Chaol snapped at her.

“You grew up in Adarlan, didn’t you?” Nesryn considered the question, why it might be asked. “Yes. I was born and raised in Rifthold, though my father’s family comes from Antica.” Borte was quiet for a few steps. But as they reached the narrow stairwell and stepped into the dim interior, Borte smiled over a shoulder at Nesryn. “Then welcome home.” Nesryn wondered if those words might be the most beautiful she’d ever heard.

She waited for more. Silence could be just as effective as spoken questions.

Rising, Sartaq scooped up their plates. “I told you that I was praying you’d join me, Nesryn Faliq. If I’d shown up empty-handed, Borte would have never let me hear the end of it.”

“Perhaps things like motives and reason are foreign to demons. Perhaps he only has the drive to destroy.”

Yrene shifted from one foot to another, still smiling, still shining. As if she were the last, vibrant ray of the sun, staining the sky long after it had vanished over the horizon.

“Thank you for tonight,” Chaol said, stifling what tried to leap off his tongue: I can’t take my eyes off you.

Chaol reached out. Just to brush his fingers over hers. Yrene paused, her fingers curling, as if they were the petals of some shy flower.

He hadn’t allowed himself to touch her these weeks. Had made himself keep a distance, despite her unintentional moments of contact, the times when her head dipped close to his and all he could do was watch her mouth.

Omgggeeee

He was standing. He was walking. And he was kissing her. Yrene could barely breathe, barely keep inside her skin, as Chaol’s mouth settled over hers. It was like waking up or being born or falling out of the sky. It was an answer and a song, and she could not think or feel fast enough.

Aelin frightens everyone.” He snorted. “But not him. I think that’s why she fell in love with him, against her best intentions. Rowan beheld all Aelin was and is, and he was not afraid.”

“Mountains. And seas,” she whispered. “So you never forget that you climbed them and crossed them. That you—only you—got yourself here.”