Fireheart. The whispered word floated through the eternal night, a glimmer of sound, of light. Fireheart. The woman’s voice was soft, loving. Her mother’s voice. Aelin turned her face away. Even that movement was more than she could bear. Fireheart, why do you cry? Aelin could not answer. Fireheart. The words were a gentle brush down her cheek. Fireheart, why do you cry? And from far away, deep within her, Aelin whispered toward that ray of memory, Because I am lost. And I do not know the way.
To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.” He picked up his glass, his gaze so piercing that I wondered why I had bothered blushing at all for Tarquin. Rhys clinked his glass against mine. “To the stars who listen – and the dreams that are answered.
But they wove a tapestry of dreams, all begging for one thing... a better world.
I have better things to do than care about whether you live or die.
She didn’t know what to do with it, that rage. It still burned and hunted her, still made her want to rip and roar and rend the world into pieces. She felt it all – too keenly, too sharply. Hated and cared and loved and dreaded, more than other people, she sometimes thought.
He locked you up because he knew – the bastard knew what a treasure you are. That you are worth more than land or gold or jewels. He knew, and wanted to keep you all to himself.
No lady, beautiful or plain, young or old, deserved to be gawked at.
Maybe I’d always been broken and dark inside. Maybe someone who’ve been born whole and good would have put down the ash dagger and embraced death rather than what lay before me.
You’re a little taller than I’d imagined, but no one’s perfect.
The most powerful pure-blooded Fae male in the world,” Chaol said simply. “A worthy asset for any court. Especially when they had fallen in love with each other.
Borte had gone back to studying the Fae males. Not their considerable beauty, but their size, their pointed ears, their weapons and elongated canines. Aelin whispered conspiratorially to the girl, “Make them roll over before you offer them a treat.
It’s a rare day indeed when someone thanks you for bringing them to their death.
I want to live first. With you. I want to see things and have adventures. I want to learn what is it to be immortal, to be your mate, to be part of your family. I want to be... ready for them. And I selfishly want to have you all to myself for a while.
My father will hunt you for taking his power if he finds out,” he said into the frigid dark. “And kill you for learning how to wield it.” “He can get in line,” was all I said.
It was agony and despair and fear. It was joy and laughter and rest. It was life, all of it...
For this week? I want you to learn how to read.
Your soldiers look like they have seen better days.” “Oh, they always look like that. I’ve tried and tries to get them to focus on outside appearances as much as improving their inner beauty, but... you know how men are.
Tell Aelin Galathynius that Wendlyn has never forgotten Evalin Ashryver,” Galan said to him, to Aedion. “Or Terrasen.
This war,” she said quietly, “is but the second movement in a game that has been played since those ancient days across the sea.
Every time you lot leave me at home, someone manages to get gutted.