Kingdom of Ash (Throne of Glass, #7)

by Sarah J. Maas

A princess who was to live for a thousand years. Longer. That had been her gift. It was now her curse.

There was nothing kind in the prince’s face. Nothing warm. Only cold-blooded predator. Hell-bent on finding the queen who held his heart.

All he had was an unmarked grave for a healer no one would remember, a broken empire, and a shattered castle.

And tell him thank you—for walking that dark path with me back to the light. It had been his honor. From the very beginning, it had been his honor, the greatest of his immortal life. An immortal life they would share together—somehow. He’d allow no other alternative. Rowan silently swore it to the stars. He could have sworn the Lord of the North flickered in response.

You must be brave a little while longer, and remember … Her mother placed a phantom hand over Aelin’s heart. It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.

They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

And behind them, Aelin continued as well. So Rowan followed her, as he would follow her until his last breath, and beyond it.

“I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you.”

This close, he had forgotten how much he towered over her. Atop that horse, she had been a force of nature, a defiant storm.

Thank the gods. Even though they were the last beings Rowan wished to thank.

Perhaps it is our lot—to never have the fathers we wish, but to still hope they might surpass what they are, flaws and all.”

“Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood—let the land be witness, and return home.”

She passed through a world where a great city had been built along the curve of a river, the buildings impossibly tall and glimmering with lights.

She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing at those very stars. Fae.

A sick sort of joke, a cruel torment, for Morath to halt at each sundown. As if it were some sort of civility, as if the creatures who infested so many of the soldiers below required light.

Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.

Cairn ran a hand over the rim of the coffin. “I broke some part of you, didn’t I?” I name you Elentiya, “Spirit That Could Not Be Broken.”

Shining brighter than the snow outside, Aelin lifted her chin and began her final walk home.