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“If you wish to be something, king-with-no-crown, then be it. That is the secret to the shifting. Be what you wish.”
Beauty. There was still beauty in this world. Stars could still glow, still burn bright, even buried under the earth.
he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow. That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do. He’d never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.
Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.
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.”
Still Aelin lifted her sword. Flames ran down the blade. One flame against the darkness gathered. One flame to light the night. Aelin raised her shield, and flames encircled it, too. Burning bright, burning undaunted. A vision of old, reborn once more. The cry went down the castle battlements, through the city, along the walls. The queen had come home at last. The queen had come to hold the gate.
And when Aelin lifted her head to survey the cheering crowd, when she smiled, Queen of Terrasen and the Faerie Queen of the West, she burned bright as a star.