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Birds circled above, keeping well away from the white-tailed hawk that had been perched atop a nearby chimney all morning,
🦅- Rowan
Dredging up some semblance of annoyance, Celaena stuck out her tongue. At the guards, at the market, at the hawk on the nearby chimney, at the castle and the prince who lived inside it.
🦅- Rowan
a warrior and law unto himself.
🦅
Aedion Ashryver—the King of Adarlan’s infamous General of the North and cousin to Aelin Galathynius—stalked into the Great Hall.
🧔🏼♀️
the Wolf of the North
Aedion Galathynius- 🧔🏼♀️
But the king was frowning. “I expected you a month ago.” Aedion actually had the nerve to shrug. “Apologies. The Staghorns were slammed with a final winter storm. I left when I could.”
Aedion’s temper and insolence were near-legendary—part of the reason he was stationed in the far reaches of the North. Chaol had always thought it wise to keep him far from Rifthold, especially as Aedion seemed to be a bit of a two-faced bastard, and the Bane—Aedion’s legion—was notorious for its skill and brutality,
🧔🏼♀️ lore
The king said, “I told you to bring them, General.” “Here I was, thinking you wanted the pleasure of my company.”
Aedion slid onto the bench across from them, grinning. A predator assessing prey. “You two were sitting at this same table the last time I saw you. Good to know some things don’t change.”
Aedion went on, “Looks like they didn’t chew you up just yet. And they finally gave you a big-boy sword, too.”
🧔🏼♀️ to Chaol
Dull metal flecked with dings and scratches, its pommel nothing more than a bit of cracked, rounded horn. Such a simple, plain sword for one of the greatest warriors in Erilea. “The Sword of Orynth,” Aedion drawled. “A gift from His Majesty upon my first victory.” Everyone knew that sword. It had been an heirloom of Terrasen’s royal family, passed from ruler to ruler. By right, it was Celaena’s. It had belonged to her father.
🧔🏼♀️🦌🧝🏼♀️
“I’m surprised you bother with such sentimentality,” Dorian said. “Symbols have power, Prince,” Aedion said, pinning him with a stare. Celaena’s stare—unyielding and alive with challenge. “You’d be surprised by the power this still wields in the North—what it does to convince people not to pursue foolhardy plans.”
🗡️- The Sword of Orynth
“Come out, little Crochan,” he crooned. Silent as death, Manon slid up behind him. The fool didn’t even know she was there until she brought her mouth close to his ear and whispered, “Wrong kind of witch.”
Manon Blackbeak- 🔮🗡️
she was Manon Blackbeak, heir to the Blackbeak Witch-Clan,
🔮
Dorian was heir to the mightiest empire in the world, and Sorscha was the daughter of two dead immigrants from a village in Fenharrow that had been burned to ash—a village that no one would ever remember. But that didn’t stop her from loving him, as she still did, invisible and secret, ever since she’d first laid eyes on him six years ago.
💔- sad little Sorscha
Maeve, Queen of the Fae.
👸🏻
“Hello, Aelin Galathynius.”
🧝🏼♀️
“Prince Rowan—” Prince. She swallowed the urge to turn to him. “—is from my sister Mora’s bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you.”
🦅🧝🏼♀️
“They broke my laws, you know. Your parents disobeyed my commands when they eloped. The bloodlines were too volatile to be mixed, but your mother promised to let me see you after you were born.” Maeve cocked her head, eerily similar to the owl behind her. “It would seem that in the eight years after your birth, she was always too busy to uphold her vow.”
🧝🏼♀️👸🏻
“To what end?” Celaena asked softly, the anger and the fear dragging her down into an inescapable exhaustion. “You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?” Maeve ran a moon-white finger down the owl’s head. “I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen.”
🧝🏼♀️👸🏻
Foreshadowing- “To whatever end”
The world is a far bigger and more dangerous place than you can imagine, girl. Consider yourself blessed to receive any training—to have the chance to prove yourself.” “I’ve seen plenty of this big and dangerous world, princeling.” A soft, harsh laugh. “Just wait, Aelin.”
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
“Fae like you make me understand the King of Adarlan’s actions a bit more, I think.” Faster than she could sense, faster than anything had a right to be, he punched her. She shifted enough to keep her nose from shattering but took the blow on her mouth. She hit the wall, whacked her head, and tasted blood. Good. He struck again with that immortal speed—or would have. But with equally unnerving swiftness, he halted his second blow before it fractured her jaw and snarled in her face, low and vicious. Her breathing turned ragged as she purred, “Do it.” He looked more interested in ripping out her
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Her lip already aching and swollen, she told him exactly what he could go do to himself. He sauntered down the hall. “Next time you say anything like that,” he said without looking over his shoulder, “I’ll have you chopping wood for a month.”
“Give me your weapons.” “Why? And no.” Like hell she’d give him her daggers. In a swift movement, he grabbed a bucket of water from beside her door and tossed the contents onto the hall floor before holding it out. “Give me your weapons.” Training with him would be absolutely wonderful. “Tell me why.” “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” “Then we’re going to have another brawl.” His tattoo seeming impossibly darker in the dim hall, he stared at her beneath lowered brows as if to say, You call that a brawl?
But instead he growled, “Starting at dawn, you’ll earn your keep by helping in the kitchen. Unless you plan to murder everyone in the fortress, there is no need for you to be armed. Or to be armed while we train. So I’ll keep your daggers until you’ve earned them back.”
“So my training includes being a scullery maid?” “Part of it.” Again, she could have sworn she could read the unspoken words in his eyes: And I’m going to savor every damn second of your misery. “For an old bastard, you certainly haven’t bothered to learn manners at any point in your long existence.” Never mind that he looked to be in his late twenties. “Why should I waste flattery on a child who’s already in love with herself ?” “We’re related, you know.” “We’ve as much blood in common as I do with the fortress pig-boy.” She felt her nostrils flare, and he shoved the bucket in her face. She
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🫦
Rowan counted every weapon she put in the bucket as though he’d already learned how many she’d been carrying, even the hidden ones. Then he tucked the bucket against his side and slammed the door without so much as a good-bye beyond “Be ready at dawn.”
🫦🦅
“Bastard. Old stinking bastard,” she muttered, surveying the room.
🧝🏼♀️
Mother Blackbeak
Mother Blackbeak- 🧙🏼
The gold-speckled eyes were the most cherished trait in their Clan for a reason Manon had never bothered to learn—and when her grandmother had seen that Manon’s were wholly of pure, dark gold, the Matron had carried her away from her daughter’s still-cooling corpse and proclaimed Manon her undisputed heir.
🔮🧙🏼
To fly again, to soar through the mountain passes, to hunt down prey the way they’d been born to … They weren’t enchanted ironwood brooms. But wyverns would do just fine.
🔮
a salve that smelled of mint and rosemary, and beneath it was a note written in tight, concise letters. You deserved it. Maeve sends her wishes for a speedy recovery.
🦅
I’d say he’s very old.” “And mean as an adder,” Luca muttered.
🦅
“He’s a stone-cold killer and a sadist is what he means,” Luca added. “The meanest of Maeve’s personal cabal of warriors, they say.”
🦅
It had been five hundred years since all three Clans had assembled. There had been over twenty thousand of them at one point. Now only three thousand remained, and that was a generous estimate. All that was left of a once-mighty kingdom.
🔮🌳🌱🪵🍃
By rule, all Yellowlegs wore their iron teeth and nails on permanent display,
🌳🌱🪵🍃
Legend had it that all witches had been gifted by the Three-Faced Goddess with iron teeth and nails to keep them anchored to this world when magic threatened to pull them away. The iron crown, supposedly, was proof that the magic in the Blueblood line ran so strong that their leader needed more—needed iron and pain—to keep her tethered in this realm.
🌳🌱🪵🍃
He was armed to the teeth, his face a mask of unyielding brutality. She made herself give a little smile, her best attempt at a dutiful, eager expression. “Do your worst.” He looked her over from head to toe: the mist-damp shirt, now icy against her puckered skin, the equally stained and damp pants, the position of her feet … “Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face.” His voice was as dead as his eyes, but it had a razor-sharp bite behind it.
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
She kept her smarmy, lying smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
He stepped toward her, the canines coming out this time. “Here’s your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don’t feel like dealing with it, and I’m probably the only one who doesn’t give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath.” “I don’t think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath.” “Go ahead and be as nasty as you want, Princess, because I’ve been ten times as nasty, for ten times longer than you’ve been alive.”
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
she stopped any attempt to control her features. Her lips pulled back from her teeth. “Better. Now shift.”
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
She didn’t bother to sound pleasant as she said, “It’s not something I can control.” “If I wanted excuses, I’d ask for them. Shift.”
“I hope you brought snacks, because we’re going to be here a long, long while if today’s lesson is dependent upon my shifting.” “You’re really going to make me enjoy training you.” She had a feeling he could have switched out training you for eating you alive. “I’ve already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, so why don’t we cut that horseshit, too?” His smile turned quieter, more lethal. “Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift.” A shuddering rush went through her—a spear of lightning in the abyss. “No.” And then he attacked.
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
Rowan pounced with fluid ease, his powerful thighs digging into her ribs as he straddled her.
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
She was outweighed, outmuscled, and for the first time in her life, she realized she was utterly outmatched. “Shift,” he hissed. She laughed up at him, a dead, wretched sound even to her own ears. “Nice try.”
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
He brought his canines so close to her neck that one movement would have him ripping out her throat. “Here’s an idea,” he growled. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you’re used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline—not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that.
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦
And,” he said, those green eyes holding nothing but distaste, “you are a coward.”
A low, nasty laugh. “Don’t like that word?” He leaned closer still, that tattoo of his swimming in her muddled vision. “Coward. You’re a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered and—” She stopped hearing him. She just—stopped.
🧝🏼♀️🦅🫦😤
Not hills—barrows, the ancient tombs of lords and princes long dead,
Iron doors—to keep the wights inside, locked with the treasure they’d stolen. They infiltrated the barrows and lurked there for eons, feeding on whatever unwitting fools dared seek the gold within.
