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

by Sarah J. Maas

Through the ancient, forgotten pathways of Oakwald, through the Perranth Mountains, the Lord of the North and Little Folk had led them. Swift and unfaltering, racing against doom, they had made their last push northward. They had barely stopped to rest. Had left any unnecessary supplies behind. The ruk scouts had not dared to fly ahead for fear of being discovered by Morath. For fear of ruining the advantage in surprise. Six days of marching, that great army hurrying behind her. Inhospitable terrain smoothed out. Little rivers froze over for their passing. The trees blocked out the falling snow. They had traveled through the night yesterday. And when dawn had broken, the Lord of the North had knelt beside Aelin and offered himself as her mount. There was no saddle for him; none would ever be permitted or needed. Any rider he allowed on his back, Aelin knew, would never fall. Some had knelt when she rode by. Even Dorian and Chaol had inclined their heads. Rowan, atop a fierce-eyed Darghan horse, had only nodded. As if he had always expected her to wind up here, at the head of the army that galloped the final hours to the edge of Orynth. She had fitted her battle-crown to her head, along with the armor she’d gathered in Anielle, and outfitted herself with whatever spare weapons Fenrys and Lorcan handed to her.