Lysandra Quotes

You and I are nothing but wild beasts wearing human skins.

She was fury, she was wrath, she was vengeance.

The useless sentries in the watchtower are now all half in love with you,” he lied. “One said he wanted to marry you.” A low snarl. He yielded a foot but held eye contact with her as he grinned. “But you know what I told them? I said that they didn't stand a chance in hell. Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I'll be generous and let you pick when, even if it's ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.” He shrugged. “Princess Lysandra Ashryver sounds nice, doesn't it?

You deserve to be happy,” he said. And meant it. She deserved the joy he so often glimpsed on her face when Rowan was near—deserved the wicked laughter she shared with Aedion, the comfort and teasing with Lysandra. She deserved happiness, perhaps more than anyone.

Some night soon, I'll sneak back in here and we can eat chocolates until we vomit." "We're such refined, genteel ladies." "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.

She wondered whether the queen knew. Rowan did. Aedion did. And Arobynn did. He had understood that with Rowan, she was no longer afraid of him; with Rowan, Arobynn was now utterly unnecessary. Irrelevant.

One day. I am going to marry you. I'll be generous and let you pick when, even if it's ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.

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.

Aedion's heart stopped dead. "It's a sea dragon," he managed to say. Well, at least he now knew what secret form Lysandra had been working on.

At dawn, Aedion had burst in, demanding why they weren’t ready to leave—to go home. Lysandra had shifted into a ghost leopard and chased him out. Then she returned, lingering in her massive feline form, and again sprawled beside Aelin. They managed to get another thirty minutes of sleep before Aedion came back and chucked a bucket of water on them. He was lucky to escape alive.

Lysandra's smile grew. "I like your fangs," she said sweetly. Aelin choked on her grape. Of course Lysandra did. Rowan gave a little grin that usually sent Aelin running. "Are you studying them so you can replicate them when you take my form, shape-shifter?" Aelin's fork froze in midair. "Bullshit," Aedion said.

Lysandra... Lady of Caraverre." "There is no Caraverre," Darrow said. Aelin shrugged. "There is now." Lysandra had settled on the name a week ago, whatever it meant, bolting upright in the middle of the night and practically shouting it at Aelin once she'd mastered herself long enough to shift back into her human form. Aelin doubted she'd soon forget the image of a wide-eyed ghost leopard trying to speak.

Rowan just asked, “Did you have a favorite form?” Lysandra's grin was nothing short of wicked. “I liked anything with claws and big, big fangs.

Rumor has it she was your Champion this fall. Do you wish to deal with this?" Dorian said smoothly, "You will find, Rolfe, that one does not deal with Celaena Sardothien. One survives her." ... Aelin and Aelin looked at each other. The one in black grinned up at the newcomer. "Oh, you ARE gorgeous, aren't you?" ... Aelin and Lysandra fixed the warrior with an unimpressed look that would have sent lesser men running.

Lysandra snorted. Bringing a wet dog into a covert meeting - very queenly.

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.

Lysandra rubbed at her face, then squared her shoulders. "The marsh beasts are easily enraged. Like someone I know." Aelin jabbed the shifter with an elbow, and Lysandra snorted.

You bought chocolate―as far as I'm concerned, you're my new favorite person.

But Aelin, crowned and glowing, only said, “Walk with me.” She gestured to the gates behind her. “All of you.” This day did not belong to her alone. Not at all. And when they all balked, Aelin walked forward. Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff. All the women who had fought by her side, or from afar. Who had bled and sacrificed and never given up hope that this day might come. “Walk with me,” Aelin said to them, the men and males falling into step behind. “My friends.” The bells still ringing, Aelin nodded to the guards at the castle gates. They opened at last, and the roar from the gathered crowds was loud enough to rattle the stars.

Lysandra gazed at the ring, then lifted her eyes to Aelin’s face— and threw her arms around her neck, squeezing tight. She took that as a yes.

The silence brought back everything around her.

Yet Lysandra did not slow. She did not stop. For Evangeline. For her future. For her freedom. For the friends who had come for her.

Lysandra said softly, “I will not apologize to you. I serve her. And I am willing to spend the rest of my life pretending to be her so that her sacrifice isn’t in vain—” “You

I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. - Aelin, to Lysandra

... As Lorcan stared down at Lysandra, his blood-splattered face impassive. "Out of the way, shifter." Lysandra had held up a slender hand- and Lorcan paused. The shape-shifter pressed her other hand against her stomach, her face blanching. But then she smiled and said, "You forgot to say 'please.' " Lorcan's dark brows flattened. "I don't have time for this." He made to step around her, shove her aside. Lysandra vomited black blood all over him. Rowan didn't know whether to laught or cringe as Lysandra, panting, gaped at Lorcan, and at the blood on his neck and chest. Slowly, too slowly, Lorcan looked down at himself. She pressed a hand over her mouth. "I am-so sorry-" Lorcan didn't even step out of the way as Lysandra vomited on him again, black blood and bits of gore now on the warrior and on the marble floor.

Lysandra had entered and passed out in her bed with no explanation for why or what she’d been doing beforehand. And since she was utterly unconscious, Aelin had just climbed into bed beside her.

Even before I knew who you were, Aelin, I knew that what you were working toward . . . It was worth it.” “What is?” Her throat tightened. “A world where people like me don't have to hide.

That’s thirty,” Ansel said. “We can count,” Rolfe snipped. Ansel lifted a wine-red brow. “Can you really?” Despite the army marching on them, Lysandra’s mouth twitched upward. Rolfe just rolled his eyes and went back to watching the approaching army.

Tell the others,” Aelin breathed, trying to find the right words. “Tell the others that I am sorry. Tell Lysandra to remember her promise, and that I will never stop being grateful. Tell Aedion … Tell him it is not his fault, and that …” Her voice cracked. “I wish he’d been able to take the oath, but Terrasen will look to him now, and the lines must not break.” Elide nodded, tears sliding down her blood-splattered face. “And tell Rowan …” Aelin’s soul splintered as she saw the iron box the escorts now carried between them. An ancient, iron coffin. Big enough for one person. Crafted for her. “And tell Rowan,” Aelin said, fighting her own sob, “that I’m sorry I lied. But tell him it was all borrowed time anyway. Even before today, I knew it was all just borrowed time, but I still wish we’d had more of it.” She fought past her trembling mouth. “Tell him he has to fight. He must save Terrasen, and remember the vows he made to me. And tell him … tell him thank you—for walking that dark path with me back to the light.” They

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.

Aedion hadn't dared tell the shifter that he often counted the minutes until she returned, that his chest always felt unbearably tight until he spotted whatever winged or finned form she wore returning to them.

She pulled a small box from her pocket. "There's one more task," Aelin said, holding the box out to Lysandra. "You'll probably hate me for it later. But you can start by saying yes." "Proposing to me? How unexpected.

Lysandra gazed at the ring, then lifted her eyes to Aelin’s face— and threw her arms around her neck, squeezing tight. She took that as a yes. Aelin grimaced at the dull throb of pain, but held on. “Welcome to the court, Lady.

A strange, ever-changing female scent hit him, and Aedion found Lysandra leaning against the hallway door. Tears gleamed in her eyes even as she smiled. She gazed at the closed bedroom door, as if she could still see the prince and queen inside. "That," she said, more to herself than to him. "That is what I am going to find one day." "A gorgeous Fae warrior?" Aedion said, shifting a bit. Lysandra chuckled, wiping away her tears, and gave him a knowing look before walking away.

Lysandra,” Celaena echoed. She’d met Lysandra when they were both ten, and in the seven years that they’d known each other, Celaena couldn’t recall a time when she didn’t want to beat in the girl’s face with a brick. Or throw her out a window. Or do any of a number of things she’d learned from Arobynn. It

If she herself could change so much in two years, perhaps so could Lysandra. And for a moment, she wondered how another young woman's life would have been different if she had stopped to talk to her—really talk to Kaltain Rompier, instead of dismissing her as a vapid courtier. What would have happened if Nehemia had tried to see past Kaltain's mask, too.

Lighting gleamed on the blade, a flicker of quicksilver. For Wesley. For Sam. For Aelin. And for herself. For the child she'd been, for the seventeen-year-old on her Bidding night, for the woman she'd become, her heart in shreds, her invisible wound still bleeding. It was so very easy to sit up and slice the knife across Arobynn's throat.

Come on," she said to Lysandra and Aedion, heading for the door. "We'd better eat before we raise hell.

Tell me—everything.” So he did. About the hellfire, and the Wyrdhounds, and Lorcan. And then the past three days, of organizing and healing and Lysandra scaring the living shit out of everyone by shifting into a ghost leopard anytime one of Dorian’s courtiers stepped out of line. When

She would find that love again—one day. And it would be deep and unrelenting and unexpected, the beginning and the end and eternity, the kind that could change history, change the world.

Lysandra sat in bed, face drawn but eyes narrowed at the queen. It was the shifter who purred, “Enjoy your ride?” Aedion didn’t dare move and was giving Dorian a warning look to do the same. Rowan bit down against the rage at the sight of other males near his queen, reminding himself that they were his friends, but— That primal rage stumbled as he felt Aelin’s shuddering relief upon finding the shifter mostly healed and lucid. But his queen only shrugged. “Isn’t that all these Fae males are good for?

Sand whispered behind him as Lorcan stepped up to his side. “I will go with you. I will help you get her back.” Gavriel rasped, “We’ll find her.” Aedion at last looked away from Lysandra at that. But he said nothing to his father—had said nothing to him at all since they’d landed on the beach. Elide took a limping step closer, her voice as raw as Gavriel’s. “Together. We’ll go together.” Lorcan gave the Lady of Perranth an assessing look that she made a point to ignore. His eyes flickered as he said to Rowan, “Fenrys is with her. He’ll know we’re coming for her—try to leave tracks if he can.” If Maeve didn’t have him on lockdown. But Fenrys had battled the blood oath every day since swearing it. And if he was all that now stood between Cairn and Aelin … Rowan didn’t let himself think about Cairn. About what Maeve had already had him do, or would do to her before the end. No—Fenrys would fight it. And Aelin would fight it. Aelin would never stop fighting. Rowan

They were nearly there when an old voice said, “I would like a word.” Darrow. Evangeline turned before Lysandra did. The ancient lord stood in the doorway of what seemed to be a study, and beckoned them inside. “It will not take long,” he said upon noting the displeasure still on Lysandra’s face. She was done making herself appear nice for men whom she had no interest in being nice to.

Before my first battle,” Aedion said to the girl, “I spent the entire night in the privy.” Evangeline squeaked, “You?” Aedion smirked. “Oh yes. Quinn, the old Captain of the Guard, said it was a wonder I had anything left inside me by the time dawn broke.” An old ache filled Aedion’s chest at the mention of his mentor and friend, the man he’d admired so greatly. Who had made his final stand, as Aedion would, on the plain beyond this city. Evangeline let out a little laugh. “That’s disgusting.” “It certainly was,” Aedion said, and could have sworn Lysandra was smiling a bit. “So you’re already much braver than I ever was.” “I threw up earlier,” Evangeline whispered. Aedion said in a conspiratorial whisper, “Better than shitting your pants, sweetheart.

Lysandra had shifted into a ghost leopard and chased him out. Then she returned, lingering in her massive feline form, and again sprawled beside Aelin. They managed to get another thirty minutes of sleep before Aedion came back and chucked a bucket of water on them.

What would you decide?” Darrow’s question was quiet, tentative. She considered it. No one had ever asked her such a thing. “I should have very much liked to live at Caraverre,” Evangeline admitted. She knew he did not recognize it, but it didn’t matter now, did it? “Murtaugh showed me the land—the rivers and mountains right nearby, the forests and hills.” An ache throbbed in her chest. “I saw the gardens by the house, and I would have liked to have seen them in spring.” Her throat tightened. “I would have liked for that to have been my home. For this … for all of Terrasen to have been my home.” Darrow said nothing, and Evangeline set a hand on the castle stones, gazing to the west now, as if she could see all the way to Allsbrook and the small territory in its shadow. To Caraverre. “That’s what Terrasen has always meant to me, you know,” Evangeline went on, speaking more to herself. “As soon as Aelin freed Lysandra, and offered to let us join her court, Terrasen has always meant home. A place where … where the sort of people who hurt us don’t get to live. Where anyone, regardless of who they are and where they came from and what their rank is can dwell in peace. Where we can have a garden in the spring, and swim in the rivers in the summer. I’ve never had such a thing before. A home, I mean. And I would have liked for Caraverre, for Terrasen, to have been mine.” She chewed on her lip. “So I would choose to fight. Until the very end. For my home, new as it is. I choose to fight.

Lysandra made him change out of his dirty travel clothes, barged into Aelin and Rowan’s room wearing no more than her own bedsheet, and took whatever she wanted from the Fae Prince’s armoire. Aelin’s barked Get out! was likely heard from across the bay, and Lysandra was smirking with feline wickedness as she returned, chucking the green jacket and pants at him.

Lysandra groaned, the reverberations running up his knees and straight into his gut, and Aedion whirled back to the shifter. Aelin left without further good-bye. The Lion lingered in the brush, keeping out of sight and sound as the Wolf watched over the dragon still sprawled across the beach. For

A deadly, vicious sort of calm filled Celaena’s veins. She’d snapped once at Lysandra—when they were thirteen and Lysandra had snatched a lovely lace fan right out of Celaena’s hands. The ensuing fight had sent them tumbling down a flight of stairs. Celaena had spent a night in the Keep’s dungeon for the welts she’d left on Lysandra’s face by beating her with the fan itself.

Oh, thank the gods. Now I can talk to someone about clothes without being asked how so-and-so would approve of it, or gobble down a box of chocolates without someone telling me I’d better watch my figure—tell me you like chocolates. You do, right? I remember stealing a box from your room once when you were out killing someone. They were delicious.” Aelin waved a hand toward the boxes of goodies on the table. “You brought chocolate—as far as I’m concerned, you’re my new favorite person.” Lysandra

Lysandra had politely, but thoroughly, gagged at one point.

Breakfast, it seems, is the only meal any of us are decent at. And this one”—she jabbed a thumb in Rowan’s direction—“only knows how to cook meat on a stick over a fire.” Lysandra

Lysandra flapped onto the top of a nearby statue and clicked her beak rather saucily.

And there she was. In deepening blues of descending night, amid the snow beginning till, Aelin Galathynius had appeared before the sealed southern gate. Had appeared before Erawan and Maeve. Her unbound hair billowed in the wind like a golden banner, a last ray of light with the dying of the day. Silence fell. Even the screaming stopped as all turned toward the gate. But Aelin did not balk. Did not run from the Valg queen and king who halted as if in delight at the lone figure who dared face them. Lysandra let out a strangled sob. "She-she has no magic left." The shifter's voice broke. "She has nothing left." Still Aelin lifted her sword. Flames ran down the blade. One flame against the darkness gathered. One flame to light the night. Aelin raised her shield, and flames encircled it, too. Burning bright, burning undaunted. A vision of old, reborn once more. The cry went down the castle battlements, through the city, along the walls. The queen had come home at last. The queen had come to hold the gate.

Aedion didn’t care. Not with a row of swords before them, gleaming like the teeth of some mighty beast. The commander’s hand came down. And was ripped clean off by a ghost leopard. For Evangeline, for her freedom, for her future. Where Lysandra lunged, slashing with claws and fangs, soldiers died.

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.

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.

The useless sentries in the watchtower are now all half in love with you,” he lied. “One said he wanted to marry you.” A low snarl. He yielded a foot but held eye contact with her as he grinned. “But you know what I told them? I said that they didn't stand a chance in hell. Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I'll be generous and let you pick when, even if it's ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.” He shrugged. “Princess Lysandra Ashryver sounds nice, doesn't it?

She beckoned her court forward. Then smiled at Dorian and Chaol, at Yrene and Nesryn and Sartaq and their companions. And beckoned them forward, too. Brows rising, they approached. But Aelin, crowned and glowing, only said, “Walk with me.” She gestured to the gates behind her. “All of you.” This day did not belong to her alone. Not at all. And when they all balked, Aelin walked forward. Took Yrene Westfall by the hand to guide her to the front. Then Manon Blackbeak. Elide Lochan. Lysandra. Evangeline. Nesryn Faliq. Borte and Hasar and Ansel of Briarcliff.

You don’t get a choice with who you bond with. But even given a choice, I wouldn’t have made the connection with anyone else.

Lysandra slipped closer, a solid rock in the thrashing sea of his rage.

Lysandra’s smile was a thing of savage, dark beauty.

Lysandra chuckled, a surprisingly deep, wicked sound—probably a laugh she never let Arobynn or her clients hear. “Some night soon, I’ll sneak back in here and we can eat chocolates until we vomit.” “We’re such refined, genteel ladies.” “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.

You look … ,” Gavriel breathed, sinking into his chair. “You look so much like her.” Aedion knew Gavriel didn’t mean Aelin. Even Fenrys looked at the Lion now, at the grief rippling in those tawny eyes. But Aedion barely remembered his mother. Barely recalled anything more than her dying, wrecked face. So he said, “She died so your queen wouldn’t get her claws on me.” He wasn’t sure his father was breathing. Lysandra stepped closer, a solid rock in the thrashing sea of his rage. Aedion pinned his father with a look, not sure where the words came from, the wrath, but there they were, snapping from his lips like whips. “They could have cured her in the Fae compounds, but she wouldn’t go near them, wouldn’t let them come for fear of Maeve”—he spat the name—“knowing I existed. For fear I’d be enslaved to her as you were.” His father’s tan face had drained of all color. Whatever Gavriel had suspected until now, Aedion didn’t care. The Wolf snarled at the Lion, “She was twenty-three years old. She never married, and her family shunned her. She refused to tell anyone who’d sired me, and took their disdain, their humiliation, without an ounce of self-pity. She did it because she loved me, not you.” And he suddenly wished he’d asked Aelin to come, so he could tell her to burn this warrior into ashes like that commander in Ilium, because looking at the face—his face … he hated him. He hated him for the twenty-three-year-old his mother had been, younger than he now was when she’d died, alone and sorrowful. Aedion growled, “If your bitch of a queen tries to take me, I’ll slit her throat. If she hurts my family any more than she already has, I’ll slit yours, too.

Faster and faster, those three bulls closed in. Lysandra remained at the mouth of the bay. Holding the line. Aedion’s heart stopped. “She’s dead,” one of the sentries hissed. “Oh, gods, she’s dead—” “Shut your rutting mouth,” Aedion snarled, scanning the bay, slipping into that cold, calculating place that allowed him to make decisions in battle, to weigh the costs and risks.

Get the hell out of—” Aelin let out a low whistle. “Allow me to introduce to you, Captain Rolfe, the incomparable, the beautiful, and the absolutely and all-around flawless Queen of Terrasen.” Dorian’s brows creased. But footsteps sounded, and then—The males shifted as Aelin Galathynius indeed strode into the room, clad in a dark green tunic of equal wear and dirt, her golden hair unbound, her turquoise-and-gold eyes laughing as she strode past a slack-jawed Rolfe and perched on the arm of Aelin’s chair. Dorian couldn’t tell—without a Fae’s sense of smell, he couldn’t tell. “What—what devilry is this,” Rolfe hissed, yielding a single step. Aelin and Aelin looked at each other. The one in black grinned up at the newcomer. “Oh, you are gorgeous, aren’t you?” The one in green smiled, but for all its delight, all its wicked mischief … It was a softer smile, made with a mouth that was perhaps less used to snarling and teeth-baring and getting away with saying hideous, swaggering things. Lysandra, then. The two queens faced Rolfe. “Aelin Galathynius had no twin,” he growled, a hand on his sword. Aelin in black—the true Aelin, who had been among them all along—rolled her eyes. “Ugh, Rolfe. You ruin my fun. Of course I don’t have a twin.” She jerked her chin at Lysandra, and the shifter’s flesh glowed and melted, hair becoming a heavy, straight fall of dark tresses, her skin sun-kissed, her uptilted eyes a striking green.

Behind her, had she looked, she would have seen Glennis. And Bronwen. Petrah Blueblood. Aedion Ashryver and Lysandra and Ren Allsbrook. Prince Galan and Captain Rolfe and Ansel of Briarcliff, Ilias and the Fae royals beside them. Had she looked, she would have seen the small white flowers they bore. Would have wondered how and where they had gotten them in the dead heart of winter. Had she looked, she would have seen the people gathered behind them, so many they streamed all the way to the city gates. Would have seen the humans standing side by side with the Crochans and Ironteeth. All come to honor the Thirteen.

Her name is Lysandra Keates, and she arrived uninvited on my doorstep a few days ago. I do not know the particulars of her situation as of yet, but my impression is that she is in dire straits. She has begged me to match her with a man.” “I am not looking for a mistress!” Andrew snapped, but he couldn’t help a brief, powerful image of the girl in the garden…in his bed, her legs wrapped around him as he drove into her.

During the carriage ride here, Archer had promised that Arobynn Hamel wasn’t attending, and neither was Lysandra—a courtesan with whom Celaena had a long, violent history, and someone she was fairly certain she’d kill if she ever saw again.

Aedion, what do you want to do? Not for us, not for Terrasen, but for you.” He bowed his head a bit, glancing sidelong at the quiet street again. “My whole life has been … not about what I want. I don’t know how to choose those things.” No, from the moment he’d arrived in Terrasen at age five, he’d been trained—his path chosen. And when Terrasen had burned beneath Adarlan’s torches, another hand had gripped the leash of his fate. Even now, with war upon them … Had he truly never wanted something for himself? All he’d wanted had been the blood oath. And Aelin had given that away to Rowan. He didn’t resent her for it, not anymore, but … He had not realized he had asked for so little. Lysandra said quietly, “I know. I know what that feels like.

Lysandra used the journey to test out her abilities—sometimes flying with Rowan overhead, sometimes running as a pretty black dog alongside Fleetfoot, sometimes spending days in her ghost leopard form and pouncing on Aedion whenever he least expected it.

Glancing between her and the paper, Lysandra cracked the seal and read the text. “I, Clarisse DuVency, hereby declare that any debts owed to me by—” The paper began shaking. “Any debts owed to me by Lysandra and Evangeline are now paid in full. At their earliest convenience, they may receive the Mark of their freedom.” The paper fluttered to the table as Lysandra’s hands slackened. She raised her head to look at Aelin. “Och,” Aelin said, even as her own eyes filled. “I hate you for being so beautiful, even when you cry.

Andrew had been staring, mesmerized as Vivien recounted the details of Lysandra’s request, but now he shook off his interest. “And again, what does this have to do with me?” “I need a man who would be willing to gently introduce her to pleasure. One who would be patient with her fears and yet experienced enough to turn her into a mistress any man would desire.” Andrew opened his mouth, but found he could say nothing for a moment. Once again, images bombarded his mind. Illicit. And much more befitting the man he had once been many years before.

Aedion went on, “They’re white and gray, so you can barely make them out against the snow and rock. You can’t really tell they’re on you until you’re staring right into their pale green eyes …” His smile faltered as Lysandra fixed her green eyes on him and cocked her head. Despite herself, Aelin laughed.

Again, that eye watched him warily, temper flickering. But an animal remained. Aedion drawled, even as his relief began to crumble his mask of arrogant calmness, “The useless sentries in the watchtower are now all half in love with you,” he lied. “One said he wanted to marry you.” A low snarl. He yielded a foot but held eye contact with her as he grinned. “But you know what I told them? I said that they didn’t stand a chance in hell.” Aedion lowered his voice, holding her pained, exhausted stare. “Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I’ll be generous and let you pick when, even if it’s ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.” Those eyes narrowed—in what he could only call female outrage and exasperation. He shrugged. “Princess Lysandra Ashryver sounds nice, doesn’t it?” And then the dragon huffed. In amusement. Exhaustion, but … amusement.

Realizing he’d forgotten to tell Rowan about the letter he’d received from the Bane, Aedion Ashryver walked into Aelin’s suite of rooms in time to see that Aelin was awake—finally awake, and lifting her face to Rowan’s. They were sitting on the bed, Aelin in Rowan’s lap, the Fae warrior’s arms locked around her as he looked at her the way she deserved to be looked at. And when they kissed, deeply, without hesitation— Rowan didn’t so much as glance Aedion’s way before a wind snapped through the suite, slamming the bedroom door in Aedion’s face. Point taken. A strange, ever-changing female scent hit him, and Aedion found Lysandra leaning against the hallway door. Tears gleamed in her eyes even as she smiled. She gazed at the closed bedroom door, as if she could still see the prince and queen inside. “That,” she said, more to herself than to him. “That is what I am going to find one day.” “A gorgeous Fae warrior?” Aedion said, shifting a bit. Lysandra chuckled, wiping away her tears, and gave him a knowing look before walking away.

Before yesterday, I was lost, a confused, wandering girl in a world where I didn’t belong. Only now do I feel whole . . . different . . . complete. Set to a task that is wholly my own.

Your king is dead. Your prince lives. . . My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I am the Queen of Terrasen. . . Your prince is in mourning. Until he is ready, this city is mine. . . If you loot, if you riot, if you cause one lick of trouble, I will find you, and I will burn you to ash." She lifted a hand, and flames danced at her fingertips. "If you revolt against your new king, if you try to take his castle, then this wall"--she gestured with her burning hand--"will turn to molten glass and flood your streets, your homes, your throats. . . I killed your king. His empire is over. Your slaves are now free people. If I catch you holding on to your slaves, if I hear of any household keeping them captive, you are dead. If I hear of you whipping a slave, or trying to sell one, you are dead. So I suggest that you tell your friends, and families, and neighbors. I suggest that you act like reasonable, intelligent people. And I suggest that you stay on your best behavior until your king is ready to greet you, at which time I swear on my crown that I will yield control of this city to him. If anyone has a problem with it, you can take it up with my court." She motioned behind her. Rowan, Aedion, and Lysandra--bloodied, battered, filthy--grinning like hellions. "Or," Aelin said, the flames winking out on her hand, "you can take it up with me." Not a word. She wondered whether they were breathing. But Aelin didn't care as she strode off the platform, back through the gate she'd made, and all the way up the barren hillside to the stone castle. She was barely inside the oak doors before she collapsed to her knees and wept.

His gray eyes turned flinty. “I do not recognize your right to rule; I do not recognize you as the rightful Queen of Terrasen. Neither do the Lords Sloane, Ironwood, and Gunnar, who make up the remaining surviving majority of what was once your uncle’s court. Even if the Allsbrook family sides with you, that is still one vote against four. General Ashryver has no lands or title here—and no say as a result. As for Lady Lysandra, Caraverre is not a recognized territory, nor do we recognize her lineage or your purchase of those lands.” Formal words, for a formal declaration. “Should you return to Orynth and seize your throne without our invitation, it will be considered an act of war and treason.” Darrow pulled a piece of paper from his jacket—lots of fancy writing and four different signatures on the bottom. “As of this moment, until it is otherwise decided, you shall remain a princess by blood—but not queen.

He returned with Dorian in tow, the king glancing between them all. “I wanted to see if you’d eaten—” Aelin pointed with her fork to the empty seat beside Lysandra. “Join us.” “I don’t want to impose.” “Sit your ass down,” she told the new King of Adarlan. That morning he’d signed a decree freeing all the conquered kingdoms from Adarlan’s rule. She’d watched him do it, Aedion holding her hand tightly throughout, and wished that Nehemia had been there to see it.

Lysandra put her hands on her hips. “Any other tasks for me before I retrieve Evangeline tomorrow?” Aelin owed Lysandra more than she could begin to express, but— She pulled a small box from her pocket. “There’s one more task,” Aelin said, holding the box out to Lysandra. “You’ll probably hate me for it later. But you can start by saying yes.” “Proposing to me? How unexpected.” Lysandra took the box but didn’t open it. Aelin waved a hand, her heart pounding. “Just—open it.” With a wary frown, Lysandra opened the lid and cocked her head at the ring inside—the movement purely feline. “Are you proposing to me, Aelin Galathynius?” Aelin held her friend’s gaze. “There’s a territory in the North, a small bit of fertile land that used to belong to the Allsbrook family. Aedion took it upon himself to inform me that the Allsbrooks have no use for it, so it’s been sitting open for a while.” Aelin shrugged. “It could use a lady.

Lysandra had finally shifted back into her human form—and true to her oath months ago, her once-full breasts were now smaller. Despite what awaited them in the private dining room at the back of the inn, Aelin caught the shape-shifter’s eye and smirked. “Better?” she murmured over Evangeline’s head as Darrow’s messenger, Aedion at his side, strolled through the crowd. Lysandra’s grin was half feral. “Oh, you have no idea.” Behind them, Aelin could have sworn Rowan chuckled.

Lysandra held her gaze for a long moment. “Benedict is a good man.” She couldn’t smile. It was too painful. “Indeed he is.” “Isn’t there any way to be with him?” Lysandra pressed. Vivien swallowed. She wasn’t even going to deny that was her heart’s desire. “No. Not with my reputation.” “But Lysandra and I each came from similar backgrounds and our husbands—” Mariah began. Vivien lifted a hand to stop her. “You did not come from anything like my background. Lysandra never had a lover beyond her husband and you married a rake with a terrible reputation who could be expected to do something so shocking. Neither of you were ever the most notorious woman in the city.

Felix shrugged. “To me, girls are meant to be pretty companions, not rebel comrades. They’re good for washing our clothes and preparing meals after a long day.” He flashed Jonas a grin. “And, of course, they’re excellent for warming beds.” Jonas eyed him with an edge of amusement. “You might want to keep that opinion to yourself when you meet Lysandra.” “She’s not pretty?” “Oh, she is. Extremely pretty, in fact. But she’ll hand your arse to you on a rusty platter if you ever ask her to cook your meals or wash your clothes. And especially if you invite her to warm your bed.” “If she’s as pretty as you say I might try to change her mind.” Jonas’s grin widened. “Good luck with that. I’ll be sure to bring flowers to your grave.” Felix

She was almost to the door when Aelin said, “How much longer—until you’re free of your debts?” “I still have a great deal to pay off, so—a while.” Lysandra paced a few steps, and then caught herself. “Clarisse keeps adding money as Evangeline grows, claiming that someone so beautiful would have made her double, triple what she originally told me.” “That’s despicable.” “What can I do?” Lysandra held up her wrist, where the tattoo had been inked. “She’ll hunt me until the day I die, and I can’t run with Evangeline.” “I could dig Clarisse a grave no one would ever discover,” Aelin said. And meant it. Lysandra knew she meant it, too. “Not yet—not now.” “You say the word, and it’s done.” Lysandra’s smile was a thing of savage, dark beauty.

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.

She leads me to a parlor room, where tailors are pinning up a white, lacy gown, with long sleeves and a layered skirt, made in the style of the year 1917. The same year the Romanov Empire fell. At their request, I slip it on and step on a stool in the middle of the room. My throat clenches when I gaze into the golden mirror. I’m a living impression of Empress Alexandra, wife of Nicholas II. I look like I’ve stepped out of the black-and-white pictures and transported myself to another time.

Then the girl gestured to her scarred face and said, “She did this to me.” It was an effort to keep seated, to keep from leaping down the stairs to slit Lysandra’s throat. But Evangeline went on, “I cried when my mother sold me to Clarisse. Cried and cried. And I think Lysandra had annoyed the mistress that day, because they gave me to her as an acolyte, even though she was weeks away from paying her debts. That night, I was supposed to begin training, and I cried so hard I made myself sick. But Lysandra—she cleaned me up. She told me that there was a way out, but it would hurt, and I would not be the same. I couldn’t run, because she had tried running a few times when she was my age, and they had found her and beat her where no one could see.” She had never known—never wondered. All those times she had sneered at and mocked Lysandra while they’d grown up … Evangeline continued, “I said I’d do anything to get out of what the other girls had told me about. So she told me to trust her—and then gave me these. She started shouting loud enough for the others to come running. They thought she cut me out of anger, and said she’d done it to keep me from being a threat. And she let them believe it. Clarisse was so mad that she beat Lysandra in the courtyard, but Lysandra didn’t cry—not once. And when the healer said my face couldn’t be fixed, Clarisse made Lysandra buy me for the amount I would have cost if I had been a full courtesan, like her.” Aelin had no words. Evangeline said, “That’s why she’s still working for Clarisse, why she’s still not free and won’t be for a while. I thought you should know.” Aelin wanted to tell herself not to trust the girl, that this could be part of Lysandra and Arobynn’s plan, but … but there was a voice in her head, in her bones, that whispered to her, over and over and over, each time clearer and louder: Nehemia would have done the same.

Evangeline was climbing into the rain-gleaming carriage beside Lysandra when Aelin appeared at the warehouse door and said, "Wait.

The Lysandra I knew used to wear far less clothing," Aelin said. Lysandra's green eyes flickered. "The Lysandra you knew died a long time ago.

I don't know why I was ever nervous you would start bowing and scraping." Light and understanding danced in Lysandra's eyes. "Now where would be the fun in that?

Is there a reason behind this visit, Lysandra, or are you just here to make my friends squirm?

Then she smiled and said, "You forgot to say 'please'." Lorcan's dark brows flattened. "I don't have time for this." He made to step around her, shove her aside. Lysandra vomited black blood all over him.

Princess Lysandra Ashryver sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Lysandra's smile grew. "I like your fangs," she said sweetly.

Lysandra glanced behind her, to the bedroom where Aedion now lay unconscious, and loosed a long breath. “The resemblance is uncanny. Gods, the fact that you went undiscovered for so many years boggles the mind.” She studied Aedion again. “Even though he’s a handsome bastard, it’d be like kissing you.” Her eyes were still hard, but—a flicker of amusement gleamed there. Aelin grimaced. “I could have lived without knowing that.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I was ever nervous you would start bowing and scraping.

Do you want to go first, or should I?” Outside, gulls were crying to each other, and that soft, briny breeze kissed his face. “You,” he whispered. “Tell me everything.” So she did. They talked and talked, until Aedion’s voice became hoarse, and then Aelin bullied him into drinking a glass of water. And then she decided that he was looking peaky, so she padded to the kitchen and dug up some beef broth and bread. Lysandra, Chaol, and Nesryn were nowhere to be seen, so they had the apartment to themselves. Good. Aelin didn’t feel like sharing her cousin right now.

The heavy hood concealed the stranger’s face in shadow, but Aelin glimpsed ivory skin, dark hair, and fine velvet gloves reaching into her cloak—for a weapon? “Start explaining,” Aelin said, leaning against the door frame, “or you’re rat meat.” The woman stepped back into the rain—not back, exactly, but toward the carriage, where Aelin noted the small form of a child waiting inside. Cowering. The woman said, “I came to warn you,” and pulled back her hood just enough to reveal her face. Large, slightly uptilted green eyes, sensuous lips, sharp cheekbones, and a pert nose combined to create a rare, staggering beauty that caused men to lose all common sense. Aelin stepped under the narrow awning and drawled, “As far as memory serves me, Lysandra, I warned you that if I ever saw you again, I’d kill you.

Aelin said, “The other night, you didn’t just come to warn me about Arobynn.” When Lysandra raised her head, her eyes were frozen. “No,” she said with soft savagery. “I came to help you destroy him.

I’m sorry,” Aelin said. “For the years I spent being a monster toward you, for whatever part I played in your suffering. I wish I’d been able to see myself better. I wish I’d seen everything better. I’m sorry.” Lysandra blinked. “We were both young and stupid, and should have seen each other as allies. But there’s nothing to prevent us from seeing each other that way now.” Lysandra gave her a grin that was more wolfish than refined. “If you’re in, I’m in.” That fast—that easily—the offer of friendship was tossed her way. Rowan might have been her dearest friend, her carranam, but … she missed female companionship. Deeply. Though an old panic rose up at the thought of Nehemia not being there anymore to provide it— and part of her wanted to throw the offer back in Lysandra’s face just because she wasn’t Nehemia—she forced herself to stare down that fear. Aelin said hoarsely, “I’m in.