Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #0.1–0.5, 1–7)

by Sarah J. Maas

“I will always find you,” he swore to her.

“What’s your sword called?” “Wind-Cleaver.” Aelin clicked her tongue. “Good name.” “Yours?” “Goldryn.” A slash of iron teeth as they were bared in a half smile. “Not as good a name.”

Perhaps it was time for Morath to learn to scream.

“Remember who you are. Every step of the way down, and every step of the way back. Remember who you are. And that you’re mine.”

Aelin was no savior to rally behind, but a cataclysm to be weathered.

And Elide sobbed as Manon Blackbeak emerged, smiling faintly. As Manon Blackbeak saw her and Aelin, knee-to-knee in the grass, and mouthed one word. Hope.

She said it was payment for … for a warm cloak offered in a cold dungeon.”

That cocky smile widened. “Hello, bitch,” Ansel purred. “Hello, traitor,” Aelin purred right back,

Ansel gestured to the ships around them with a broad sweep of her arm. “Melisande’s fleet is now our fleet. And its capital is now ours, too.” She jerked her chin at Aelin. “You’re welcome.” Manon Blackbeak burst out laughing.

You did not yield.

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.

And then I broke him.

Elide began crying, shoving away from Lorcan. “I’ll go with you, I’ll come with you—”

Aelin Galathynius had raised an army not just to challenge Morath … but to rattle the stars.

“Don’t thank me.” A half smile. “Thank Manon.”

You must enter where you fear to tread.

Yrene laid her hand directly atop the scar. Chaol opened his mouth to speak— But a scream came out instead.

And part of Yrene wondered, as she trudged through the palace, if Lord Chaol had not asked her to stop not just because he’d learned how to manage pain, but also because he somehow felt he deserved it.

“It should have been me. I had always planned for it to be me instead.” A tear slid over the bridge of her nose.

Sartaq said to her, clear and steady, “I heard the spies’ stories of you. The fearless Balruhni woman in Adarlan’s empire. Neith’s Arrow. And I knew …” Nesryn sobbed, tugging and tugging. Sartaq smiled at her—gently. Sweetly. In a way she had not yet seen. “I loved you before I ever set eyes on you,” he said. “Please,” Nesryn wept. Sartaq’s hand tightened on hers. “I wish we’d had time.”

Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom …

For Terrasen, she had gladly done this. All of it. For Terrasen, she deserved to pay this price. She had tried to make it right. Had tried, and failed. And she was so, so tired. Fireheart.

Blossomed within Aelin, bright as a kindled ember. You do not yield.

“Shut me up, then,”

Caring doesn’t make you weak.

Cairn beheld who stood over him, the tool in Rowan’s tattooed hand, the others he had also laid out on that piece of velvet, and began thrashing. The iron chains held firm.

“Welcome to the court, pup,” he said, his voice thick.

Aelin. She was Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, and she was Queen of Terrasen.

“I didn’t break,” she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. “I didn’t tell them anything.”

“All this time, I wanted it to be you.”

Dorian said into the dark chasm of her mind, I was a slave once. You didn’t really think I’d allow myself to be so once again, did you?

The king I wish to be is the opposite of what you are. He gave Maeve a smile. And there is only one witch who will be my queen.

“I do not care why you are here. I do not care what they plan to do with you. But I want you to know that once I walk from this room, I will never think of you again. Your name will be erased from Perranth, from Terrasen, from Adarlan. There will never be a whisper of you, nor any reminder. You will be forgotten.”

Elide returned his smile with one of her own. “There is nothing more that I care to hear from you.” She glanced toward Lorcan and Aelin, toward their companions gathered in the hall. “But they still have questions.” Vernon’s face went the color of spoiled milk. “You mean to leave me in their hands, utterly defenseless?” “I was defenseless when you let my leg remain unhealed,” she said, a steady sort of calm settling over her. “I was a child then, and I survived. You’re a grown man.” She let her lips curl in another smile. “We’ll see if you do, too.”

“We came,” Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could hear, “to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what she promised us.” Darrow said quietly, “And what was that?” Manon smiled then. “A better world.”

Manon smiled at the old man who had hissed at her, showing all her teeth. “You’re welcome,” she said, and with a snap of the reins, was airborne.

So Lorcan did.

And she said to Abraxos, touching his spine, “I love you.”

Even with the wind, the battle, Manon still heard Petrah as the Blueblood Heir said to her, “A better world.”

“For Keelie.”

And as Chaol Westfall dismounted and ran the last few feet toward Dorian, the King of Adarlan wept.

My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid. I will not be afraid.

“I never fathered any offspring, nor did I adopt any. It would be an honor to name such a wise, brave young lady as my heir.” Absolute silence. Evangeline blinked—and blinked again.

Aelin had come. It was enough.

Golden light flashed on the battlefield. Then went dark.

Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. “I am a god.”

“How,” Maeve asked again. “How did you not break?” “Because I am not afraid,” Aelin said.

Life—life was pain. Pain, and joy. Joy because of the pain.

I am here, I am with you.

“Live, Elide,” was all the witch said to her before striding out of the hall once more. “Live.”