Throne Of Glass Book Quotes

...her dearest friends are characters in 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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Shit. He was in such deep, unending shit.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

To the stars who listen - and the dreams that are answered

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

We read the pagan sacred books with profit and delight. With myth and fable we are ever charmed, and find a pleasure in the endless repetition of the beautiful, poetic, and absurd. We find, in all these records of the past, philosophies and dreams, and efforts stained with tears, of great and tender souls who tried to pierce the mystery of life and death, to answer the eternal questions of the Whence and Whither, and vainly sought to make, with bits of shattered glass, a mirror that would, in very truth, reflect the face and form of Nature's perfect self. These myths were born of hopes, and fears, and tears, and smiles, and they were touched and colored by all there is of joy and grief between the rosy dawn of birth, and death's sad night. They clothed even the stars with passion, and gave to gods the faults and frailties of the sons of men. In them, the winds and waves were music, and all the lakes, and streams, and springs,—the mountains, woods and perfumed dells were haunted by a thousand fairy forms. They thrilled the veins of Spring with tremulous desire; made tawny Summer's billowed breast the throne and home of love; filled Autumns arms with sun-kissed grapes, and gathered sheaves; and pictured Winter as a weak old king who felt, like Lear upon his withered face, Cordelia's tears. These myths, though false, are beautiful, and have for many ages and in countless ways, enriched the heart and kindled thought. But if the world were taught that all these things are true and all inspired of God, and that eternal punishment will be the lot of him who dares deny or doubt, the sweetest myth of all the Fable World would lose its beauty, and become a scorned and hateful thing to every brave and thoughtful man.

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?

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.

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

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.

To the people who look up at the stars and wish- and the the dreams that are answered

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

Tal vez el mundo nunca sería perfecto, tal vez algunas cosas nunca estarían bien, pero tal vez ella tenía una oportunidad de encontrar su propia clase de paz y libertad.

Celaena era fuego y oscuridad, era polvo, sangre y sombra.

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.

Ella era la heredera del fuego. Ella era fuego, y luz, y ceniza, y brasas. Ella era Aelin Fireheart, y no se inclinaba ante nada ni nadie, salvo la corona que le pertenecía por sangre y supervivencia, y triunfo.

All I can find is just … just radical and outlandish theories. I never knew any of this! Why? Some books claim the Wyrd is the force that holds together and governs Erilea—and not just Erilea! Countless other worlds, too.

You wanted a demonstration,” Celaena said quietly. Sweat trickled down her back, but she gripped the magic with everything she had. “One thought from me, and your city will burn.” “It is stone,” Maeve snapped. Celaena smiled. “Your people aren’t.

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.

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.

the last lesson we must learn before we don our maester’s chains. The glass candle is meant to represent truth and learning, rare and beautiful and fragile things. It is made in the shape of a candle to remind us that a maester must cast light wherever he serves, and it is sharp to remind us that knowledge can be dangerous. Wise men may grow arrogant in their wisdom, but a maester must always remain humble. The glass candle reminds us of that as well. Even after he has said his vow and donned his chain and gone forth to serve, a maester will think back on the darkness of his vigil and remember how nothing that he did could make the candle burn … for even with knowledge, some things are not possible.

Ella miró hacia él, hasta que el castillo de cristal era una mancha brillante en la distancia. Ella miró hacia él, hasta que sólo había océano a su alrededor. Ella miró hacia él, hasta que el sol cayó más allá del horizonte y un puñado de estrellas colgaba por encima. Sólo cuando sus párpados se cerraron y se tambaleó sobre sus pies, Celaena dejó de mirar hacia Chaol.

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.

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.

The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun’s son and the mummer’s dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.

Gods, you’re huge,” he told the dog. She licked his cheek one last time and sprinted off down the hall. Dorian watched her go, brows raised. “I’m fairly certain that whatever she’s about to do, it won’t make the librarians happy.” “She knows to stick to the poetry and mathematics books.” Celaena’s face was grave and pale, but her eyes shone with faint amusement.

It somehow felt as if it had always been Chaol, even from the very beginning, even before they’d ever met.

in Dorian’s book of Adarlan’s noble lineages, the Rompier family had been listed as one with a strong magical line, supposedly vanished two generations ago.

Some books claim the Wyrd is the force that holds together and governs Erilea—and not just Erilea! Countless other worlds, too.

My name is Celaena Sardothian and I will not be afraid

Hafiza would decide in her own time whether to give them those books.

Over a million? A million books?” Her heart leapt and danced, and she cracked a smile.

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

Her throat tightened as her gaze met with that of the Crown Prince. Aside from sending her his books, she hadn’t seen or heard from him since the meeting with the king. He flashed her a grin, those sapphire eyes gleaming in the morning light.

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.

Libraries were full of ideas—perhaps the most dangerous and powerful of all weapons.

The clock chimed ten, and Celaena, seated at the small desk in her bedroom, looked up from her book. She should be sleeping, or at least trying to.

claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don’t care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.

You do not apologize,” he said, “for defending the people you care about.

You should find another way to occupy your time,” he said, returning to his book. Usually, guards watched her in the library for hours on end, day after day. What was he doing here?

my champion, fairy godmother, and knight in shining armor. Thank you for believing in this series from page one.

Lorcan had been willing to die for Elide. Had been willing to put aside his quest for Maeve in order for Elide to live. And had then acted territorial enough to make Rowan wonder if he seemed so ridiculous around Aelin all the time.

Nehemia tucked the book into the crook of her arm. “Then you’re like every ignorant fool in this castle, Lillian,

Tyrion wondered what it would be like to have a twin, and decided that he would rather not know. Bad enough to face himself in a looking glass every day. Another him was a thought too dreadful to contemplate.

Manon, eyes still upon the beast, said, “He’s mine.

You’d be better off on your back, learning tricks useful to a woman. In fact, I can teach you some tonight, if you’d like.

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

Not that he cared. He’d meant it when he swore to Nehemia that he was done with Celaena. And maybe he should have told Chaol that he could have her. Not that she’d ever belonged to him—or that she’d even tried to suggest that he belonged to her. He could let go. He had let go. He’d let go. Let go. Let— Books flew from their shelves, dozens upon dozens bursting into flight, and this time, they slammed into him as he staggered back toward the end of the row. He shielded his face, and when the sound of leather and paper stopped, Dorian braced a hand on the stone wall behind him and gaped. Half of the books in the row had been tossed off their shelves and scattered about, as if thrown by some invisible force.

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?

A stupid cow I might be,” she muttered, rotating the book to show Rowan the page she sought, “but not without options.” Rowan’s eyes danced. You’re including me in this particular scheme, Princess? Aelin smirked. I wouldn’t want you to feel left out. He angled his head. “We need to hurry, then.” Listening to the ruckus of the readying army beyond their tent, Aelin nodded. And began.

She didn’t give him the chance to explain as she traced her tongue over the seam of his lips, as her fingers unlatched the buckle of his worn sword belt. She wasn’t sure he was breathing. And just to see what he’d do, she palmed him through his pants. Rowan barked a curse. She laughed quietly, kissed his newest scar again, and dragged a finger down lazily, indolently, holding his gaze for every single inch she touched. And when Aelin laid her palm flat on him again, she said, “You are mine.

You and me,” she promised him. “From now until the Darkness claims us.” She

Strange bellicose youth! Always poking about in forgotten places where he wasn’t wanted, reading books no one his age—or any age—should read! Though,” Mort added, “that does sound awfully like someone I know.” “And you somehow forgot to tell me until now?” “I didn’t know what it was then; I thought he merely took something. It wasn’t until you read the riddle that I suspected.” It was a good thing he was made of bronze. Otherwise she’d have smashed his face in.

Am I so blind?” Celaena dumped her leather satchel on the floor, the books and papers spilling across the stones. “It appears so!” Mort sang.

Send me any good books that you read,” she said. “Only if you do the same.

You have never accepted anything in your life,” Rowan snarled, shooting to his feet and bracing his hands on the table. “And now you are suddenly willing to do so?” She swallowed against the ache in her throat. Surveyed the books she’d combed through thrice now to no avail. “What am I supposed to do, Rowan?” “You damn it all to hell!” He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “You say to hell with their plans, their prophecies and fates, and you make your own. You do anything but accept this!

This is actually how you spend your spare time?” A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “You should hope no one else hears about this—it would ruin your reputation. Nox would leave you for Cain.” He chuckled to himself and opened his book again, leaning back in his chair.

There was a scraping noise somewhere beneath her feet—close, as if someone was running a fingernail along the ceiling below. Celaena slammed the book shut and stepped away from the table. The hair on her arms rose, and she almost stumbled into the nearest table as she waited for something—a hand; a wing; a gaping, fanged mouth—to appear and grab her. “Do you feel that?” she asked Chaol, who slowly, maliciously grinned. He held out his dagger and dragged it on the marble floor, creating the exact sound and feeling. “Damned idiot,” she snarled.

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, 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.” 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.

Borte’s mouth quirked to the side. “What’s the point of it, then?” “Entertaining people at parties?” Aelin handed the book back to Rowan.

Damaris remained where she’d stored it these weeks on the road: strapped beneath the heavy bags containing the ancient spell-books she’d borrowed from Dorian’s royal library in Rifthold.

Dorian stepped into the room and the young woman looked up from the book she was scanning, a finger pausing on the page. Not beautiful, but—pretty. Clean, elegant lines, chestnut hair woven in a braid, and golden-tan skin that suggested at least one family member came from Eyllwe.

She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—and she would not be afraid. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book would not exist without my friends.

hold you to no promises. And I will hold to none of my own.

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. He caught it before it broke his nose, and her eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—that wasn’t an attack! It was a joke—I didn’t mean to actually hurt you, Your Highness,” she said in a jumble. “I’d hope that Adarlan’s Assassin would choose to attack me in a more dignified manner. At least with a sword or a knife, though preferably not in the back.

Before I forget to say it: Thank you. This is… This is…” He shook his head once more, setting down his glass, and she caught a glimmer of silver in his eyes that made her heart clench. He blinked it away and looked back at her with a small smile. “No one has ever thrown me a birthday party since I was a child.” She scoffed, fighting past the tightness in her chest. “I’d hardly call this a party—” “Stop trying to downplay it. It’s the greatest gift I’ve been given in a long while.” “Dorian got you an Asterion stallion.” “But Dorian doesn’t know what my favorite stew is, does he?” he glanced up at her and she bit her lip. “How long have you been paying attention?” She became very interested in her stew. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just bullied the castle’s head cook to tell me what dishes you favored.” He snorted. “You might be Adarlan’s Assassin, but even you couldn’t bully Meghra. If you’d tried, I think you’d be sitting there with two black eyes and a broken nose.” She smiled, taking a bite of stew. “Well, you might think you’re mysterious and brooding and stealthy, Captain, but once you know where to look, you’re a fairly easy book to read. Every time we have roast boar stew, I can barely get a spoonful before you’ve eaten the whole tureen.” He tipped his head back and laughed, and the sound sent heat coursing through every part of her. “And here I was, thinking I’d managed to hide my weaknesses so well.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Just wait until you see the other courses.

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.

What is the point in a vote if we ignore its outcome? They decided, Rowan. Tomorrow, it will be over.” The words rang hollow and sickly within her. “Let me find another way.” His voice broke, but his pacing didn’t falter. “I will find another way, Aelin—” “There is no other way. Don’t you understand? All of this,” she hissed, arms splaying. “All of this has been to keep you alive. All of you.” “With you as the asking price. To atone for some lingering guilt.” She slammed a hand atop the stack of ancient books. “Do you think I want to die? Do you think any of this is easy, to look at the sky and wonder if it’s the last I’ll see? To look at you, and wonder about those years we won’t have?

Logic and years of experience screamed at him to be with them, even though six guards trailed them. She was deceitful, cunning, vicious. But he couldn’t make his feet move. 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.

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.

I give you this name to use with honor, to use when other names grow too heavy. I name you Elentiya, ‘Spirit That Could Not Be Broken.

You’d be surprised how much people are willing to reveal when they think you can’t understand them.

BOOKS BY SARAH J. MAAS THE COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES SERIES A Court of Thorns and Roses A Court of Mist and Fury A Court of Wings and Ruin A Court of Frost and Starlight A Court of Silver Flames A Court of Thorns and Roses Coloring Book THE CRESCENT CITY SERIES House of Earth and Blood House of Sky and Breath House of Flame and Shadow THE THRONE OF GLASS SERIES The Assassin’s Blade Throne of Glass Crown of Midnight Heir of Fire Queen of Shadows Empire of Storms Tower of Dawn Kingdom of Ash The Throne of Glass Coloring Book

Aelin had been up half the night scouring the books Chaol had saved, including her old friend The Walking Dead.

His Fireheart, shut in the dark.