Hand trembling, Asterin pressed her fingers to her brow and extended them. “Bring our people home, Manon,” she breathed. Manon angled Wind-Cleaver, readying for the strike. The Blackbeak Matron snapped, “Be done with it, Manon.” Manon met Sorrel’s eyes, then Asterin’s. And Manon gave the Thirteen her final order. “Run.” Then Manon Blackbeak whirled and brought Wind-Cleaver down upon her grandmother.
She was surprised that her hands had not forgotten, that somewhere in her mind, after a year of darkness and slavery, music was still alive and breathing.
Celaena hadn’t realized she was crying until she tried to take a deep breath. Saying that she was sorry didn’t feel adequate. She knew what this sort of loss was like, and words didn’t do anything at all.
If he was the sweet, terrifying darkness, I was the glittering light that only his shadows could make clear.
The prince’s sapphire eyes flicked to his, and Aedion blinked past the haze covering his vision. What studied him was cold, predatory, and not quite human.
Yet no matter what happened tomorrow, or next week, or next year, she was grateful. Grateful to the gods, to fate, to herself for being brave enough to kiss him that night. Grateful for this little bit of time she’d been given with him.
She’d never liked Gregori, anyway. When she was ten, she’d fed his horse a bag of candy and he’d thrown a dagger at her head for it. She’d caught the dagger, of course, and ever since, Gregori had borne the scar on his cheek from her return throw.
Grunting against the weight, I grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance at the steaming carcass of the wolf. His remaining golden eye now stared at the snow-heavy sky, and for a moment, I wished I had it in me to feel remorse for the dead thing. But this was the forest, and it was winter.
Why?” I asked. He knew what I meant, and shrugged. “Because when the legends get written, I didn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. I want my future offspring to know that I was there, and that I fought against her at the end, even if I couldn’t do anything useful.” I blinked, this time not at the brightness of the sun. “Because,” he went on, his eyes locked with mine, “I didn’t want you to fight alone. Or die alone.
In our world where we’d forgotten the names of our gods, a promise was law; a promise was currency; a promise was your bond.
Sea-foam white lace bloomed from the sweeping neckline, washing upon her breast from the powder-green ocean of silk that made up the dress. A red sash covered the waist, forming an inverted peak that separated the bodice from the explosion of skirts beneath. Patterns of clear green beads were embroidered in whorls and vines across the whole of it, and bone-colored stitching stretched along the ribs.
And then a great wind, a soft wind, a lovely wind, as if the heart-song of the world were carried on it.
That’s what happens when you’re responsible for lives other than your own, isn’t it? You do what you have to do.
They were full of light, of fire and starlight and sunshine.
Ever step was an effort, every breath a trial to pull herself back from the brink, to hold on to the here and now, and what had to be done.
It had been love, and I’d meant it-the happiness, the lust, the peace... I’d felt all of those things. Once.
You’ve been going for hunts,” Tamlin said at last, “but you really don’t have any interest in hunting.” He cast me a sidelong glance. “No wonder you two never catch anything.” No.
Of all the kings and emperors who had come courting her with promises of wealth beyond imagining, it was the knight’s gift, of seeing her for who she was – not what she was – that won her heart.
The Horn has no power,” Ruhn reminded him. “It is a symbol – and symbols will always wield power of their own.
Please,” Lysandra said, waving a manicured hand, “you and I are nothing but wild beasts wearing human skins. Don’t even try to deny it.