A ​Court of Silver Flames (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #4)

by Sarah J. Maas

So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally. Had relished it. But when the time came to put away the wolf, she’d found it had devoured her, too.

“Oh, it’s not going to result in me climbing into your bed.” Nesta snickered, victory achieved, and had reached the stairs when he crooned, “You’ll climb into mine.”

“The first time I saw that look on your face, you were still human. Still human, and I nearly went to my knees before you.”

“What are you thinking about?” Helion drawled as they approached a shut wooden door. Cassian straightened. He hadn’t realized his thoughts had dragged such a scent from him. He grinned. “Your mother.”

“Everyone deserves happiness. The road there isn’t easy. It is long, and hard, and often traveled utterly blind. But you keep going.” He nodded to the mountains, the lake. “Because you know the destination will be worthwhile.”

You don’t need to become sweet and simpering. You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

In the moonlight, before the silvered lake, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And when Nesta had looked in the mirror at last, she hadn’t seen herself staring back. She’d seen a Queen of the Night. As merciless and cold and beautiful as the god Lanthys had wanted to make her. Death’s Consort. Death herself.

Nesta, this once-human female who had conquered death, who now glowed as if she had devoured the moon, too.

Gwyn whispered, “I am the rock against which the surf crashes.” Nesta straightened at the words, as if they were a prayer and a summons. Gwyn lifted the blade. “Nothing can break me.”

Nesta’s voice was thick as she declared, “Valkyrie.”

“Fucking bitches!” one of the males roared. “Oh, shut up!” Emerie bellowed across the ravine, helping Nesta lead Gwyn into the snowy trees, their breaths puffing out before them. “Find something new to call us!”

Ataraxia, she had named that magic sword. Inner Peace.