Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass, #6)

by Sarah J. Maas

That is, if Adarlan hadn’t been ruled by a man controlled by a demon king hell-bent on turning this world into a feast for his hordes.

Atop his snowy head sat no crown. For gods among mortals did not need markers of their divine rule.

and a young stranger had given her another gift, that final night in Innish two years ago.

Words from a mysterious stranger, perhaps a god who had worn the skin of a battered young woman, whose gift of gold had gotten her here. Saved her.

“It is not my own healing that is needed.”

“It is a soul-wound, Yrene. And letting it fester these years … I cannot blame you. But I will hold you accountable if you let it turn into something worse. And I will mourn you for it.”

For wherever you need to go—and then some. The world needs more healers.

But the man who had done those things, feared those things … He was glad to leave him in the shattered ruin of the glass castle.

She felt the prince still watching while she strode down the sunny avenue, dodging carts and conveyances fighting for passage. But she didn’t dare look back. She wasn’t entirely sure why.

He had known one other young woman who was gods-blessed. No wonder they both possessed such unbanked fire in their eyes.

So you may look at me with resentment, Yrene Towers, and I will not blame you for it. But believe me when I say that there is no one in Erilea who loathes me more than I do myself.”

Orcus. Mantyx. Erawan. Three Valg Kings. Wielders of the Keys.

Not rape, not theft—not something that cowards would rather hide from. Yell fire, the stranger had instructed her. A threat to all. If you are attacked, yell about a fire.

“Please do not give me this hope and let it crumble,” he said hoarsely.

“You would be surprised by how closely the healing of physical wounds is tied to the healing of emotional ones.”

“Drink.” Pure command laced his voice—a man used to being obeyed, to giving orders. “Resent me all you want, but drink the damn thing.”

“I can do it,” Yrene tried to say. “So can I,” was all he said.

Aelin would likely have laughed to see him now. The man who had stumbled out of her room after she’d declared that her cycle had arrived. Now sitting in this fine room, mostly naked and not giving a shit about it.

His story wasn’t worth telling at all. Not a single part of it.

A brother he had traded for another. A brother he had left behind.

Too thin, she’d told Yrene by way of greeting. She needed a fatter ass for her lover to grip at night.

Hasar was many things, but she was loyal. To her core. To the few, few people whom she favored. It had always warmed something in Yrene. To have someone who actually meant what they said.

“Don’t mistake my kindness for stupidity.

Chaol let Nesryn talk, listened until her voice lulled him to sleep, because he knew, too.

she’d decided. To trust him. And then lost her mind entirely.

She would have an adventure. For herself. This one time. She would see her homeland, and smell it and breathe it in. See it from high above, see it racing as fast as the wind. She owed herself that much.

Sartaq whispered in Nesryn’s ear, “I was praying to the Eternal Sky and all thirty-six gods that you’d say yes.” She smiled, even if he couldn’t see it. “So was I,” Nesryn breathed, and they leaped into the skies.

Wind-seeker, her mother had once called her. Unable to keep still, always wandering where the wind calls you. Where shall it beckon you to journey one day, my rose?

“I am not afraid,” he said softly, but not weakly. “And neither should you be.”

It feels selfish to take time for myself, even now.” “You shouldn’t feel that way.”

And as Chaol rode back to the illuminated palace across the city, he could have sworn that some weight in his chest, on his shoulders, had vanished. As if he’d lived with it his entire life, unaware, and now, even with all that gathered around him, around Adarlan and those he cared for …

How strange it felt. That lightness.

“It’s mud,” Nesryn lied. Borte laughed. “And I’m a Fae Princess. Either I can start asking around, or—”

A good woman—a brave woman. That was who she was so relieved to hear was not returning. Not … interrupting.

“A great deal can happen in three weeks.”

“Test him out.” “I’m leaving soon. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.” “I know. But perhaps you should, anyway.”

The chair was no prison, nothing that made him lesser.

“I stood on the wrong side of the line for too damn long, and it cost me everything. Do not make the same mistakes that I—”

“I didn’t want to fight them. I wanted to beg him. And I couldn’t even get onto my knees to do it.”

“You should sit.” His eyes were wholly black. “I—let me—please, Yrene.” Each word was a broken rasp. As if he’d freed some tether on himself.

“A kiss. When and where of my choosing.” “What do you mean where.” Chaol only grinned. And let Farasha run free.

“They might explain this. What the healers could do against the Valg.”

Keeping her head, Yrene decided, was a very good birthday gift indeed.

If there’s some way to win, she’ll find it. The costs might be high, but she’ll do it.”

“I will cherish it always,” Chaol whispered as he slid into her, slow and deep. Pleasure rippled down his spine. “No matter what may befall the world.” Yrene kissed his neck, his shoulder, his jaw. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.”

And as Chaol began to move in her, he realized that here, amongst the dunes and stars … Here, in the heart of a foreign land … Here, with her, he was home.

“We wait for the Queen of the Valg,” the spider purred, rubbing against the carving. “Who in this world calls herself Maeve.”

“Then you’d better heal me, Yrene Towers, because I plan to do a great deal of anything with you tonight.”

You must enter where you fear to tread.

He had one promise left. To that he would still hold. It is not the end. He smiled at Dorian, whose sapphire eyes shone with joy—with love. “I’m coming home,” he whispered to his brother, his king.