Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass, #6)

by Sarah J. Maas

Words from a mysterious stranger, perhaps a god who had worn the skin of a battered young woman, whose gift of gold had gotten her here.

The burning rose left on a nightstand. The final embrace of his king.

After a moment, he said, “I hope you never have to use that dagger—or any other, Yrene. Even as a mercy.” The sorrow in her eyes was enough to knock the breath from him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For being willing to take that death upon yourself.”

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And even though she was as insignificant as a mayfly compared with the size of the mountains around them, some piece of her felt keenly a part of it, born from it.

In the turquoise waters of the lake at his feet lay a perfect mirror image, so clear that Nesryn wondered if one might dive beneath the surface and find another world, a shadow-world, beneath.

Wind-seeker, her mother had called her.

“Then I suppose the ruk in the aerie will have to wait for another rider to come along.”

“No matter what may befall the world.” Another featherlight kiss. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.”

The hollow hell beneath the roots of a mountain. Here, where all was locked and buried. Here, where all had come to take root. The empty foundation, mined and hacked apart, crumbled away into nothing but this pit.

Yrene’s smile was brighter than the glow rippling off her body. A star. She was a fallen star.

Two weeks later, it was barely dawn when Yrene found herself on the deck of a fine, massive ship and watched the sun rise over Antica for the last time.

Yrene leaned back into him, her body loosening with a sigh as she laid her hands atop where his rested over her stomach.

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