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

by Sarah J. Maas

she knew that a life with Arobynn, with a new name that no one would recognize but someday everyone would fear, was a chance to start over.

“Wasn’t learning to lose gracefully part of your training?” “No,” she said sourly. “Arobynn told me that second place was just a nice title for the first loser.”

“You’re going to hit the left wall,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m going to hit you in the head if you don’t shut up.”

“You’re remarkably judgmental.” “What’s the point in having a mind if you don’t use it to make judgments?”

The snowflakes sparkled and shimmered beyond the glass panes of the window, twirling and weaving as they flew to the ground in a waltz that was beyond human comprehension.

“We all bear scars, Dorian. Mine just happen to be more visible than most.

she threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He straightened, but she crushed her body into his, even though it still aggravated her wounds to do so. Then, after a moment, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close to him, so close that as she shut her eyes and breathed him in, she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

“I’m saying that in four years, I’m going to be free, and I’ve never been free in my entire life.”

“When you go away,” he said, the distant torchlight illuminating the rugged planes of his face, “I have no idea what’s happening to you. I don’t know if you’re hurt or rotting in a gutter somewhere. Yesterday I heard a rumor that they caught the killer responsible for Nirall’s death.” He brought his face close to hers, his voice hoarse. “Until you arrived today, I thought they meant you. I was about to go down there myself to find you.”

He’d been realizing it more and more recently—how much he hated it when she left him behind. How he hated her setting off on those cursed missions and not contacting him for days or weeks. He didn’t know how or when it had happened, but he’d somehow started caring whether she came back or not.

Her way would include a dagger, a shovel, and an unmarked grave.

Dorian watched Celaena and Chaol disappear behind the hedges, the captain’s hand still on the middle of her back. She did nothing to shake it off.

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s so boring that you dozed off ten minutes ago.” She propped herself on her elbows. “I did not!” His brows rose. “I heard you snoring.” “You’re a liar, Chaol Westfall.”

“Celaena Sardothien,” she ground out. The skull barked a laugh. “Oh, that is too funny! The funniest thing I’ve heard in centuries!”

hint!

She put a hand on Chaol’s arm, suddenly needing just to touch him, to make sure he was still there.

you would know that we are still here—that you may outlaw magic, that you may slaughter thousands, but we who keep the old ways still remember.”

The rest of the world quieted into nothing. In that moment, after ten long years, Celaena looked at Chaol and realized she was home.

in need of anything to distract her from reliving that dance with Chaol. After the waltz had finished, he’d merely told her that if she abandoned her post again, he’d break a hole through the ice in the trout pond and toss her in.

He tried not to think about last night—how the brief touch of Celaena’s fingers through his hair and on his face had sent a pang of desire through him so strong he’d wanted to grab her and pin her on the couch.

She knew it wasn’t the weapon in her hands that made them stupid with panic, but rather her eyes—eyes that told them they had been tricked these past few months, that cutting her hair and whipping her hadn’t been enough, that she had been baiting them into forgetting that Adarlan’s Assassin was in their midst.

There had never been any line between them, only his own stupid fear and pride. Because from the moment he’d pulled her out of that mine in Endovier and she had set those eyes upon him, still fierce despite a year in hell, he’d been walking toward this, walking to her. So Chaol brushed away her tears, lifted her chin, and kissed her.

I’m surprised you’re not strutting about, boasting to everyone. I certainly would be if I’d tumbled me.” “Does your love for yourself know no bounds?” “Absolutely none.”

If they wanted Adarlan’s Assassin, they’d get her. And Wyrd help them when she arrived.

And he could only watch in horror and awe as she drew two swords—one of them his—and unleashed herself upon them. They didn’t stand a chance.

“Enough! We have enough enemies as it is! There are worse things out there to face!” Celaena slowly turned to him, her face splattered with blood and eyes blazing bright. “No, there aren’t,” she said. “Because I’m here now.”

But death was her curse and her gift, and death had been her good friend these long, long years.

It was war upon them all. Let them tremble in fear at what they had awoken.

I once heard that in the high court of Terrasen, when the nobility died, they sang their laments in the language of the Fae.”

hint!

she had tucked him into her heart, tucked him in alongside her other beloved dead, whose names she kept so secret she sometimes forgot them.

hint!

the world didn’t need an assassin with a coward’s heart.

there was Fleetfoot, hackles raised and fangs bared, refusing to let the demon anywhere near Celaena, even as the half-grown pup limped, even as the blood pooled from the wound in her right hind leg.

she didn’t think twice before she unleashed the monster inside herself.

The moment she burst through the portal, something changed. It was like a fog vanished from her face, her features sharpening, her steps becoming longer and more graceful. And then her ears—her ears shifted into delicate points.

FAE

No—she wasn’t human at all. Celaena was Fae.

“You’re not a murderer,” he whispered. “Oh, I am,” she purred, torchlight dancing on the dagger as she considered what to do with him.

part of him realized that his magic—that he—was the least of their concerns. Because even from that first day in Endovier, this had always been about them.

He had never learned anything about the mark that had glowed on her head during the duel. The Wyrdmark was impossible to decipher. It either meant “nameless” or “unnamed,” or something akin to “anonymous.”

“anonymous” hint!

Never forgive, never forget.

she didn’t know how she would do it, or how long it would take, but she would see it through. Because Nehemia couldn’t. Because it was time.

then she did the most reckless thing she’d ever done in her life. She stood on her toes and whispered the words into his ear.

The words that would make him understand, understand why it was so important to her, and what it meant when she said she would return. And he would hate her forever for it, once he understood.

I’d still pick you. I’ll always pick you.”

Celaena Sardothien was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir to the throne and rightful Queen of Terrasen.

“Come on, Sardothien,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “If you’re done liberating slaves and destroying pirate cities, then let’s go home.”

With that, the stranger stepped from the mist. She had two long daggers in her hands. And both blades were dark with dripping blood.

for that one heartbeat, when there was nothing more to it than that, she tasted bliss so complete that she tipped her head back to the sky and laughed.

the words Sam kept screaming at Arobynn as the King of the Assassins beat her, the words that she somehow had forgotten in the fog of pain: I’ll kill you!

“When you give your master his letter, also give him this. And tell him that in the Red Desert, we do not abuse our disciples.” Celaena smiled slowly. “I think I can manage that.”

For the first time in a long while, she heard the song of a northern wind, calling her home. And she was not afraid.

Celaena couldn’t recall a time when she didn’t want to beat in the girl’s face with a brick. Or throw her out a window.