Kingdom Of Ash - Sarah J. Maas

Nome: The Kingdom of Ash
Autor: Sarah J. Maas
Lançamento: 2018
ISBN 9781786155061
Páginas: 992
Edição: Inglês

A batalha final está aqui.

Aelin Galathynius prometeu salvar seu povo - mas a um custo tremendo. Trancada dentro de um caixão de ferro pela Rainha dos Fae, Aelin deve recorrer a sua vontade feroz, enquanto ela suporta meses de tortura. O conhecimento que ceder a Maeve fará com que aqueles que ama a impeçam de quebrar, mas sua determinação está se desfazendo a cada dia que passa...

Com Aelin capturada, seus amigos e aliados estão espalhados em diferentes destinos. Alguns laços vão crescer ainda mais, enquanto outros serão rompidos para sempre. Enquanto os destinos dos personagens se entrelaçam, todos devem lutar para que Erilea tenha alguma esperança de salvação.

Anos em produção, a série de Throne of Glass, de Sarah J. Maas, vendida no New York Times, chega a uma conclusão explosiva enquanto Aelin luta para se salvar - e a promessa de um mundo melhor

Lá se foi 1 ano, 3 meses e 2 meses com esse espetáculo de livro. Ou livros. Há exatos 400 dias eu conheci Celaena Sardithien, a Assassina de Ardalan.
(só os últimos três meses em um relacionamento destruidor de corações com Kingdom of Ash, porque eu realmente não queria que esse livro acabasse).

Se eu me surpreendi com a escrita da Sarah J. Maas em a Corte de Espinhos e Rosas (clique para ler a resenha dos dois primeiros livros), na série Trono de Vidro, ela realmente mostrou porque é uma das autoras mais queridas da atualidade.

Até os três primeiros livros, achei que seria uma história semelhante à da outra série, mas quando Rowan diz a ela que sobre sua herança féerica, eu pensei "agora vai!". E foi. Infelizmente eu li a Lâmina Assassina apenas após o quarto livro, A Rainha das Sombras. A ordem é ler primeiro a Lâmina Assassina, pois o livro com cinco histórias do passado de Celaena Sardothien acabou nas Minas de Sal em Endovier. Eu indico a ler logo depois do primeiro livro, quando a gente conhece um pouco da Assassina de Ardalan e os principais personagens que acompanharemos nos três primeiros livros. É preciso ler essas histórias, pois no quinto livro, Império da Tempestade, os personagens dessas histórias começam a adentrar no enredo principal.

Confesso que achei o sexto livro, Torre do Alvorecer, foi um pouco maçante de ler no começo. Primeiro porque nunca gostei do Chaol (cara irritante hahahha), mas a partir do momento que a história se desenrola, descobrimos o que/quem realmente a Maeve, Rainha dos Fae, é e como ela veio para Erilea. Aliás, esse livro faz parte da série, viu Editora Record? Ele não é um livro de contos igual Lâmina Assassina e vai fazer muita importância para o sétimo e último livro.

Sobre o sétimo livro... bem, para mim ele é o melhor livro da série toda. Inusitado, porque algumas séries de livros, os livros seguintes parecem que foram escritos para cumprir o contrato do autor com a editora (tem muitas exceções, claro). Mas é quando junta todos os sobreviventes dos últimos livros, com a missão de salvar Erilea das garras de Erawan e muitas redenções por parte de alguns personagens (que por sinal, eu odiei em boa parte da leitura).

A forma como a Sarah J. Maas entrelaça passagens de todos os livros nesse último mostra o quanto ela trabalhou na história da "e se a Cinderela fosse ao baile para matar o Príncipe?". São 992 páginas (938 na versão nacional) de várias reviravoltas, traições e, infelizmente, sacrifícios de personagens de quem a gente passar a gostar durante esses plot twists. Que por sinal, eu acordava meus pais de madrugada com os meus "MEU DEUS" seguidos de palmas para a autora.

Ela não tem pressa em contar sobre cada personagem, cada plot, cada acontecimento. As narrações das guerras foi uma das mais maravilhosas que eu já li (já me decepcionei com as narrações de outras guerras, cujos os livros foram maravilhosos, mas as autoras deixaram de lado alguns personagens e plots que elas criaram durante a série). Mas em Kingdom of Ash (Reino das Cinzas, aqui em terras brasileira), a Sarah não esquece de nenhum guerreiro durante as batalhas contra as tropas de Erawan e para salvar Aelin das mãos da Maeve e Cairn.

A conclusão do livro também é surpreendente, pois todos nós esperamos que seja a nossa Assassina de Ardalan a matar Maeve e Erawan. Mas é exatamente nesse Grand Finale que a autora nos mostra a importância da amizade, do companheirismo e da confiança daqueles que lutam juntam com nós. Há os sacrifício de alguns, a lealdade de outros, mas principalmente, a luta por um mundo melhor.

Vou sentir falta desse squad maravilhoso que a Sarah J. Maas criou para esse universo.

Mas ela já anunciou que em 2020 vem série nova. A série se chama Crescente City e vai abordar a meia-Fae, Bryce Quilan, que ama sua vida. Durante o dia ela trabalha comerciantes de antiguidades, vendendo artefatos mágicos quase legais, e à noite ela vai à festas com seus amigos, saboreando todos os prazeres que Lunathion, também conhecida como Crescent City, tem a oferecer. Mas tudo vem abaixo quando um assassinato cruel abala toda a estrutura da cidade e o mundo de Bryce.



Sinopse do próximo livro da Sarah J. Maas:

“Dois anos depois, seu trabalho tornou-se um beco sem saída, e ela agora busca apenas o abençoado esquecimento nas casas noturnas mais notórias da cidade. Mas quando o assassino ataca novamente, Bryce se vê arrastada para uma investigação e unida com um abominável anjo caído, cujo próprio passado brutal assombra todos os seus passos. Hunt Athalar, assassino pessoal dos Arcanjos, não quer nada com Bryce Quinlan, apesar de ter recebido ordens para protegê-la. Ela defende tudo o que ele uma vez se rebelou e parece mais interessada em festejar do que resolver o assassinato, não importa o quão perto de casa ele possa atingir. Mas Hunt logo percebe que há muito mais para Bryce do que os olhos possam ver e que ele terá que encontrar uma maneira de trabalhar com ela, se quiser resolver este caso.

Enquanto Bryce e Hunt correm para desvendar o mistério, eles não têm como saber as ligações que eles puxam através do submundo da cidade, através dos continentes em conflitos, e até embaixo dos níveis mais escuros de Hel, onde as coisas que dormem há milênios estão começando a se mexer”.

Se eu estou louca pelo próximo livro e pela próxima série?
Imagina...

Quotes

(Me perdoem a quantidade ofensiva de frases, mas para um livro de quase mil páginas, não tem como colocar poucas)

“Once upon a time, in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom…”

“He had killed his way across the world; he had gone to war and back more times than he cared to remember. And despite it all, despite the rage and despair and ice he’d wrapped around his heart, he’d still found Aelin. Every horizon he’d gazed toward, unable and unwilling to rest during those centuries, every mountain and ocean he’d seen and wondered what lay beyond … It had been her. It had been Aelin, the silent call of the mating bond driving him, even when he could not feel it. They’d walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.”

“She’d never let them break her. Never swear that blood oath.
For Terrasen, for her people, whom she had left to endure their own torment for ten long years. She owed them this much.”

“A princess who was to live for a Thousand years. Longer. That had been her gift. It was now her curse.”

“One blink for yes. Two for no. Three for Are you all right? Four for I am here, I am with you. Five for This is real, you are awake.”

“She had been willing to yield everything to save Terrasen, to save all of them. He could do nothing less. Aelin certainly had more to lose. A mate and husband who loved her. A court who’d follow her into hell. A kingdom long awaiting her return.
All he had was an unmarked grave for a healer no one would remember, a broken empire, and a shattered castle.”

“Fireheart, her mother had called her.
Not for her power. The name had never once been about her power.”

“She’d never let them break her. Never swear that blood oath.
For Terrasen, for her people, whom she had left to endure their own torment for ten long years. She owed them this much.”

“Spirit that could not be broken. You do not yield. She would endure it again, if asked. She would do it. Every brutal hour and bit of agony. And it would hurt, and she would scream, but she’d face it. Survive against it. Arobynn had not broken her. Neither had Endovier. She would not allow this waste of existence to do so now. Her shaking eased, her body going still. Waiting. Maeve blinked at her. Just once. Aelin sucked in a breath—sharp and cool. She did not want it to be over. Any of it.”

“You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?”

“The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly off to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it.”

“There is a better world out there. And I have seen it.” Even the Thirteen looked toward her now. “I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not a weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible.”

“But just remember that this fear of yours? It means you have something worth fighting for - something you care so greatly for that losing it is the worst thing you can imagine.”

“If I tell you he's a prick and a miserable bastard to be around, will it change your mind?"
Lorcan snarled, but Aelin snorted. "Isn't that why we love Lorcan, though?" She gave him a smile that told Lorcan she remembered every detail of their initial encounters in Rifthold—when he'd shoved her face-first into a brick wall. Aelin said to Fenrys, "We'll only invite him to Orynth on holidays.”

“Fenrys … You know, I don’t actually know your family name.” Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen. “Moonbeam.” “It is not,” Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh. Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. “I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?”

“Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too.”

“I will find you again,” he promised her. “In whatever life comes after this.”

“To whatever end,” he whispered.
Silver lined her eyes. “To whatever end.”
A reminder—and a vow, more sacred than the wedding oaths they’d sworn on that ship.
To walk this path together, back from the darkness of the iron coffin. To face what waited in Terrasen, ancient promises to the gods be damned.”

“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.”

“Manon didn’t move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon’s head. Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow. “What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches.” Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs. Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than she’d ever seen. And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces. “Queen of Witches,” Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice. As one people.”

“She was not ashamed of the truth before her. She was not afraid. Manon’s grandmother led the attack, her maneuvers the deadliest. It was from her that the first slice of pain appeared. A rip of iron nails through Manon’s shoulder. But Manon swung her sword, again and again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy peaks. No, she was not afraid at all.”

Soon now. They’d win the field soon, and the song in his blood would quiet. Part of him didn’t want it to end, even as his body began to scream to rest. Yet when the battle was done, what would remain? Nothing. Elide had made that clear enough. She loved him, but she hated herself for it. He hadn’t deserved her anyway. She deserved a life of peace, of happiness. He didn’t know such things. Had thought he’d glimpsed them during the months they’d traveled together, before everything went to hell, but now he knew he was not meant for anything like it. But this battlefield, this death-song around him … This, he could do. This, he could savor

“A groan rumbled through the mountain beneath them. Morath shuddered. Maeve’s eyes widened further. A crack louder than thunder echoed through the stones. The tower swayed. Dorian’s mouth curved upward. You didn’t think I spent all those hours merely searching, did you?”

“I love you,” he whispered in Elide’s ear. “I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken.” Her tears flowed past him in the wind. “And I will be with you …” His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. “I will be with you”/

“Did you mean it? What you said.” He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he’d ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. “Yes.” Her mouth tightened, but not in displeasure. So Lorcan said softly, “I meant every word.”

“Manon rose in the saddle, sliding a leg under her, body tensing to make the jump ahead. And she said to Abraxos, touching his spin, "I love you."
It was the only thing that mattered in the end. The only thing that mattered now.”

“All of us who fight here today do so with someone standing invisible behind us.” Asterin’s gold-flecked black eyes softened a bit. “Yes,” was all Manon’s Second said as her hand drifted to her abdomen. Not in memory of the hateful word branded there, of what had been done to her. In memory of the stillborn witchling who had been thrown by Manon’s grandmother into the fire before Asterin had a chance to hold her. In memory of the hunter whom Asterin had loved, as no Ironteeth ever had loved a man, and had never gone back to, for shame and fear. The hunter who had never stopped waiting for her to return, even when he was an old man. For them, for the family she had lost, Manon knew her Second would fight today. So it might never happen again.”

“Bring our people home, Manon.”

“Her Second, her cousin, her friend, smiled, eyes bright as stars. "Live, Manon."
Manon blinked.
Asterin smiled wider, kissed Manon's brow, and whispered again, "Live."”

"And it was not darkness, but light—light, bright and pure as the sun on snow, that erupted from Asterin.
Light, as Asterin made the Yielding.
As the Thirteen, their broken bodies scattered around the tower in a near-circle, made the Yielding as well.
Light. They all burned with it. Radiated it.
Light that flowed from their souls, their fierce hearts as they gave themselves over to that power. Became incandescent with it.”

“Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death.”

“Along the wall, Valg soldiers surged and surged and surged over the battlements. So Aedion leaned in, and kissed Lysandra, kissed the woman who should have been his wife, his mate, one last time. “I love you.” Sorrow filled her beautiful face. “And I you.” She gestured to the western gate, to the soldiers waiting for its final cleaving. “Until the end?” Aedion hefted his shield, flipping the Sword of Orynth in his hand, freeing the stiffness that had seized his fingers. “I will find you again,” he promised her. “In whatever life comes after this.” Lysandra nodded. “In every lifetime.” Together, they turned toward the stairs that would take them down to the gates. To death’s awaiting embrace.”

“Nameless is my price,” the king said. Aelin went still. “Nameless is my price,” his father repeated. The warning of an ancient witch, the damning words written on the back of the Amulet of Orynth. “For the bastard-born mark you bear, you are Nameless, yet am I not so as well?” He glanced between them, his eyes wide. “What is my name?” “This is ridiculous,” Dorian said through his teeth. “Your name is—” But where there should have been a name, only an empty hole existed.”

“I took his name, Erawan spat, writhing as the words flowed from his tongue under Damaris’s power. I wiped it away from existence. Yet he only remembered it once. Only once. The first time he beheld you.
Tears slid down Dorian’s face at that unbearable truth.
Perhaps his father had unknowingly hidden his name within him, a final kernel of defiance against Erawan. And had named his son for that defiance, a secret marker that the man within still fought. Had never stopped fighting.
Dorian. His father’s name.
Dorian let go of Damaris’s hilt.
Yrene’s breathing turned ragged. Now—it had to be now.
Even with the Valg king before him, something in Dorian’s chest eased.
Healed over.”

Aedion grinned, and ruffled her red-gold hair. “The battle won’t be pretty,” he said as Evangeline sipped her milk. “And you will likely throw up again. But just remember that this fear of yours? It means you have something worth fighting for—something you care so greatly for that losing it is the worst thing you can imagine.” He pointed to the frost-covered windows. “Those bastards out there on the plain? They have none of that.” He laid his hand on hers and
squeezed gently. “They have nothing to fight for. And while we might not have
their numbers, we do have something worth defending. And because of that, we
can overcome our fear. We can fight against them, to the very end. For our
friends, for our family ...” He squeezed her hand again at that. “For those we
love...” He dared to look up at Lysandra, whose green eyes were lined with
silver. “For those we love, we can rise above that fear. Remember that tomorrow.
Even if you throw up, even if you spend the whole night in the privy. Remember
that we have something to fight for, and it will always triumph.

“We are the Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”

“It is the strength of this that matters. No matter where you are, no matter how far, this will lead you home.”

“She passed through a world of snowcapped mountains under shining stars. Passed over one of those mountains, where a winged male stood beside a heavily pregnant female, gazing out at those very stars. Fae.
They were Fae, but this was not her world.
She flung out a hand, as if she might signal them, as if they might somehow help her when she was nothing but an invisible speck of power—
The winged male, beautiful beyond reason, snapped his head toward her as she arced across his starry sky.
He lifted a hand, as in greeting.
A blast of dark power, like a gentle summer night, slammed into her.
Not to attack—but to slow her down.
A wall, a shield, that she tore and plunged through.
But it slowed her. That winged male's power slowed her, just enough.
Aelin vanished from his world without a whisper.”

(Rhysand?)

“And then they appeared. Along the edge of the foothills. A line of golden-armored warriors, foot soldiers and cavalry alike. More and more and more, a great line spreading across the crest of the final hill. Filling the skies, stretching into the horizon, flew mighty, armored birds with riders. Ruks. And before them all, sword raised to the sky as that horn blew one last time, the ruby in the blade’s pommel smoldering like a small sun … Before them all, riding on the Lord of the North, was Aelin.”

“Then we shall shut them," Gavriel said, and smiled grimly. "Together."
The word was more of a question, subtle and sorrowful. Together. As father and son. As the two warriors they were.
Gavriel - his father. He had come.
And looking at those tawny eyes, Aedion knew it was not for Aelin, or for Terrasen, that his father had done it.
"Together," Aedion rasped”

“Gavriel smiled at him. "Close the gate, Aedion," was all his father said. And then Gavriel stepped beyond the gates. That golden shield spreading thin.”

“He scanned the skies beyond her for the Thirteen, for Asterin Blackbeak, undoubtedly roaring her victory to the stars. Manon said quietly, “You will not find them. In this sky, or any other.” His heart strained as he understood. As the loss of those twelve fierce, brilliant lives carved another hole within him. One he would not forget, one he would honor. Silently, he crossed the balcony. Manon did not back away as he slid his arms around her. “I am sorry,” he said into her hair. Tentatively, slowly, her hands drifted across his back. Then settled, embracing him. “I miss them,” she whispered, shuddering. Dorian only held her tighter, and let Manon lean on him for as long as she needed, Abraxos staring toward that blasted bit of earth on the plain, toward the mate who would never return, while the city below celebrated.”

“Yet Chaol dropped his sword and shield to the bloody stones, and gripped Yrene’s face between his hands. “You can’t,” he said again, voice breaking. “You can’t.” Yrene put her hands atop Chaol’s and brought them brow to brow. “You are my joy,” was all she said to him. Her husband, her dearest friend, closed his eyes. The reek of Valg blood and metal clung to him, and yet beneath it—beneath it, that was his scent. The smell of home. Chaol at last opened his eyes, the bronze of them so vivid. Alive. Utterly alive. Full of trust, and understanding, and pride. “Go save the world, Yrene,” he whispered, and kissed her brow. Yrene let that kiss sink into her skin, a mark of protection, of love that she’d carry with her into hell and beyond it.”

“She made herself look. To face down that place of pain and despair. It would always leave a mark, a stain on her, but she would not let it define her.
Hers was not a story of darkness.
This would not be the story. She would fold it into herself , this place, this fear, but it would not be the whole story. It would not be her story.

“Life—life was pain. Pain, and joy. Joy because of the pain. He saw it in Elide’s face. In every line and age mark. In every white hair. A life lived—together. The pain of parting because of how wonderful it had been.”

“I took his name, Erawan spat, writhing as the words flowed from his tongue under Damaris's power. I wiped it away from existence. Yet he only remembered it once. Only once. The first time He behelded you.
Tears slid down Dorian's face at the unbearable truth.”

“There are no gods left to watch, I’m afraid. And there are no gods left to help you now, Aelin Galathynius.'
Aelin smiled, and Goldryn burned brighter. 'I am a god.”

“Abraxos staring toward that blasted bit of earth on the plain, toward the mate who would never return.”

“The curse was broken. Manon just stared at them, her breathing turning jagged. Then she roused Abraxos, and was in the saddle within heartbeats. She did not offer them any explanation, any farewell, as they leaped into the thinning night. As she guided her wyvern to the bit of blasted earth on the battlefield. Right to its heart. And smiling through her tears, laughing in joy and sorrow, Manon laid that precious flower from the Wastes upon the ground. In thanks and in love. So they would know, so Asterin would know, in the realm where she and her hunter and child walked hand in hand, that they had made it. That they were going home.”

“There will be a monument," she said to Abraxos, to Manon. "Should you wish it, I will build a monument right there. So no one shall ever forget what was given. Who we have to thank.”

“Be the bridge, be the light. When iron melts, when flowers spring from fields of blood—let the land be witness, and return home.”

“Ask me to marry you.”
Elide began crying, even as she laughed. “Will you marry me, Lorcan Salvaterre?”
He swept her up into his arms, raining kisses over her face. As if some final, chained part of him had been freed. “I’ll think about it.”
Elide laughed, smacking his shoulder. And then laughed again, louder.
Lorcan set her down. “What?”
Elide’s mouth bobbed as she tried to stop her laughing. “It’s just ... I’m Lady of Perranth. If you marry me, you will take my family name.”
He blinked.
Elide laughed again. “Lord Lorcan Lochan?”
It sounded just as ridiculous coming out.
Lorcan blinked at her, then howled.
She’d never heard such a joyous sound.”

“Sensing her attention, the Heir to the khaganate signaled, All is well? Nesryn blushed despite the cold, but signaled back, her numbed fingers clumsy over the symbols. All clear. A blushing schoolgirl. That’s what she became around the prince, no matter the fact that they’d been sharing a bed these weeks, or what he’d promised for their future. To rule beside him. As the future empress of the khaganate.”

“Darrow shook his head. “Why?” Not about her magic being whittled to nothing. But why she had gone to face them, with little more than embers in her veins. “Terrasen is my home,” Aelin said. It was the only answer in her heart. Darrow smiled—just a bit. “So it is.” He bowed his head. Then his body. “Welcome,” he said, then added as he rose, “Your Majesty.” But Aelin looked to Evangeline, the girl still beaming. Win me back my kingdom, Evangeline. Her order to the girl, all those months ago. And she didn’t know how Evangeline had done it. How she had changed this old lord before them. Yet there was Darrow, gesturing to the gates, to the castle behind him. Evangeline winked at Aelin, as if in confirmation. Aelin just laughed, taking the girl by the hand, and led that promise of Terrasen’s bright future into the castle.”

“In silence, they stared. Bells began pealing; people shouted. Not with fear. But in wonder. A hand rising to her mouth, Aelin scanned the broad sweep of the world. The mountain wind brushed away her tears, carrying with it a song, ancient and lovely. From the very heart of Oakwald. The very heart of the earth. Rowan twined his fingers in hers and whispered, awe in every word, “For you, Fireheart. All of it is for you.” Aelin wept then. Wept in joy that lit her heart, brighter than any magic could ever be. For across every mountain, spread beneath the green canopy of Oakwald, carpeting the entire Plain of Theralis, the kingsflame was blooming.”

“Rise,” Darrow said, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen.”

“And then finally, Aelin sat upon her throne. It weighed on her, nestled against her bones, that new burden. No longer an assassin. No longer a rogue princess. And when Aelin lifted her head to survey the cheering crowd, when she smiled, Queen of Terrasen and the Faerie Queen of the West she burned bright as a star.”

“She swallowed and put a hand over her heart. "Thank you for coming when I asked. Thank you on behalf of Terrasen. I am in your debt."
"We were in your debt," Ansel countered.
"I wasn't," Rolfe muttered.
Aelin flashed him a grin. "We're going to have fun, you and I.”

“You could just marry each other,” Yrene said, and Dorian whipped his head to her, incredulous. “It’d make it easier for you both, so you don’t need to pretend.” Chaol gaped at his wife. Yrene shrugged. “And be a strong alliance for our two kingdoms.” Dorian knew his face was red when he turned to Manon, apologies and denials on his lips. But Manon smirked at Yrene, her silver-white hair lifting in the breeze, as if reaching for the united people who would soon soar westward. That smirk softened as she mounted Abraxos and gathered up the reins. “We’ll see,” was all Manon Blackbeak, High Queen of the Crochans and Ironteeth, said before she and her wyvern leaped into the skies. Chaol and Yrene began bickering, laughing as they did, but Dorian strode to the edge of the aerie. Watched that white-haired rider and the wyvern with silver wings become distant as they sailed toward the horizon. Dorian smiled. And found himself, for the first time in a while, looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Lorcan rolled his eyes, and Aelin deemed that acceptance enough as she asked them all, “Did anyone bother to sleep?” Only Fenrys lifted his hand. Aedion frowned at the dark stain on the stones. “We’re putting a rug over it,” Aelin told him. Lysandra laughed. “Something tacky, I hope.” “I’m thinking pink and purple. Embroidered with flowers. Just what Erawan would have loved.” The Fae males gaped at them, Ren blinking. Elide ducked her head as she chuckled. Rowan snorted again. “At least this court won’t be boring.” Aelin put a hand on her chest, the portrait of outrage. “You were honestly worried it would be?” “Gods help us,” Lorcan grumbled.”

“She felt as if she had been crying without end for minutes now.
Yet this parting, this final farewell ...
Aelin looked at Chaol and Dorian and sobbed. Opened her arms to them, and wept as they held each other.
“I love you both,” she whispered. “And no matter what may happen, no matter how far we may be, that will never change.”
“We will see you again,” Chaol said, but even his voice was thick with tears.
“Together,” Dorian breathed, shaking. “We’ll rebuild this world together.”
She couldn’t stand it, this ache in her chest. But she made herself pull away and smile at their tear-streaked faces, a hand on her heart. “Thank you for all you
have done for me.”
Dorian bowed his head. “Those are words I’d never thought I’d hear from you.”
She barked a rasping laugh, and gave him a shove. “You’re a king now. Such
insults are beneath you.”
He grinned, wiping at his face.
Aelin smiled at Chaol, at his wife waiting beyond him. “I wish you every happiness,” she said to him. To them both.
Such light shone in Chaol’s bronze eyes—that she had never seen before.
“We will see each other again,” he repeated.
Then he and Dorian turned toward their horses, toward the bright day beyond the castle gates. Toward their kingdom to the south. Shattered now, but not forever.
Not forever.”

“These beasts, despite their dark master, are capable of love"

“Aelin smiled at the thought as she slipped on her dressing robe, shuffling her feet into her shearling-lined slippers. Even with spring fully upon them, the mornings were chill. Indeed, Fleetfoot lay beside the fire on her little cushioned bed, curled up tightly. And as equally exhausted as Rowan, apparently. The hound didn’t bother to crack open an eye.”