Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass, #6)

by Sarah J. Maas

The void showed him fire. A woman with golden-brown hair and matching skin screaming in agony toward the heavens. It showed him a broken body on a bloody bed. A head rolling across a marble floor. You did this you did this you did this It showed a woman with eyes of blue flame and hair of pure gold poised above him, dagger raised and angling to plunge into his heart. He wished. He sometimes wished that she hadn’t been stopped. The scar on his face—from the nails she’d gouged into it when she first struck him … It was that hateful wish he thought of when he looked in the mirror. The body on the bed and that cold room and that scream. The collar on a tan throat and a smile that did not belong to a beloved face. The heart he’d offered and had been left to drop on the wooden planks of the river docks. An assassin who had sailed away and a queen who had returned. A row of fine men hanging from the castle gates. All held within that slim scar. What he could not forgive or forget. The void showed it to him, again and again. It lashed his body with red-hot, pronged whips. And showed him those things, over and over. It showed him his mother. And his brother. And his father. Everything he had left. What he’d failed. What he’d hated and what he’d become.