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“Fair enough. But what am I to call you?” She gripped the saddle but didn’t mount it. “Rowan.” His tattoo seemed to soak up the sun, so dark it looked freshly inked.
YESSSSS ROWAN
Because Celaena was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.
And then came the words she had been dreading for ten years. “Hello, Aelin Galathynius.”
As she left, Luca drew a finger across his neck as he mouthed good luck.
I LOVE LUCA HAHAHAHA
“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.
And you can taunt and snarl at me and make me chop wood all day, but short of ripping out my tongue, you can’t—” Faster than lightning, his hand shot out and she gagged, jolting as he grabbed her tongue between his fingers. She bit down, hard,
HAAHAAHAHAAAHAHAHA
He released her tongue, and she gasped for breath. She swore at him, a filthy, foul name, and spat at his feet. And that’s when he bit her.
He stopped dead and blinked a few times. She smirked at him. He bared his teeth in a feral, petrifying grin. “Oh, you’d better run now.” When he lunged, she shot through the trees.
She could have flown, could have soared for the sudden surge of ecstasy in her blood, the sheer freedom granted by the marvel of creation that was her body.
Rowan raced beside her, but made no move to grab her. No, Rowan was … playing.
“I see her slipping away, bit by bit, because you shove her down when she so desperately needs someone to help her back up.”
You think any of us like to hear you two cursing and screaming every afternoon? The language you use is enough to curdle all the milk in Wendlyn.”
“Who did that do to you?”
AHHHHHHHH YESSSSSS FINALLYYYYY
In the flickering dark, he said roughly, “You’re staying with me from now on.”
OMG OMG OMG
Oh, he was definitely fussing, and though it warmed her miserable heart, it was becoming rather irritating.
“Tell me which one of your little cadre is the handsomest, and if he would fancy me.” Rowan choked. “The thought of you with any of my companions makes my blood run cold.”
Afraid to play with fire, Princess? You won’t be happy if I singe your eyebrows off. Try me.
That was when they noticed that every musician on the stage was wearing mourning black. That was when they shut up. And when the conductor raised his arms, it was not a symphony that filled the cavernous space. It was the Song of Eyllwe. Then the Song of Fenharrow. And Melisande. And Terrasen. Each nation that had people in those labor camps. And finally, not for pomp or triumph, but to mourn what they had become, they played the Song of Adarlan. When the final note finished, the conductor turned to the crowd, the musicians standing with him. As one, they looked to the boxes, to all those
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And when she grasped the dagger, its weight lighter than she remembered, Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her, and said, “Fireheart.”
“I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.”
One by one, like shadows emerging from the mist, they appeared. The faces of the people she had loved with her heart of wildfire.
She would light up the darkness, so brightly that all who were lost or wounded or broken would find their way to it, a beacon for those who still dwelled in that abyss. It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness.
“I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
“Once upon a time,” she said to him, to the world, to herself, “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom … very much.”
she saved a great number of people—with magic. Fire, they say—power the likes of which the world has not seen since Brannon himself.”
It was a message to the world. Aelin was a warrior, able to fight with blade or magic. And she was done with hiding.
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 was the heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.
She knew the gold in her eyes had shifted to flame, because when she looked to Maeve, the queen’s face had gone bone-white. And then Celaena set the world on fire.
“You wanted a demonstration,” Celaena said quietly. Sweat trickled down her back, but she gripped the magic with everything she had. “One thought from me, and your city will burn.” “It is stone,” Maeve snapped. Celaena smiled. “Your people aren’t.”
I claim you, Aelin. To whatever end.
There were no words to do justice to what passed between them in that moment.
one line for her parents and uncle; one line for Lady Marion; and one line for her court and her people. On the smaller, shorter scars, were the stories of Nehemia and of Sam. Her beloved dead. No longer would they be locked away in her heart. No longer would she be ashamed.
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.
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.
