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

by Sarah J. Maas

Rowan saw at last what she beheld. Who emerged between the trees. Against the snow, he was nearly invisible with his white fur. Would have been invisible were it not for the golden flame flickering between his proud, towering antlers. The Lord of the North. And at his feet, all around him … The Little Folk. Snow clinging to her lashes, a small sound came out of Aelin as the creature nearest curled its hand, beckoning. As if to say, Follow us. The others gaped in silence at the magnificent, proud stag who had come to greet them. To guide home the Queen of Terrasen. But then the wind began to whisper, and it was not the song that Rowan usually heard. No, it was a voice that they all heard as it streamed past them. Doom is upon Orynth, Heir of Brannon. You must hurry. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold skittered down Rowan’s skin. “The storm,” Aelin blurted, the words swallowed by the snow. You must hurry. We will show you the way, swift and unseen. Aelin only stilled. Said to that voice, as ancient as the trees, as old as the rocks between them, “You have already helped me so many times.” And you have given much yourself, Heir of Brannon. We who remember him know he would have made such a choice, had he been able to do so. Oakwald shall never forget Brannon, or his Heir. Aelin straightened, scanned the trees, the snow-whipped wind. Dryad. That was the word he sought. Dryad. A tree spirit. “What is your cost?” Aelin asked, her voice louder now. “Do you really want t...