Sarah J Maas Book Quotes

...her dearest friends are characters in books.

I was burning through books every day - stories about people and places I'd never heard of. They were perhaps the only thing that kept me from teetering into utter despair.

With each day he felt the barriers melting. He let them melt. Because of her genuine laugh, because he caught her one afternoon sleeping with her face in the middle of a book, because he knew that she would win.

There was no way in hell she was going to move to the southern continent without all of her books.

He won every game, yet she hardly noticed. As long as she hit the ball, it resulted in shameless bragging. When she missed - well, even the fires of Hell couldn't compare to the rage that burst from her mouth. He couldn't remember a time when he'd laugh so hard.

It had filled my time - given me quiet, steadfast company with those characters, who did not exist and never would, but somehow made me feel less ... alone.

Power lay in her hand. Death gripped her by the other.

Aelin Galathynius smiled at her, hand still outreached. "Get up." the princess said. Celaena reached across the earth between them and brushed her fingers against Aelin's. And arose.

The book,” Nesta repeated to herself, staring at her porridge, “is about a book.” She cupped her forehead in her hands. “Idiot.

Rhys flipped back the lid. A note lay atop the golden metal of the book. I read your letter. About the woman you love. I believe you. And I believe in peace. I believe in a better world. If anyone asks, you stole this during the meeting. Do not trust the others. The sixth queen was not ill.

Her salary as King’s Champion was considerable, and Celaena spent every last copper of it. Shoes, hats, tunics, dresses, jewelry, weapons, baubles for her hair, and books. Books and books and books. So many books that Philippa had to bring up another bookcase for her room.

A world where people loved and valued books and learning so much that they were willing to die for them. Can you imagine what such a civilization was like?

Over a million? A million books?” Her heart leapt and danced, and she cracked a smile. “I’d die before I even got through half of that!” “You like to read?” She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?

Rhys shuddered, and I watched his cock twitch. “Play later,” he ground out. Indeed. His mouth found mine, the kiss open and deep, a clash of tongues and teeth. He lay me down on the pillows, and I locked my legs around his back, careful of the wings. Though I stopped caring as he nudged at my entrance. And paused. “Play later,” I snarled into his mouth. Rhys laughed and slid in. And in. And in.

The book,” Nesta said, a bit breathlessly, “is about …” Her nostrils flared and her eyes went a bit unfocused. “A book.” “Interesting,” Cassian murmured. “Sounds great.

Some swore the cats had been caught pawing through the pages of open books - reading.

Shit. He was in such deep, unending shit.

I moaned then, tilting my head back to give him better access. His hands clamped on my waist, then moved—one going to cup my rear, the other sliding between us. This—this moment, when it was him and me and nothing between our bodies … His tongue scraped the roof of my mouth as he dragged a finger down the center of me, and I gasped, my back arching. “Feyre,” he said against my lips, my name like a prayer more devout than any Ianthe had offered up to the Cauldron on that dark solstice morning. His tongue swept my mouth again, in time to the finger that he slipped inside of me. My hips undulated, demanding more, craving the fullness of him, and his growl reverberated in my chest as he added another finger. I moved on him. Lightning lashed through my veins, and my focus narrowed to his fingers, his mouth, his body on mine. His palm pushed against the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, and I groaned his name as I shattered

It is on Avallen, and females are not allowed beyond the lobby of the archives.” “Yeah, our periods would probably get all over the books.

So what if you burned a few books? Those librarians deserve it. When we're older, maybe we'll burn it to the ground together." She knew he meant it. He'd burn the library, the city, or the whole world to ashes if she asked him. It was their bond, marked by blood and scent and something else she couldn't place. A tether as strong as the one that bound her to her parents, stronger in some ways.

Magic makes people dangerous.

Is there a purpose to this visit, or may I return to my book?

And the city would have a library, too. A great, wonderful library. Or a bookshop with a knowledgeable owner who could make sure her thirst for books was always sated.

Sunset's Passions," he read, and opened the book to a random page to read aloud. "'His hands gently caressed her ivory, silky br- " His eyes widened. "By the Wyrd! Do you actually read this rubbish? What happened to Symbols of Power and Eyllwe Customs and Culture?" ... "You may borrow it when I'm done. If you read it, your literary experience will be complete. And," she added with a coy smile, "it will give you some creative ideas of things to do with your lady friends.

Yo era un liviano trozo de pelusa de diente de león, y él era el viento que me agitaba sobre el mundo.

The library looked as it had always had: dim, cavernous, achingly beautiful in its ancient stone architecture and endless corridors lined with books. And totally silent.

Everything was comfortable, tasteful, as if the apartment were for lounging and nights by the fire. And there were so many books—on shelves, on the tables by the couch, stacked beside the large armchair before the curtained floor-to-ceiling window spanning the entire length of the great room. Smart. Educated. Cultured, if the knickknacks were any indication. There were things from across kingdoms, as if she'd picked up something everywhere she went. The room was a map of her adventures, a map of a whole different person. Aelin had lived. She'd lived, and seen and done things.

Please,” I gasped out. He just brushed his lips against my jaw, my neck, my mouth. “Tamlin,” I begged. He palmed my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple. I cried out, and he buried himself in me with a mighty stroke. For a moment, I was nothing, no one. Then we were fused, two hearts beating as one, and I promised myself it always would be that way as he pulled out a few inches, the muscles of his back flexing beneath my hands, and then slammed back into me. Again and again. I broke and broke against him as he moved, as he murmured my name and told me he loved me. And when that lightning once more filled my veins, my head, when I gasped out his name, his own release found him. I gripped him through each shuddering wave, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his skin, his strength. For a while, only the rasp of our breathing filled the room. I frowned as he withdrew at last—but he didn’t go far. He stretched out on his side, head propped on a fist, and traced idle circles on my stomach, along my breasts.

They stared right back at her, and when they slowly lowered their crossbows, she grinned. She could knock them senseless with a few heavy books.

With each day, he felt the barriers melting. He let them melt. Because of her genuine laugh, because he caught her one afternoon sleeping with her face in the middle of a book, because he knew that she would win. She was a criminal—a prodigy at killing, a Queen of the Underworld—and yet . . . yet she was just a girl, sent at seventeen to Endovier. It made him sick every time he thought about it. He’d been training with the guards at seventeen, but he’d still lived here, still had a roof over his head and good food and friends. Dorian had been in the middle of courting Rosamund when he was that age, not caring about anything. But she—at seventeen—had gone to a death camp. And survived. He wasn’t sure if he could survive Endovier, let alone during the winter months. He’d never been whipped, never seen anyone die. He’d never been cold and starving. Celaena laughed at something Dorian said. She’d survived Endovier, and yet could still laugh. While it terrified him to see her down there, a hand’s breadth from Dorian’s unprotected throat, what terrified him even more was that he trusted her. And he didn’t know what that meant about himself.

My eyes burned, and I blinked as I faced the books. "And I suppose," I said with an effort at lightness, "That it's a miracle I can actually read these things." Rhys's answering smile was lovely - and just a bit wicked. "I believe my little lessons helped." "Yes, 'Rhys is the greatest lover a female can hope for' is undoubtedly how I learned to read." "I was only trying to tell you what you now know.

Her dearest friends are characters in books

Celaena pulled another book toward her and grinned. It was as if someone had read her mind. It was a large black volume entitled The Walking Dead in tarnished silver letters. Thankfully, the captain didn’t see the title before she opened it.

She stared at him for long minutes, the unusual paleness of his face, the brows still scrunched with worry, as if he fretted for her even in his sleep. The sun gilded his dark hair and shone through his wings, bringing out undertones of reds and golds in both. Like a knight guarding his lady. She couldn't stop the image, sprung from the pages of her childhood books. Like a warrior-prince, with those tattoos and that muscle-bound chest. Her throat tightened unbearably, her eyes stinging. She would not let herself cry, not for herself or for the sight of him keeping watch beside her bed all night.

Let's rattle the stars.

I intercepted Chaol, and he informed me of your ‘condition.’ You’d think a man in his position wouldn’t be so squeamish, especially after examining all of those corpses.” Calaena opened an eye and frowned as Dorian sat on her bed. “I’m in a state of absolute agony and I can’t be bothered.” “It can’t be that bad,” he said, fishing a deck of cards from his jacket. “Want to play?” “I already told you that I don’t feel well.” “You look fine to me.” He skillfully shuffled the deck. “Just one game.” “Don’t you pay people to entertain you?” He glowered, breaking the deck. “You should be honored by my company.” “I’d be honored if you would leave.” “For someone who relies on my good graces, you’re very bold.” “Bold? I’ve barely begun.” Lying on her side, she curled her knees to her chest. He laughed, pocketing the deck of cards. “Your new canine companion is doing well, if you wish to know.” She moaned into her pillow. “Go away. I feel like dying.” “No fair maiden should die alone,” he said, putting a hand on hers. “Shall I read to you in your final moments? What story would you like?” She snatched her hand back. “How about the story of the idiotic prince who won’t leave the assassin alone?” “Oh! I love that story! It has such a happy ending, too—why, the assassin was really feigning her illness in order to get the prince’s attention! Who would have guessed it? Such a clever girl. And the bedroom scene is so lovely—it’s worth reading through all of their ceaseless banter!” “Out! Out! Out! Leave me be and go womanize someone else!” She grabbed a book and chucked it at him.

Tarquin turned from the table, just as the tent flaps parted for a pair of broad shoulders— Varian. He didn’t so much as look at his High Lord, his focus going right to where Amren sat at the head of the table. As if he’d sensed she was here—or someone had reported. And he’d come running. Amren’s eyes flicked up from the Book as Varian halted. A coy smile curved her red lips. There was still blood and dirt splattered on Varian’s brown skin, coating his silver armor and close-cropped white hair. He didn’t seem to notice or care as he strode for Amren. And none of us dared to speak as Varian dropped to his knees before Amren’s chair, took her shocked face in his broad hands, and kissed her soundly. ... None of us lasted long after dinner. Amren and Varian didn’t even bother to join us. No, she’d just wrapped her legs around his waist, right there in front of us, and he’d stood, lifting her in one swift movement. I wasn’t entirely sure how Varian managed to walk them out of the tent while still kissing her, Amren’s hands dragging through his hair, letting out noises that were unnervingly like purring as they vanished into the camp. Rhys had let out a low laugh as we all gawked in their wake. “I suppose that’s how Varian decided he’d tell Amren he was feeling rather grateful she ordered us to go to Adriata.” Tarquin cringed. “We’ll alternate who has to deal with them on holidays.

The book,' Nesta said, a bit breathlessly, 'is about...' Her nostrils flared and her eyes went a bit unfocused. 'A book.' 'Interesting,' Cassian murmured. 'Sounds great.

You're not moving your body the correct way, Here, just let me show you." Though it was the oldest and most shameless trick in the book, he reached over her and put his hand on top of the one that gripped the cure. He then positioned the fingers of her other hand on the wood before lightly gripping her wrist. To Dorian's dismay, his face became warm. His eyes shifted to her, and, to his relief, he found that she was as red as he, if not more so.

Ghislaine didn’t look up from the book she was poring over. There was a stack of them on the desk before her, and another beside the narrow bed. Where the eldest and cleverest of her Thirteen had gotten them from, who she’d likely gutted to steal them, Manon didn’t care. “Hello, and come right in, why don’t you” was the response. Manon leaned against the door and crossed her arms. Only with books, only when reading, was Ghislaine so snappish. On the battlefield, in the air, the dark-skinned witch was quiet, easy to command. A solid soldier, made more valuable by her razor-sharp intelligence, which had earned her the spot among the Thirteen.

Had I not immediately spied Nesta curled in an armchair, a book on her knees, looking – for once – very un-Nesta-like. Casual. Perhaps relaxed.

Non consorte, non moglie. Feyre è la Signora Suprema della Corte della Notte. La mia pari in ogni senso; avrebbe portato la mia corona, si sarebbe seduta su un trono accanto al mio. Mai destinata a partorire e a organizzare feste a ad allevare i figli. La mia regina.

Dorian looked down at the book. "This isn't one of the books that I sent you! I don't even own books like these!" She laughed weakly and took the tea from the servant as she approached. "Of course you don't, Dorian. I had the maids send for a copy today." "Sunset's Passions," he read, and opened the book to a random page to read aloud. "'His hands gently caressed her ivory, silky br-'" His eyes widened. "By the Wyrd! Do you actually read this rubbish? What happened to Symbols and Power and Eyllwe Customs and Culture?" She finished her drink, the ginger tea easing her stomach. "You may borrow it when I'm done. If you read it, you literary experience will be complete. And," she added with a coy smile, "it will give you some creative ideas of things to do with your lady friends." He hissed through his teeth. "I will not read this." She took the book from his hands, leaning back. "Then I suppose you're just like Chaol." "Chaol?" he asked, falling into the trap. "You asked Chaol to read this?" "He refused, of course," she lied. "He said it wasn't right for him to read this sort of material if I gave it to him." Dorian snatched the book from her hands. "Give me that, you demon-woman. I'll not have you matching us against each other." He glanced once more at the novel, then turned it over, concealing the title. She smiled, and resumed watching the falling snow.

A living god - Mala's heir and conqueror of the known world. She would bring music and books and culture, wipe out the corruption festering in corners of the earth...

I was as unburdened as a piece of dandelion fluff

My Most True Assassin, Enclosed are seven books from my personal library that I have recently read and enjoyed immensely. You are, of course, free to read as many of the books in the castle library as you wish, but I command you to read these first so that we might discuss them. I promise they are not dull, for I am not one inclined to sit through pages of nonsense and bloated speech, though perhaps you enjoy works and authors who think very highly of themselves. Most affectionately, Dorian Havilliard

She rolled her eyes. “If it pleases Your Magnanimous Holiness, I shall call you by your first name.” “ ‘Magnanimous Holiness’? Oh, I like that one.” A ghost of a smile appeared on her face, and Dorian looked down at the book.

E ora, Rhysand, voglio che tu sappia che ti amo. Voglio che tu sappia... Voglio che tu sappia che sono frantumata e non sono ancora guarita del tutto, ma che ogni parte del mio cuore ti appartiene. E ne sono onorata... Onorata di essere la tua Metà. -Feyre, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 55.

She stared at Orynth, that city of light and learning, the pearl of Erilea and capital of Terrasen. Her birthplace. Celaena slammed shut the book.

Mi incanta quando mi guardi così." "Così come?" "Come se il mio potere non fosse qualcosa da cui fuggire. Come se vedessi solo me." -Rhysand e Feyre, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 48.

With each day he felt the barriers melting. He let them melt. Because of her genuine laugh, because he caught her one afternoon sleeping with her face in the middle of a book, because he knew she would win.

at Parthos that a doomed human army made its final stand against the Vanir? To save proof of what they were before the Rifts opened—to save the books. A hundred thousand humans marched that day knowing they would die, and lose the war.” Micah’s smile grew. “All to buy the priestesses time to grab the most vital volumes. They loaded them onto ships and vanished.

Lui crede che sarà ricordato come il cattivo della storia. Ma ho dimenticato di dirgli, che di solito il cattivo è quello che rinchiude la damigella e butta via la chiave. Lui è quello che mi ha liberata. -Feyre, Corte di Nebbia e Furia.

Una regina: una regina che non si inchinava a nessuno, una regina che li aveva affrontati tutti e aveva trionfato. Una regina che era padrona del suo corpo, della sua vita, del suo destino e che non si scusava mai di ciò." Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 42.

I’d taken to situating myself in one of the little lounges overlooking the mountains, and had almost read an entire book in the deep-cushioned armchair, going slowly as I learned new words. But it has filled my time - given me quiet, steadfast company with those characters, who did not exist and never would, but somehow made me feel less … alone.

She’d entered a city made entirely of leather and paper. Celaena put a hand against her heart. Escape routes be damned. “I’ve never seen—how many volumes are there?” Chaol shrugged. “The last time anyone bothered to count, it was a million. But that was two hundred years ago. I’d say maybe more than that, especially given the legends that a second library lies deep beneath, in catacombs and tunnels.” “Over a million? A million books?

our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history.

La vita è migliore quando ci sei tu in giro. E guarda che bella scrittura che hai. -Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 25.

I was not a pet, not a doll, not an animal. I was a survivor, and I was strong.

Lo sai che, se cadessi, ti salverei la vita prima che tu colpisca il terreno," "Ma aspetteresti l'ultimo istante?" "Forse" -Rhysand e Feyre

Quando Rhys tornò, dopo Amarantha, era un fantasma. Fingeva di no, ma lo era. Tu gli hai ridato la vita. -Amren, Corte di Nebbia e Furia

The High Lord of the Night Court is your mate.

my future was mine to decide, to forge.

Like a knight guarding his lady. She couldn't stop the image, sprung from the pages of her childhood books. Like a warrior-prince, with those tattoos and that muscle-bound chest.

But it had filled my time—given me quiet, steadfast company with those characters, who did not exist and never would, but somehow made me feel less … alone.

Ucciderò chiunque ti faccia del male" rinchiò Rhys. "Lo ucciderò e ci metterò moltissimo tempo. Forza. Odiami, disprezzami per questo." -Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 43.

Tu si che sei una con un'alta opinione di se stessa." "Perchè non dovrei? Tu sembri trovare difficile non guardarmi giorno e notte." -Feyre e Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 38.

Because I know where everything in this room is. All the books, the papers-and the moment they start cleaning, those things get hopelessly organized and tucked away, and I can never find them again.

Credevi che sarei andata via con lui?" "Ho sentito ogni parola che vi siete detti. Sapevo che potevi badare a te stessa, eppure... Eppure mi sono ritrovato a decidere che. se avessi preso la sua mano, avrei trovato un modo per sopportarlo. Sarebbe stata una tua scelta." "E se mi avesse portata via a forza?" "Allora avrei fatto a pezzi il mondo per riaverti." -Feyre e Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 48.

Tu mi prepareresti del cibo?" "Lo scalderei, non so cucinare. Mi ami?" Rhys annuì. E mi chiesi se "amore" non fosse una parola troppo blanda per quello che provava, quello che aveva fatto per me. Per quello che provavo io. Gli misi davanti la ciotola. "Allora mangia" -Feyre e Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 54.

She could still smell the fires that had raged throughout her eighth and ninth years – the smoke of burning books chock-full of ancient, irreplaceable knowledge, the screams of gifted seers and healers as they’d been consumed by the flames, the storefronts and sacred places shattered and desecrated and erased from history.

My Most True Assassin, Enclosed are seven books from my personal library that I have recently read and enjoyed immensely. You are, of course, free to read as many of the books in the castle library as you wish, but I command you to read these first so that we might discuss them. I promise they are not dull, for I am not one inclined to sit through pages of nonsense and bloated speech, though perhaps you enjoy works and authors who think very highly of themselves. Most affectionately, Dorian Havilliard Celaena

Penso di essermi innamorato di te nell'istante in cui capii che stavi spaccando quelle ossa per creare una trappola per il Verme di Middengard. O forse quando mi mostrasti il dito medio perchè ti avevo preso in giro. Mi ricordavi tanto Cassian. Avevo voglia di ridere per la prima volta da decenni. Mi innamorai di te, saccentona, perchè eri una di noi. Perchè non avevi paura di me, e perchè decidesti di completare la tua vittoria spettacolare lanciando quel pezzo d'osso ad Amarantha come se fosse un giavellotto. In quel momento percepii lo spirito di Cassian accanto a me e avrei potuto giurare di sentirlo dire: "Se non la sposi tu, stupido stronzo, la sposerò io. -Rhysand, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 55.

Books and books and books. So many books that Philippa had to bring up another bookcase for her room.

you could rattle the stars,you could do anything, if only you dared.

blind. But you keep going.” He nodded to the mountains, the lake. “Because you know the destination will be worthwhile.

To the stars who listen,

And if he had grabbed me?” There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. “Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.

I wished I had wings, I realized. Great, powerful wings so I might fly as they did; so I might see the world and all it had to offer.

Over a million? A million books?” Her heart leapt and danced, and she cracked a smile. “I’d die before I even got through half of that!

No. I can survive well enough on my own - if given proper reading material.’” - Celaena Sardothien - Throne of Glass

Mi faceva sentire come se fossi stata a dormire per un anno in una bara di vetro, e lui l'avesse semplicemente rotta, mi avesse aiutato a riprendere i sensi. Il Signore Supremo il cui potere non mi aveva spaventata. La cui collera non mi aveva distrutta. Non sapevo in che posizione mi mettesse. Nei guai fino alle ginocchia, tanto per cominciare. -Feyre, Corte di Nebbia e Furia. Capitolo 42.

Era stato doloroso, aveva fatto un male atroce spezzare il patto tra noi, e Rhys era stato bravissimo nella sua parte, il suo orrore era stato impeccabile. Eravamo sempre stati bravi a recitare insieme. Non avevo dubitato su di lui, non avevo detto altro che "Si" la notte prima quando mi aveva portata giù al tempio e io avevo pronunciato i miei voti. A lui, a Velaris, alla Corte della Notte.

But why do you know this? How do you have this collection?” “I’ll refrain from making the comparison to a dog with a bone.” Jesiba closed her laptop with a soft click. Interlaced her fingers and set them upon the computer. “Quinlan knew when to keep her mouth shut, you know. She never asked why I have these books, why I have the Archesian amulets that the Parthos priestesses wore.” Ithan’s mouth dried out. He whispered, “What—who are you?

Rhys’s eyes darkened, and I knew he read what I thought, felt. “You might be my mate,” he said, “but you remain your own person. You decide your fate—your choices. Not me. You chose yesterday. You choose every day. Forever.

A world where people loved and valued books and learning so much that they were willing to die for them. Can you imagine what such a civilization was like? A hundred thousand men and women marched to defend a library—it sounds like a bad joke these days.

this book was a companion during my own journey through the valleys and mountains of mental health, traveling alongside me as I faced all the jagged bits inside myself. While Nesta’s story is in no way a direct reflection of my own experiences, there were moments in this book that I very much needed to write—not just for the sake of these characters, but for myself. I hope some of those moments resonate, and will remind you, dear reader, that you are loved, and that you are worthy of love, no matter what.

She’d entered a city made entirely of leather and paper. Celaena put a hand against her heart. Escape routes be damned. “I’ve never seen—how many volumes are there?” Chaol shrugged. “The last time anyone bothered to count, it was a million. But that was two hundred years ago. I’d say maybe more than that, especially given the legends that a second library lies deep beneath, in catacombs and tunnels.” “Over a million? A million books?” Her heart leapt and danced, and she cracked a smile. “I’d die before I even got through half of that!” “You like to read?” She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?” Not waiting for an answer, she moved farther into the library, the train of her gown sweeping across the floor. She neared a shelf and looked at the titles. She recognized none of them. Grinning, she whirled and moved through the main floor, running a hand across the dusty books.

The person outside the library probably had nothing to do with the king, Celaena told herself as she walked—still not sprinting—down the hall to her room. There were plenty of strange people in a castle this large, and even though she rarely saw another soul in the library, perhaps some people just . . . wished to go to the library alone. And unidentified. In a court where reading was so out of fashion, perhaps it was merely some courtier trying to hide a passionate love of books from his or her sneering friends. Some animalistic, eerie courtier. Who had caused her amulet to glow.

Are you just going to hold that chicken all night?” Cassian asked me from the table. Scowling, I stomped toward him, plunking the platter onto the wooden surface. “I spat in it,” I said sweetly. “Makes it all the more delicious,” Cassian crooned, smiling right back. Rhys snickered, drinking deeply from his wine.

Groaning, Celaena stood and walked to the bookshelf along the wall, where she began pulling out books and stacking them into the nearest empty trunk. She’d have to leave her furniture and most of her shoes behind for now, but there was no way in hell she was going to move to the southern continent without all of her books.

Celaena’s bedroom door was open wide enough to reveal that the bed was empty and already made. “Where is she?” Nehemia’s eyes softened, and she picked up a note that was lying among the books. “She has taken today off,” she said, reading from the note before setting it down. “If I were to guess, I’d say that she is as far away from the city as she can get in half a day’s ride.” “Why?” Nehemia smiled sadly. “Because today is the tenth anniversary of her parents’ death.

She touched his arm. “If you need anything, send word. It’ll be a few weeks before we reach Orynth, but—I suppose with magic returned, you can find a messenger to get word to me quickly.” “Thanks to you—and to your friends.” She glanced over her shoulder at them. They were all trying their best to look like they weren’t eavesdropping. “Thanks to all of us,” she said quietly. “And to you.” Dorian gazed toward the city horizon, the rolling green foothills beyond. “If you had asked me nine months ago if I thought …” He shook his head. “So much has changed.” “And will keep changing,” she said, squeezing his arm once. “But … There are things that won’t change. I will always be your friend.” His throat bobbed. “I wish I could see her, just one last time. To tell her … to say what was in my heart.” “She knows,” Aelin said, blinking against the burning in her eyes. “I’ll miss you,” Dorian said. “Though I doubt the next time we meet will be in such … civilized circumstances.” She tried not to think about it. He gestured over her shoulder to her court. “Don’t make them too miserable. They’re only trying to help you.” She smiled. To her surprise, a king smiled back. “Send me any good books that you read,” she said. “Only if you do the same.” She embraced him one last time. “Thank you—for everything,” she whispered. Dorian squeezed her, and then stepped away as Aelin mounted her horse and nudged it into a walk.

Go get her,' Amren hissed. 'Right now.' 'No,' I said, and hated the word. They gaped at me, and I wanted to roar at the sight of the blood coating them, at my unconscious and suffering brothers on the carpet before them. But I managed to say to my cousin, 'Weren't you listening to what Feyre said to him? She promised to destroy him- from within.' Mor's face paled, her magic flaring on Azriel's chest. 'She's going into that house to take him down. To take them all down.' I nodded. 'She is now a spy- with a direct line t me. What the King of Hybern does, where he goes, what his plans are, she will know. And report back.' Far between us, faint and soft, hidden so none might find it... between us lay a whisper of colour, and joy, of light and shadow- a whisper of her. Our bond. 'She's your mate,' Amren bit at me. 'Not your spy. Go get her.' 'She is my mate. And my spy,' I said too quietly. 'And she is the High Lady of the Night Court.' 'What?' Mor whispered. I caressed a mental finger down that bond now hidden deep, deep within us, and said, 'If they had removed her other glove, they would have seen a second tattoo on her right arm. The twin to the other. Inked last night, when we crept out, found a priestess, and I swore her in as my High Lady.' 'Not- not consort,' Amren blurted, blinking. I hadn't seen her surprised in... centuries. 'Not consort, not wife. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court.' My equal in every way; she would wear my crown, sit on a throne beside mine. Never sidelined, never deigned to breeding and parties and child-rearing. My queen. As if in answer, a glimmer of love shuddered down the bond. I clamped down on the relief that threatened to shatter any calm I feigned having. 'You mean to tell me,' Mor breathed, 'that my High Lady is now surrounded by enemies?' A lethal sort of calm crept over her tear-stained face. 'I mean to tell you,' I said, watching the blood clot on Cassian's wings with Amren's tending. Beneath Mor's own hands. Azriel's bleeding at least eased. Enough to keep them alive until the healer got here. 'I mean to tell you,' I said again, my power building and rubbing itself against my skin, my bones, desperate to be unleashed upon the world, 'that your High Lady made a sacrifice for her court- and we will move when the time is right.' Perhaps Lucien being Elain's mate would help- somehow, I'd find a way. And then I'd assist my mate in ripping the Spring Court, Ianthe, those mortal queens, and the King of Hybern to shreds. Slowly. 'Until then?' Amren demanded. 'What of the Cauldron- of the book?' 'Until then,' I said, staring toward the door as if I might see her walk through it, laughing and vibrant and beautiful, 'we got to war.

But then Azriel approached her. Nesta had blinked at the gift the shadowsinger set in her lap. 'I didn't get you anything,' she murmured to Az, her cheeks turning rosy. 'I know,' he said, smiling. 'I don't mind.' ... ...his gaze snagged on Nesta's fingers as she opened the small box. She peered at what was inside, then looked at Azriel in confusion. 'What is it?' Azriel plucked up the small folded silver wand within and unfurled it. One end held a clip, the other a small glass sphere. 'You can attach this to whatever book you're reading, and the little ball of faelight will shine. So you don't have to squint when you're reading at night.' Nesta touched the glass ball, no bigger than her thumbnail, and faelight flickered within, casting a bright, easy glow upon her lap. She tapped it again and it turned off. And then she jumped to her feet and flung her arms around Azriel. The room went silent for a beat. But Azriel chuckled and squeezed her gently. Cassian smiled to see it- to see them. 'Thank you,' Nesta said, quickly pulling away to marvel at the device. 'It's brilliant.' Azriel blushed and stepped back, shadows swirling.

A great civilization lived on Midgard long before the Asteri conquered it.” He could have sworn she sounded sad. “One that prized knowledge in all its forms. So much so that a hundred thousand humans marched at Parthos to save these books from the Asteri and Vanir who came to burn them.” She shook her head, face distant. “A world where people loved and valued books and learning so much that they were willing to die for them. Can you imagine what such a civilization was like? A hundred thousand men and women marched to defend a library—it sounds like a bad joke these days.” Her eyes blazed. “But they fought, and they died. All to buy the library priestesses enough time to smuggle the books out on ships. The Vanir armies intercepted most of them, and the priestesses were burned, their precious books used as kindling. But one ship …” Her lips curved upward. “The Griffin. It slipped through the Vanir nets. Sailed across the Haldren and found safe harbor in Valbara.” Ithan slowly shook his head. “How do you know all this, when no one else does?” “The mer know some of it,” she hedged. “The mer aided the Griffin across the sea, at the behest of the Ocean Queen.

You use the intonation of the peasants. Is that taught in your books?” “I knew an Eyllwe woman who taught it to me.” “A slave of yours?” Her tone sharpened, and Chaol flicked his eyes toward them. “No,” Celaena said hurriedly. “I don’t believe in keeping slaves.” Something twisted in her gut at the thought of all those slaves she’d left behind in Endovier, all those people doomed to suffer until they died. Just because she’d left Endovier didn’t mean Endovier had ceased to be. Nehemia’s voice was soft. “Then you are very unlike your court companions.” Celaena could only manage a nod to the princess as they turned their attention to the hall ahead.

He just wanted a walk- and a few books. It had been an age since he'd even had free time to read, let alone do so for pleasure. But there she was. His mate. She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she'd been born into. She had teased him, taunted him- seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn't wanted anything but her. She'd seen him not as a High Lord's seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been... thrown at him. He glanced toward the tea service spread on a low-lying table nearby. 'I'm going to assume that one of those cups belongs to your sister.' Indeed, there was a discarded book in the viper's usual chair. Cauldron help the male who wound up shackled to her. 'Do you mind if I held myself to the other?' He tried to sound casual- comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. The entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness. He didn't want to admit he liked it. Didn't want to admit he found the city beautiful. That the circle of people who now claimed to be Feyre's new family... It was what, long ago, he'd once thought life at Tamlin's court would be. An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug. Forced his hands to be steady while he poured himself a cup of tea and sat in the chair opposite Nesta's vacated one. 'There's a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?' He didn't expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he'd rise from this chair and leave, hopefully avoiding Nesta's return. But sunlight on gold caught his eye- and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window. He had not seen her entire face since that day in Hybern. Then, it had been drawn and terrified, then utterly blank and numb, her hair plastered to her head, her lips blue with cold and shock. Looking at her now... She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn't breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He'd said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate.

There was nothing in Nesta's head but screaming. Nothing in her heart but love and hatred and fury as she let go of everything inside her and the entire world exploded. The baying of her magic was a beast with no name. Avalanches cascaded down the cliffs in seas of glittering white. Trees bent and ruptured in the wake of the power that shattered from her. Distant seas drew back from their shores, then raced in waves toward them again. Glasses shook and shattered in Velaris, books tumbled off the shelves in Helion's thousand libraries, and the remnants of a run-down cottage in the human lands crumbled into a pile of rubble. But all Nesta saw was Briallyn. All she saw was the slack-jawed crone as Nesta leaped upon her, throwing her frail body to the rocky ground. All she knew was screaming as she clutched Briallyn's face, the Crown glowing blindingly white, and roared her fury to the mountains, to the stars, to the dark places between them. Gnarled hands turned young. A lined face became beautiful and lovely. White hair darkened to raven black. But Nesta bellowed and bellowed, letting her magic rage, unleashing every ember. Erasing the queen beneath her from existence. The young hands turned to ash. The pretty face dissolved into nothing. The dark hair withered into dust. Until all that was left of the queen was the Crown on the ground.

Not a comforting thought, but Bryce nonetheless popped the silver bean into her mouth, worked up enough saliva, and swallowed. Its metal was cool against her tongue, her throat, and she could have sworn she felt its slickness sliding into her stomach. Lightning cleaved her brain. She was being ripped in two. Her body couldn’t hold all the searing light— Then blackness slammed in. Quiet and restful and eternal. No—that was the room around her. She was on the floor, curled over her knees, and … glowing. Brightly enough to illuminate Rhysand’s and Amren’s shocked faces. Azriel was already poised over her, that deadly dagger drawn and gleaming with a strange black light. He noted the darkness leaking from the blade and blinked. It was the most shock Bryce had seen him display. “Put it away, you fool,” Amren said. “It sings for her, and by bringing it close—” The blade vanished from Azriel’s hand, whisked away by a shadow. Silence, taut and rippling, spread through the room. Bryce stood slowly—as Randall and her mom had taught her to move in front of Vanir and other predators. And as she rose, she found it in her brain: the knowledge of a language that she had not known before. It sat on her tongue, ready to be spoken, as instinctual as her own. It shimmered along her skin, stinging down her spine, her shoulder blades—wait. Oh no. No, no, no. Bryce didn’t dare reach for the tattoo of the Horn, to call attention to the letters that formed the words Through love, all is possible. She could feel them reacting to whatever had been in that spell that set her glowing and could only pray it wasn’t visible. Her prayers were in vain. Amren turned to Rhysand and said in that new, strange language—their language: “The glowing letters inked on her back … they’re the same as those in the Book of Breathings.” They must have seen the words through her T-shirt when she’d been on the floor. With every breath, the tingling lessened, like the glow was fading. But the damage was already done. They once again assessed her. Three apex killers, contemplating a threat. Then Azriel said in a soft, lethal voice, “Explain or you die.