Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

Aelin slammed her hand into the lid. Cairn paused. Aelin pounded her fist into the iron again. Again. You do not yield. Again. You do not yield. Again. Again. Until she was alive with it, until her blood was raining onto her face, washing away the tears, until every pound of her fist into the iron was a battle cry. You do not yield. You do not yield. You do not yield. It rose in her, burning and roaring, and she gave herself wholly to it. Distantly, close by, wood crashed. Like someone had staggered into something. Then shouting. Aelin hammered her fist into the metal, the song within her pulsing and cresting, a tidal wave racing for the shore. “Get me that gloriella!” The words meant nothing. He was nothing. Would always be nothing. Over and over, she pounded against the lid. Over and over, that song of fire and darkness flared through her, out of her, into the world. You do not yield. Something hissed and crackled nearby, and smoke poured through the lid. But Aelin kept striking. Kept striking until the smoke choked her, until its sweet scent dragged her under and away. And when she awoke chained on the altar, she beheld what she had done to the iron coffin. The top of the lid had been warped. A great hump now protruded, the metal stretched thin. As if it had come so very close to breaking entirely.