Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass, #6)

by Sarah J. Maas

Lord Chaol Westfall, Hand of the King.

The khagan was a living myth. As much of a deity as the thirty-six gods who ruled over this city and empire.

In a city of gods, this was the holiest of temples. And deadliest of labyrinths.

Atop his snowy head sat no crown. For gods among mortals did not need markers of their divine rule.

Hasar and Sartaq, then. Third and secondborn, respectively.

Orcus. Mantyx. Erawan. Three Valg Kings. Wielders of the Keys.

All I have left is my king, and this ridiculous, slim scrap of hope that we survive this war and I can find a way to make something of it.” “Of what?” “Of everything that crumbled in my hands. Everything.” His voice broke on the word. Her eyes stung. Shame or sorrow, Yrene didn’t know.

Sartaq whispered in Nesryn’s ear, “I was praying to the Eternal Sky and all thirty-six gods that you’d say yes.” She smiled, even if he couldn’t see it. “So was I,” Nesryn breathed, and they leaped into the skies.

The King of Adarlan had stopped magic, killed its bearers, had sent his forces to execute her mother and countless others … not just from blind hatred and ignorance, but some twisted way of trying to save their kind?

Wind-seeker, her mother had once called her. Unable to keep still, always wandering where the wind calls you. Where shall it beckon you to journey one day, my rose?

Altun—Windhaven,

But there was plenty to see within the mountain itself—Rokhal, the Whisperer, he was called. The other two brother-peaks that made up the Dorgos were Arik, the Lilter; and Torke, the Roarer—all three named for the way the wind itself sang as it passed over and around them. Rokhal was

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.

Chaol’s answering smile was anything but. So was the way he growled, “Come here.”

“What do we do now?” Yrene asked quietly. For she didn’t know—how to go back— Chaol didn’t reply. He just stretched out one leg wholly in front of him. Then the other. Did it again, marveling. “We don’t look back,” he said, meeting her stare. “It helps no one and nothing to look back.”