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July 25 - October 15, 2025
“You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.”
“I have no doubt that you’ll be able to free the slaves from the labor camps some day. No matter what name you use.”
“You are one of the Thirteen,” she said to him. “From now until the Darkness cleaves us apart. You are mine, and I am yours. Let’s show them why.”
They worked only with fire, ignoring the drop of water affinity that she’d been given. She tried again and again to summon the water, when she was drinking, while in the bath, when it rained, but to no avail. Fire it was, then.
That was when they noticed that every musician on the stage was wearing mourning black. That was when they shut up.
The next morning, by royal decree, the theater was shut down. No one saw those musicians or their conductor again.
So I am staying. Because you are needed, and because I will follow you to whatever end.”
Rowan looked into her eyes, into the very core of her, and said, “Fireheart.”
“I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.”
“Wear it, and know that you are loved, Fireheart—that you are safe, and it is the strength of this”—she placed a hand on her heart—“that matters. Wherever you go, Aelin,” she whispered, “no matter how far, this will lead you home.”
They were carranam.
“I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.”
“Once upon a time,” she said to him, to the world, to herself, “in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom … very much.”
“One thought from me, and your city will burn.” “It is stone,” Maeve snapped. Celaena smiled. “Your people aren’t.”
I claim you, Aelin. To whatever end.
Manon told herself it was for an alliance. Told herself it was for show. But all she could see was the unconditional love in that dying wyvern’s eyes as she unbuckled her harness, stood from the saddle, and leapt off Abraxos.
No, to save his friend, dying did not scare him one bit.
“I am going, Rowan. I will gather the rest of my court—our court—and then we will raise the greatest army the world has ever witnessed. I will call in every favor, every debt owed to Celaena Sardothien, to my parents, to my bloodline. And then …” She looked toward the sea, toward home. “And then I am going to rattle the stars.”
She lifted her face to the stars. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, heir of two mighty bloodlines, protector of a once-glorious people, and Queen of Terrasen. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—and she would not be afraid.
He could not remember his name.
Actually, I believe the title our esteemed friends in the empire now like to use is ‘fire-breathing bitch-queen.’ ”
“I’ll be at my old apartment, should you decide to take your head out of your ass. Good night.”
“You brought chocolate—as far as I’m concerned, you’re my new favorite person.”
“When you shatter the chains of this world and forge the next, remember that art is as vital as food to a kingdom. Without it, a kingdom is nothing, and will be forgotten by time.
She was the heir of fire. She was fire, and light, and ash, and embers. She was Aelin Fireheart, and she bowed for no one and nothing, save the crown that was hers by blood and survival and triumph.
Behind them, across the hall, the dancers shattered their roses on the floor, and Aedion grinned at his queen as the entire world went to hell.
She was a whirling cloud of death, a queen of shadows, and these men were already carrion.
Stones were eternal—flowers were not.
She had likely just made the biggest mistake of her life, but … it was strange. Strange, that feeling of belonging.
“We could die any day, any hour. I don’t see a point in brooding.”
Fae warriors: invaluable in a fight—and raging pains in her ass at all other times.
“Hush. Your hair was so pretty. I was hoping you’d let me braid it one day. I suppose I’ll have to buy a pony instead.”
“When you shift, will your hawk form be plucked, then?” His nostrils flared, and she clamped her lips together to keep from laughing.
She mutely handed him her favorite lavender-scented soap,
NOT THE SOAP
“If you’re a monster, I’m a monster,”
“Are all your nightclothes like that?” “So curious about my negligees, Prince. Whatever would the others say? Maybe you should issue a decree to clarify.”
If Lorcan is going to murder me in my sleep, I might as well look good.” “Vain until the bitter end.”
Lysandra’s smile was a thing of savage, dark beauty.
“Brute.” “Brat.”
“I don’t know whether to throttle you or clap you on the back.” “I think there’s a long line of people who feel the same way.”
“Don’t forget your cloak. You’d feel rather guilty when all those poor mortal women combust at the sight of you.” “I’d say likewise, but I think you’d enjoy seeing men bursting into flames as you strutted by.”
“Thank you for the oil,” he added. “My skin was a little dry.”
Manon drew Wind-Cleaver. And then the screaming started anew.
“They did not know his true name, so they called him Erawan, the Dark King.”
“I kept thinking about how you might never know that I missed you with only an ocean between us. But if it was death separating us … I would find you. I don’t care how many rules it would break. Even if I had to get all three keys myself and open a gate, I would find you again. Always.”
Oh, she was in so much gods-damned trouble.
“Hello, princeling,”
Aelin Galathynius looked at Manon Blackbeak over their crossed swords and let out a low, vicious snarl.
“If I die because of you, I’ll beat the shit out of you in hell.”
“What are you planning?” “Something very stupid, I think.”
