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“Because destroying a symbol can break the spirits of men as much as bloodshed.”
Darkness fell, cleaved only by twin sharp inhales of breath—Murtaugh and Ren. The patter of rain filled the black room. Aelin spoke into the dark, toward where Darrow was seated. “I suggest, Lord Darrow, that you become accustomed to this. For if we lose this war, darkness will reign forever.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Darrow demanded. So Murtaugh had not filled him in on her plan to go to the Dead Islands. Interesting. She looked over her shoulder. “To call in old debts and promises. To raise an army of assassins and thieves and exiles and commoners. To finish what was started long, long ago.”
Impossible. No one could get through those shields. Not even Rowan-rutting-Whitethorn.
“Because I am from Terrasen and believed my queen dead. And now she is alive, and fighting, so I will fight with her. So that no other girls will be taken from their homes and brought to Morath and forgotten.”
He rolled his eyes. “I promise.” The girl had no idea that for the past five centuries, promises were the only currency he really traded in. “I will not abandon you.”
“We have yet to see the full extent of Erawan’s darkness. And I think we have yet to see the full extent of Aelin’s fire.”
“I cannot stay long.” “But you’re going to manage to cram in as many cryptic warnings as you can, right?”
“Have they run out of pretty boys in the kingdoms for you to wear?” Aedion drawled,
A hundred years she’d had with Asterin. She’d always thought they’d have a hundred more. Manon said softly to Sorrel, “Turn her around. My Second shall see the dawn one last time.”
And Manon understood in that moment that there were forces greater than obedience, and discipline, and brutality. Understood that she had not been born soulless; she had not been born without a heart.
Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother.
invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to.
“They say she’s beautiful as sin—and colder than ice. They say she’s a tyrant, a coward, a whore. They say she’s gods-blessed—or gods-damned.
Honestly, Dorian had no idea how Aelin had survived months of this—let alone fallen in love with the warrior while she did. Though he supposed both the queen and prince possessed a sadistic streak that made them compatible.
Lysandra snarled right back and held his stare with the face not trained or built for bedrooms, but the true one beneath—wild and unbroken and indomitable. No matter what body she wore, she was the Staghorns given form, the heart of Oakwald.
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she was his, and they had found each other across centuries of bloodshed and loss, across oceans and kingdoms and war.
Rolfe swore. “Do you think Sam would stand for this?” “Sam is dead,” she said, “because men like you and Arobynn have power. But Arobynn’s reign is now over.” She smiled at the darkening horizon. “Seems like yours might end rather soon as well.”
And as the Pirate Lord and Queen of Terrasen shook hands and she grinned at Rolfe, Dorian realized he … perhaps he could do with a bit more wickedness and insanity, too. This war would not be won on smiles and manners.
“I love you. There is no limit to what I can give to you, no time I need. Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will love you.”
And her parents … murdered by her grandmother. They had promised the world a child of peace. And she had let her grandmother hone her into a child of war.
Here’s hoping you discover more creative terms than “bitch” to call me when you find this. With all my love, A.A.G.
“I love you,” Rowan breathed onto her skin, and flicked his tongue over the spot where his canines had scratched. “I’d walk into the burning heart of hell itself to find you.”
The Queen of Flame and Shadow, the Heir of Fire, Aelin of the Wildfire, Fireheart …
she tried not to lean into his warmth. Tried not to make it seem like she hadn’t just met her queen, her friend, her court, and … somehow now found Lorcan to be the safest of them all.
Dorian asked, “Is this …” He gestured to the chest, the mirror inside. “One of the mirrors they plan to use?” “No,” Manon said, studying the witch mirror within the chest. “Whatever this mirror is … I’m not sure what it was meant for. What it can even do. But it surely isn’t that Lock you sought.” Aelin fished the Eye of Elena from her pocket, weighing it in her hand, and loosed a sharp sigh through her nose. “I’m ready for today to be over.”
It is only with the eye that you can see
“The fear of loss … it can destroy you as much as the loss itself.”
Elena leaned in to kiss her brow, where that damning mark had been her whole life. A bit of chattel, branded for the slaughterhouse. Brannon’s mark. The mark of the bastard-born … the Nameless.
That roar sounded again as a mighty shape shot down from the heavy clouds. A wyvern. A wyvern with shimmering wings. And behind it, descending upon the Fae fleet with wicked delight, flew twelve others.
Fight her. I am coming for you. Even if it takes me a thousand years. I will find you, I will find you, I will find you.
Unleashing a cry that set the world trembling, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.
