Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)

by Sarah J. Maas

She was their queen, and she could offer them nothing less.

Aelin Galathynius smiled at her, hand still outreached. “Get up,” the princess said. Celaena reached across the earth between them and brushed her fingers against Aelin’s. And arose.

Aelin was alive, because during all these weeks that they had been breathing each other’s scents, they had become bonded.

“I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”

So Sorscha smiled again, laughing. And he looked so baffled by it that she asked, “What?” “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

even if it meant us being friends again, I don’t think I would want to go back to how it was before—who I was before. And this …” He jerked his chin toward the scattered crystals and the bowl of water. “I think this is a good change, too. Don’t fear it.”

When Dorian had spoken, it hadn’t been a prince who looked at him. It had been a king.

It was a message to the world. Aelin was a warrior, able to fight with blade or magic. And she was done with hiding.

Somewhere in Wendlyn, his friend was changing the world. She was fulfilling the promise she’d made him. She had not forgotten him, or any of them still here.

And perhaps when they figured out a way to destroy that tower and free magic from his father’s yoke, she would know her friends had not forgotten her, either. That he had not forgotten her.

When Celaena got back, when she returned as she’d sworn she would … Then they would set about changing the world together.

This morning, she’d awoken in their hilltop camp to find him staring at the sunrise, looking for all the world as if he’d been having a conversation with it.

She didn’t have the space left in her for doubt or fear.

She was the heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.

This doom has not yet come to pass, it seemed to whisper in her ear. There is still time. Do not succumb to fear yet.

“By my blood that flows in you,” Maeve said. “Through no dishonor, through no act of treachery, I hereby free you, Rowan Whitethorn, of your blood oath to me.”

And some part of her, perhaps a weak and undisciplined part, did not regret ensuring the animal’s sacrifice had not been in vain.

They did not need to cheer, for they were immortal and infinite and gloriously, wonderfully deadly.

“We pity you, each and every one of you. For what you do to your children. They are not born evil. But you force them to kill and hurt and hate until there is nothing left inside of them—of you.

He’d known, since the moment he figured out who she was, that while Celaena would always pick him, Aelin would not.

It would take time, he knew—for it to stop hurting, to let go. But the pain wouldn’t last forever.

No, she could not be queen, for there were limits to her bravery, and to what she could offer. But for now … for now, she could be selfish for a little longer.

“I will not go to Anielle,” he growled. “And I will not serve you a moment longer. There is one true king in this room—there always has been. And he is not sitting on that throne.” Dorian stiffened.

Because what she represents, and what your son represents, is what you fear most: hope. You cannot steal it, no matter how many you rip from their homes and enslave. And you cannot break it, no matter how many you murder.”

Chaol stared at Dorian in mute horror as his friend’s eyes glowed a deep, raging blue, and the prince snarled at the king, “Don’t you touch him.”

“When you come back,” the prince said, “burn this place to the ground.”

“I love you.” Dorian merely nodded, eyes still blazing, and lifted his hands again toward his father. Brother. Friend. King.

He did not mind dying. Though he still wished he’d gotten a chance to see her—just once.

Chaol had drawn his line—and Dorian was on his side of it. Chaol had called him his king. So revealing his power to his father did not frighten him. No, to save his friend, dying did not scare him one bit.

“You and me, we’ll find a way to free them. Both Aedion and your prince.” Chaol didn’t hesitate as he gripped the rebel’s outstretched hand.

Once they fought the king’s war, when his enemies were bleeding out around them … only then would they ride to reclaim their broken kingdom. And she would go home at last.

During their two-week trek to the nearest port in Wendlyn, he bossed Celaena around even more—seeming to believe that now he was part of her court, it entitled him to certain non-negotiable rights regarding her safety, her movements, and her plans.

“For some reason, Mala likes me, and agreed that you and I make a formidable pair.”

She lifted her face to the stars. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of two mighty bloodlines, protector of a once-glorious people, and Queen of Terrasen. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—and she would not be afraid.