Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …

It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.

You do not yield. Then she was gone, like dew under the morning sun. But the words lingered. Blossomed within Aelin, bright as a kindled ember. You do not yield. Cairn

You do not yield. You do not yield. You do not yield. It rose in her,

A beacon in the night. Power rippling into the world, as it had done in Skull’s Bay. It filled him with sound, with fire and light. As if it screamed, again and again, I am alive, I am alive, I am alive.

They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

She gulped down air, and Rowan wrapped her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. “I am so tired,” she wept. “I am so, so tired, Rowan.” “I know.” He stroked her hair. “I know.” It was all there really was to say. Rowan held her until her weeping eased and she lay still, nestled against his chest. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “You fight,” he said simply. “We fight. Until we can’t anymore. We fight.” She sat up, but remained on his lap, staring into his face with a rawness that destroyed him. Rowan laid a hand on her chest, right over that burning heart. “Fireheart.” A challenge and a summons. She placed her hand atop his, warm despite the frigid night. As if that fire had not yet gone out entirely. But she only gazed up at the stars. To the Lord of the North, standing watch. “We fight,” she breathed.

“Thank you. Perhaps it is our lot—to never have the fathers we wish, but to still hope they might surpass what they are, flaws and all.”

The king I wish to be is the opposite of what you are. He gave Maeve a smile. And there is only one witch who will be my queen.

And when he looked behind him, at the mountain and valley that reeked of death, at the place where so many terrible things had begun, Dorian smiled and brought Morath’s towers crashing down.

“Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood—let the land be witness, and return home.”

Manon didn’t hear the words. Didn’t notice when even Glennis returned to the city looming at her back. For hours, Manon knelt on the battlefield, Abraxos at her side. As if she might stay with them, her Thirteen, for a little while longer.

But Dorian stared at the rider before him. At the posture of the body, the commanding seat he possessed. And as Chaol Westfall dismounted and ran the last few feet toward Dorian, the King of Adarlan wept.

Dorian only winked, a ghost of the man he’d been before. “All bad things, I hope.” Yrene laughed, and the joy on her face—the joy that Chaol knew was for both of them—made him love her all over again. “I have always wanted a sister,” Dorian said, and leaned to kiss Yrene on either cheek. “Welcome to Adarlan, Lady.”

No, Aelin only looked at her people, smiling broadly and freely, as she entered Orynth, and they began to cheer, welcoming her home at long last.