Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

You do not yield.

“How did you do it?” he whispered. “How did you break free of its control?” He had to know. If he was walking into hell itself, if it was more than likely he’d wind up with a new collar around his throat, he had to know. Kaltain studied his neck before she met his stare. “Because I raged against it. Because I did not feel that I deserved the collar.”

Similar to Chaol's injury

“I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure.” He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. “But we’ll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it. We’ll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer.” A small sound came out of her. “Elena said the Lock requires—” “We’ll face it together,” he swore again. “And if the cost of it truly is you, then we’ll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.”

“Hellas guards Lorcan,” Fenrys murmured. “And Anneith, his consort, watches over Elide. Perhaps they will find each other.” “Hellas’s horse,” Chaol said. They turned toward him, dragging their eyes from the field. Chaol shook his head and gestured to the field, to the black mare and her rider. “I call Farasha Hellas’s horse. I’ve done so from the moment I met her.”

Is this the king you wish to be? Torturing a helpless female? He laughed again. You are not helpless. And if I could, I would seal you in an iron box for eternity. Dorian glanced to the windows. To the night beyond. He had to go—quickly. But he still said, 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.

“You have never accepted anything in your life,” Rowan snarled, shooting to his feet and bracing his hands on the table. “And now you are suddenly willing to do so?” She swallowed against the ache in her throat. Surveyed the books she’d combed through thrice now to no avail. “What am I supposed to do, Rowan?” “You damn it all to hell!” He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “You say to hell with their plans, their prophecies and fates, and you make your own! You do anything but accept this!”

She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing at those very stars. Fae. They were Fae, but this was not her world. She flung out a hand, as if she might signal them, as if they might somehow help her when she was nothing but an invisible speck of power— The winged male, beautiful beyond reason, snapped his head toward her as she arced across his starry sky. He lifted a hand, as if in greeting. A blast of dark power, like a gentle summer night, slammed into her. Not to attack—but to slow her down. A wall, a shield, that she tore and plunged through. But it slowed her. That winged male’s power slowed her, just enough. Aelin vanished from his world without a whisper.

He dug his hand harder into his chest. To the pain there. Life—life was pain. Pain, and joy. Joy because of the pain. He saw it in Elide’s face. In every line and age mark. In every white hair. A life lived—together. The pain of parting because of how wonderful it had been.

“Good healers know when to rest. Exhaustion makes for sloppy decisions. And sloppy decisions—” “Cost lives,” Yrene finished. She lifted her eyes toward the vaulted ceiling high, high above. “You never stop teaching, do you?” Hafiza’s mouth cracked into a grin. “This is life, Yrene. We never stop learning. Even at my age.”