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 …

An immortal life they would share together—somehow. He’d allow no other alternative. Rowan silently swore it to the stars. He could have sworn the Lord of the North flickered in response.

Fireheart, why do you cry?

“And the only civilized member of my court, Lady Elide Lochan of Perranth.”

How far they both were from Rifthold. From the assassin and the captain.

He was glad he was lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. Even now, he was half inclined to bow before her, the true owner of his ancient, wicked heart.

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.

Thirteen wyverns raced from the Staghorns, plunging toward the city walls.

A crown of stars. For the last Crochan Queen.

The Crochans had returned at last.

“We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”

Evangeline had decided that she no longer wished to be page to Lord Darrow, but rather a Crochan witch.

So Lorcan did.

“Bring our people home, Manon.”

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

And far away, across the snow-covered mountains, on a barren plain before the ruins of a once-great city, a flower began to bloom.

And as Chaol Westfall dismounted and ran the last few feet toward Dorian, the King of Adarlan wept.

And before them all, sword raised to the sky as that horn blew one last time, the ruby in the blade’s pommel smoldering like a small sun … Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.

Precisely as Aelin had told him Sam Cortland had done in Skull’s Bay, the catapult’s mechanisms allowed her to rotate its base. Rowan wondered if the young assassin was smiling now—smiling to see her heaving the catapult into position. All the way to the siege tower at its left.

Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.” She unleashed herself upon them.

Hers was not a story of darkness.

And smiling through her tears, laughing in joy and sorrow, Manon laid that precious flower from the Wastes upon the ground. In thanks and in love. So they would know, so Asterin would know, in the realm where she and her hunter and child walked hand in hand, that they had made it. That they were going home.

And then Aelin stood before Dorian and Chaol, and Rowan stepped back, falling into line beside Aedion, Fenrys, Lorcan, Elide, Ren, and Lysandra. Their fledgling court—the court that would change this world. Rebuild it. Giving their queen space for this last, hardest good-bye.

“For you, Fireheart. All of it is for you.”