Yrene Towers Quotes

This girl wasn’t like wildfire—she was wildfire. Deadly and uncontrollable. And slightly out of her wits.

I will cherish it always. No matter what may befall the world. No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.

Then it is a good thing, Yrene Towers, that I love you as well.

the world was too big, too full of splintered dreams.

I think she was a god... I never learned her name. She only left a note with two lines. "For wherever you need to go - and then some. The world needs more healers." - Yrene, about Aelin

Using the chair is not a punishment. It is not a prison,' he said softly. 'It never was. And I am as much of a man in that chair, or with that cane, as I am standing on my feet.' He brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek. 'I wanted to heal you,' she breathed. 'You did,' he said, smiling. 'Yrene, in every way that truly matters . . . You did.' Chaol wiped away the other tears that fell, brushing a kiss to her hot cheek.

The world was waiting--wide open and hers for the taking.

Get. Up.” Her mouth tightened. “You want to die in this war so badly, then get up.

For wherever you need to go - and then some. The world needs more healers

Centre yourself. Fear will get you killed as easily as a weapon.

Chaol’s back ached thanks to yesterday’s ride and last night’s … other ride. Multiple rides.

She couldn't bring herself to care, because those moment she spent brawling were the few moments she felt like herself again.

Wherever you need to go... Gods or fate or just pure coincidence and kindness, it was a gift. This was a gift. The world was wide-open—wide-open and hers for the taking, if she dared. She could go to Antica, attend the Torre Cesme, go anywhere she wished. If she dared. Yrene smiled. An hour later, no one stopped Yrene Towers as she walked out of the White Pig and never looked back.

I have no interest in easy friends—easy people. I think I trust them less than the difficult ones, and find them far less compelling, too.

Prince Rowan Whitethorn, of Doranelle. Former commander to Queen Maeve, and a member of her royal household.” Yrene could have sworn the blood drained wholly from Arghun’s face. “Aelin Galathynius is to wed Rowan Whitethorn?” From the way the prince said the name … he’d indeed heard of this Rowan. Chaol had mentioned Rowan more than once in passing—Rowan, who had managed to heal much of the damage in his spine. A Fae Prince. And Aelin’s beloved. Chaol shrugged. “They are carranam, and he swore the blood oath to her.

As she walked through the foggy streets toward the ramshackle docks, Celaena had prayed Yrene Towers wasn't foolish enough to tell anyone—especially the innkeeper—about the money. Prayed Yrene Towers seized her life with both hands and set out for the pale-stoned city of Antica. Prayed that somehow, years from now, Yrene Towers would return to this continent, and maybe, just maybe, heal their shattered world a little bit.

Keeping her head, Yrene decided, was a very good birthday gift indeed.

Their bodies were lithe and young, the peak of youth and virility. Hips rolled, backs arched, hands twined in the air above them as they began to weave around one another in circles and lines. "I told you," was all Yrene muttered to him. "I think Dorian would enjoy this," he muttered back.

The gods had vanished, her mother had once claimed. But had they? Had it been some god who had visited tonight, clothed in the skin of a battered young woman? Or had it merely been their distant whispers that prompted the stranger to walk down that alley? She would never know, she supposed. And maybe that was the whole point.

Así que puedes mirarme con resentimiento, Yrene Towers, y no te culparé por ello. Pero créeme cuando digo que hay nadie en Erilea que me aborrezca más que yo

But Celaena had stood in front of the that wooden door to the bedroom, listening to Yrene wash her clothes in the nearby kitchen. She found herself unable to turn away, unable to stop thinking about the would-be healer with the brown-gold hair and caramel eyes, of what Yrene had lost and how helpless she'd become. There were so many of them now—the children who had lost everything to Adarlan. Children who had now grown into assassins and barmaids, without a true place to call home, their native kingdoms left to ruin and ash. Magic had been gone all these years. And the gods were dead, or simply didn't care anymore. Yet there, deep in her gut, was a small but insistent tug. A tug on a strand of some invisible web. So Celaena decided to tug back, just to see how far and wide the reverberations would go.

Too thin, she’d told Yrene by way of greeting. She needed a fatter ass for her lover to grip at night.

I have no interest in easy friends... easy people. I think I trust them less than the difficult ones, and find them far less compelling, too

Yrene gasped. Gasped and turned into starlight, into warmth and strength and joy.

It is a soul-wound Yrene. And letting it fester these years... I cannot blame you. But I will hold you accountable if you let it turn into something worse. And I will mourn you.

He and Yrene sat in companionable silence, watching the chaos unfold around them until the sun had long since set through the wide windows beyond the kitchen.

Yrene smiled. An hour later, no one stopped Yrene Towers as she walked out of the White Pig and never looked back.

Yes. But it is yours to keep now. This place, this final kernel of it.” It would remain in him, a scar and a reminder. “Will it grow again?” “Only if you let it. Only if you do not fill it with better things. Only if you do not forgive.” He knew she didn’t just mean others. “But if you are kind to yourself, if you—if you love yourself …” Yrene’s mouth trembled.

Yrene rose onto her toes to kiss him before he led them toward their spacious stateroom. “This story of yours had better be worth it,” she said with a wry grin. Chaol smiled back at his wife, at the light he’d unknowingly walked toward his entire life, even when he had not been able to see it. “It is,” he said quietly to Yrene. “It is.

Yrene hissed—not at him. The memory. The temper. “I don’t regret doing it.” A smile tugged on his mouth. “It’s an image I’ll likely remember for the rest of my life.

Yrene was still watching his mouth as if it were a piece of fruit, her uneven breath lifting those lush, high breasts within the confines of her gown.

Desearía haber sido capaz de andar, para que Yrene pudiese verle arrastrarse hacia ella.

As she stalked through the foggy streets toward the ramshackle docks, Celaena had prayed Yrene Towers wasn’t foolish enough to tell anyone—especially the innkeeper—about the money. Prayed Yrene Towers seized her life with both hands and set out for the pale-stoned city of Antica. Prayed that somehow, years from now, Yrene Towers would return to this continent, and maybe, just maybe, heal their shattered world a little bit.

Have you ever—” “Yes.” The word was a rough pant. “Once.” Chaol shoved against the ripple of darkness, the line on that throat. He only kissed it instead. Licked it. Then asked against her skin, his mouth skirting up her jaw, “Do you want to—” “Keep going.” But he made himself pause. Made himself rise to look at her face, his hands on her sleek thighs and her hand still gripping him, stroking him. “Yes, then?” Yrene’s eyes were gold flame. “Yes,” she breathed. She leaned up, kissed him gently. Not lightly, but sweetly. Openly. “Yes.

Pathetic" Yrene told it. Perhaps she spoke the word aloud, for silence fell. Distantly, that bond flowing away . . . it thinned. The hand on her back drifted away. "Utterly pathetic," Yrene repeated, her magic rallying behind her in a mighty, cresting wave. "For a prince to prey on a helpless woman.

And maybe one day—maybe I’ll have the time to go out and enjoy myself, but … there are people who need my help. It feels selfish to take time for myself, even now.” “You shouldn’t feel that way.” “And you’re any better?” Chaol chuckled, leaning back as the servant came, bearing a pitcher of chilled mint tea. He waited until the man left before saying, “Maybe you and I will have to learn how to live—if we survive this war.” It was a sharp, cold knife between them. But Yrene straightened her shoulders, her smile small and yet defiant as she lifted her pewter glass of tea. “To living, Lord Chaol.” He clinked his glass against hers. “To being Chaol and Yrene—even just for a night.

The ship began to move at last, the world a riot of action and color and sound, but Yrene remained at the rail. Watching the city grow smaller and smaller. And even when the coast was little more than a shadow, Yrene could have sworn she still saw the Torre standing above it, glinting white in the sun, as if it were an arm upraised in farewell.

Chaol ate his meal where Yrene had left him, still in his undershorts. Kadja didn’t seem to notice or care, and he was too aching and tired to bother with modesty. Aelin would likely have laughed to see him now. The man who had stumbled out of her room after she’d declared that her cycle had arrived. Now sitting in this fine room, mostly naked and not giving a shit about it.

He fell quiet. After a moment, he said, “I hope you never have to use that dagger—or any other, Yrene. Even as a mercy.” The sorrow in her eyes was enough to knock the breath from him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For being willing to take that death upon yourself.” No one had ever said such a thing. Even Dorian. But it had been expected. Celaena—Aelin had been grateful when he’d killed Cain to save her, but she had expected him to one day make a kill.

I am glad,” she whispered, “that you do not love that queen. Or Nesryn.” His heart thundered through every inch of him. Yrene rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss, light as a caress, to his mouth. Never breaking his stare. He read the unspoken words there. He wondered if she read the ones not voiced by him, either. “I will cherish it always,” Yrene said, and he knew she wasn’t talking about the locket. Not as she lowered a hand from his face to his chest. Atop his raging heart. “No matter what may befall the world.” Another featherlight kiss. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.

Where did we leave off the last lesson?” Yrene asked a girl in the front. “Eye gouge,” she said with a broad smile. Chaol nearly choked. “Right,” Yrene said, rubbing her hands together. “Someone demonstrate for me.” He watched in silence as hands shot up, and Yrene selected one—a smaller-boned girl. Yrene took up the stance of attacker, grabbing the girl from the front with surprising intensity. But the girl’s slim hands went right to Yrene’s face, thumbs to the corners of her eyes. Chaol started from his chair—or would have, had the girl not pulled back. “And next?” Yrene merely asked. “Hook in my thumbs like this”—the girl made the motion in the air between them for all to see—“and pop.” Aelin would have been beside herself with glee.

You never mentioned your fee. For your help.” It had to be exorbitant. If they’d sent their best, if she had such skill— Yrene’s brows furrowed. “If you are so inclined, any donation may be made to help the upkeep of the Torre and its staff, but there is no price, no expectation.” “Why?” Her hand slid into her pocket as she rose. “I was given this gift by Silba. It is not right to charge for what was granted for free.” Silba—Goddess of Healing. He had known one other young woman who was gods-blessed. No wonder they both possessed such unbanked fire in their eyes.

Yrene’s eyes were still bright with those tears he’d caused. One still clung to her cheek. Chaol wiped it away. Another one he found down by her jaw. He didn’t understand—how she could be so delicate, so small, when she had overturned his life entirely. Worked miracles with those hands and that soul, this woman who had crossed mountains and seas. She was trembling. Not with fear, not as she looked up at him. And it was only when Yrene settled her hand on his chest, not to push him away but to feel the raging, thunderous heartbeat beneath, that Chaol lowered his head and kissed her.

An unspoken promise, Chaol realized, among the other siblings. “So you will have to suffer my company for a while yet, Lord Westfall,” Hasar said, but that edged smile was not as sharp. “Because for my sisters, both living and dead, I will march with my sulde to the gates of Morath and make that demon bastard pay.” She met Yrene’s stare. “And for you, Yrene Towers. For what you did for Duva, I will help you save your land.” Yrene rose, her hands shaking. And none of them spoke a word as Yrene reached Hasar’s seat and threw her arms around her neck to hold the princess tightly.

To being Chaol and Yrene—even just for a night.

Es una herida del alma, Yrene. Y dejar que se enconara durante estos años... No puedo culparte, pero sí te haré responsable si dejas que se convierta en algo peor. Y lo lamentaré por ti.

An hour later, no one stopped Yrene Towers as she walked out of the White Pig and never looked back.

She was trembling. Not with fear, not as she looked up at him. And it was only when Yrene settled her hand on his chest, not to push him away but to feel the raging, thunderous heartbeat beneath, that Chaol lowered his head and kissed her.

So you may look at me with resentment, Yrene Towers, and I will not blame you for it. But believe me when I say that there is no one in Erilea who loathes me more than I do myself.

I would think you’d already done that, Yrene Towers.

Then you’d better heal me, Yrene Towers, because I plan to do a great deal of anything with you tonight.

Yrene,” it whispered through the crack in the door. She could hear the smile in its voice. “Yrene.” Her blood went cold. It was not a human voice.

So he said to Kashin, “I hear you usually dwell down in Balruhn and look after the terrestrial armies.” Kashin straightened. “I do. For most of the year, I make my home there and oversee the training of our troops. If I’m not there, then I’m out on the steppes with our mother-people—the horse-lords.” “Thank the gods,” Hasar muttered from across the table, earning a warning look from Sartaq. Hasar only rolled her eyes and whispered something in her lover’s ear that made Renia laugh, a bright, silvery sound. Yrene was still watching him, though, an ember of what he could have sworn was annoyance in her face—as if Chaol’s mere presence at this table was enough to set her clenching her jaw—while Kashin began explaining his various routines in his city on the southwestern coast, and the contrasting life amongst the horse-tribes on the steppes.

Run, Yrene! And that voice … It was her mother’s voice that bellowed in her head, her heart.

Just so you know,” Yrene hissed as she shut the doors loudly behind him, “your piss-poor attitude helps no one and nothing.

And part of Yrene wondered, as she trudged through the palace, if Lord Chaol had not asked her to stop not just because he’d learned how to manage pain, but also because he somehow felt he deserved it.

Yrene. If she wasn’t inclined to leap onto his horse and strangle him, she might have contemplated how the way he said her name made her toes curl.

Yrene could have sworn it was far more than the dawn that shone in the captain’s brown eyes as they rode into the city.

Aelin, allow me to introduce—” “Yrene Towers,” the queen breathed as his wife stepped to his side.

Now it is my turn to thank you.” But Aelin’s gaze fell upon the wedding band on Yrene’s finger, and when she glanced to Chaol, he grinned. “No longer Yrene Towers,” Chaol said softly, “but Yrene Westfall.

I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Whatever for?” Hafiza chuckled. “You have found love, and happiness, Yrene. There is nothing more that I could ever wish for you.” Yrene wiped away the tear that slipped out. “I just—I don’t want you to think I wasted your time—” Hafiza crowed with laughter. “Wasted my time? Yrene Towers—Yrene Westfall.” The ancient woman cupped Yrene’s face with her strong, ancient hands. “You have saved us all.” Yrene closed her eyes as Hafiza pressed a kiss to her brow. A blessing and a farewell.

Only if you let it. Only if you do not fill it with better things. Only if you do not forgive.” He knew she didn’t just mean others. “But if you are kind to yourself, if you—if you love yourself …” Yrene’s mouth trembled. “If you love yourself as much as I love you

Yrene

And though Chaol might have decided against pushing Hasar into the pool behind her, Yrene had no such qualms about doing it herself. One heartbeat, Hasar was smirking up at her. The next, her legs and skirts and jewels went sky-up, her shriek piercing across the dunes as Yrene shoved the princess, chair and all, into the water.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Then it is a good thing, Yrene Towers, that I love you as well.

I know I am not an easy person to care for, or an easy friend to have,” she said, her dark eyes meeting Yrene’s at last. “But you have never once made me feel that way.

Am I invited to this party at least?” “Oh, yes. You, and all my other favorite people: Arghun, Kashin, and a handful of delightful viziers.” “I’m glad I made the cut, considering that Hasar hates me.” “No.” Yrene’s eyes darkened. “If Hasar hated you, I don’t think you’d be alive right now.” Gods above. This was the woman she’d befriended.

Before you begin shouting,” Yrene declared, “I should say that what just happened is proof that I should not be marrying a prince.” Chaol crossed his arms. “Having lived with a prince for most of my life, I’d say quite the opposite.” She waved a hand, pacing more. “I know it was stupid.” “Incredibly.” “I don’t regret doing it.” “It’s an image I’ll likely remember for the rest of my life.” He would. “How can you be so amused?” “Oh, I’m not.” His lips indeed curved. “But it’s certainly entertaining to see that temper of yours turned on someone other than me.” “I don’t have a temper.” He raised a brow. “I have known a fair member of people with tempers, and yours, Yrene Towers, ranks amongst the finest of them.” “Like Aelin Galathynius.” A shadow passed over him. “She would have greatly enjoyed the sight of Hasar flipping into the pool.

I will cherish it always,” Yrene said, and he knew she wasn’t talking about the locket. Not as she lowered a hand from his face to his chest. Atop his raging heart. “No matter what may befall the world.” Another featherlight kiss. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.

Life. He had life to savor, to fight for. And the breaking that had started and ended here… Yes, it belonged to him. He was allowed to break, so that is forging might begin. So that he might begin again. He owed it to his king, his country. And he owed it to himself. Yrene nodded as if to say yes. So Chaol stood. He surveyed the darkness, this piece of him. He did not balk at it. And smiling at Yrene, he took her hand.

Some might see you and assume you lost your clothes for a far more pleasurable reason.” Yrene’s face heated. “I’d hope they’d remember that I am a professional healer at the Torre.” “It’d make it even more valuable gossip.” “I’d think they’d have better things to do than whisper about a nobody healer.

And if she left, if he let her walk out… Yrene pushed down on the handle. And Chaol took a step towards her.

Chaol did not think. He did not marvel at the sensation of being so high. At the weight of his body, the sway of it as he took that staggering step. There was only Yrene, and her hand on the doorknob, and the tears in her furious, lovely eyes. The most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

But if you’ll have me… there will be a place for you on my ship. At my side.” “What sort of place?” Chaol stretched out like a cat, tucking his arms behind his head as he drawled, “The usual options: scullery maid, cook, dishwasher—” She poked his ribs, and he laughed. It was a beautiful sound, rich and deep. But his brown eyes softened as he cupped her face. “What place would you like, Yrene?” Her heart thundered at the question, the timbre of his voice. But she smirked and said, “Whichever one gives me the right to yell at you if you push yourself too hard.” She drew her hand along his legs, his back. Careful—he’d have to be so, so careful for a while. A corner of Chaol’s mouth kicked up, and he hauled her over him. “I think I know of just the position.

What if we fight? What then? We fight all the time already. It’ll be nothing new. Do you think I’d want to be with anyone who didn’t hand my ass to me on a regular basis? And this bond between us, Yrene… it changes everything. With you and me. You’ll need your own space; I’ll need mine. So if you think for one moment that you’re going to get away with flimsy excuses for never leaving my side— She poked him in the ribs. As if I’ll want to hang around you all day like some lovesick girl! Chaol had laughed, tucked her in tighter. But Yrene had only patted his arm and said, And I think you can take care of yourself just fine.

If I’m riding,” Chaol said simply, “so are you.” Yrene blurted, “I’m not—it’s been a while since I rode one.” “If I can let four men help me onto this damned horse,” he said simply, the color still blooming in his cheeks, “then you can get on one, too.

I thought you never stepped in to help me,” he said drily, raising a brow. “In the chair, yes. You have so much farther to fall now.” Chaol huffed a laugh, then leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Will it be the bed or the couch now, Yrene?

She had done this. Given him this. Yrene was smiling, and then she was laughing, as if she could not contain it inside her. Chaol thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. And that this moment, flying together over the sands, devouring the desert wind, her hair a golden-brown banner behind her… Chaol felt, perhaps for the first time, as if he was awake. And he was grateful, right down to his very bones, for it.

Chaol couldn’t bring himself to rip his mouth away from Yrene’s long enough to ask if she considered him hers. To explain that he already knew his own answer. Had perhaps known from the moment she’d walked into that sitting room and did not look at him with an ounce of pity or sadness.

Chaol held Yrene’s stare as he stilled, letting her adjust. Letting himself adjust to the sensation that the entire axis of the world had shifted. Looking into those eyes of hers, swimming with brightness, he wondered if she felt it, too. But Yrene kissed him again, in answer and silent demand. And as Chaol began to move within her, he realized that here, amongst the dunes and stars… Here, in the heart of a foreign land… Here, with her, he was home.

The darkness belongs to you. To shape as you will. To give it power or render it harmless.” “Was it ever the Valg’s to begin with?” “Yes. But it is yours to keep now. This place, this final kernel of it.” It would remain in him, a scar and a reminder. “Will it grow again?” “Only if you let it. Only if you do not fill it with better things. Only if you do not forgive.” He knew she didn’t just mean others. “But if you are kind to yourself, if you—if you love yourself…” Yrene’s mouth trembled. “If you love yourself as much as I love you…” Something began to pound in his chest. A drumbeat that had gone silent down here.

Yrene’s smile was brighter than the glow rippling off her body. A star. She was a fallen star.

You said something—down in that pit,” he murmured. Yrene was too tired to form words beyond a low “Mmm.” “You said that you love me.” Well, that woke her up. Her stomach clenched. “Don’t feel obligated to—” “Is it true?” “Yes.” And though her voice was soft, she meant it with every inch of her soul. The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Then it is a good thing, Yrene Towers, that I love you as well.

So we’re back to the animosity today?” “We are not back to anything. I’m your healer, and you are my patient, and I asked you about the status of your—” “If you’re not rested,” he said, as if it were the most rational thing in the world, “then I’m not letting you near me.” Yrene opened and closed her mouth. “And how you will decide that?” Slowly, his eyes swept over her. Every inch. Her heart thundered at the long look. The relentless focus. “Good color,” he said. “Good posture. Certainly good sass.” “I’m not some prize horse, as you said yesterday.” “Two days ago.” She braced her hands on her hips. “I’m fine. Now, how are you?” Each word was accentuated. Chaol’s eyes danced. “I’m feeling quite well, Yrene. Thank you for asking.

Well, I’ll attempt to find you a suitable present that can compare to an entire desert retreat, but don’t hold me to it.” Yrene looped her arm through Chaol’s free one, no more than a healer escorting her patient to the table. “I have everything I need,” was all she said.

Yrene whirled toward him, stunning in that purple gown, which had nearly knocked his knees from beneath him when she’d first emerged from the tent. Not just how well it suited her, but the swaths of supple skin. The curves. The light and color of her.

I’d think you were sick of touching my back.” She shut him up with a plundering kiss that made him forget language for a while. Forget about his name and his title and everything but her. Yrene. Yrene. Yrene.

I will cherish it always,” Chaol whispered as he slid into her, slow and deep. Pleasure rippled down his spine. “No matter what befall the world.” Yrene kissed his neck, his shoulder, his jaw. “No matter the oceans, or mountains, or forests in the way.

The lack of feeling and movement begins at my hips.” “Are you capable of using your manhood?” He tried not to flinch. Even Nesryn blinked at the frank question. “Yes,” he said tightly, fighting the heat rising in his cheeks. “Have you used it to completion?” “How is that relevant?” Yrene only wrote something down. “What are you writing?” he demanded, cursing the damn chair for keeping him from storming to rip the paper out of her hands. “I’m writing a giant no.” Which then she underlined. He growled, “I suppose you’ll ask about my bathroom habits now?” “It was next on my list.” “They are unchanged,” he bit out. “Unless you need Nesryn to confirm.” “Have you seen him struggle with it?” “Do not answer that,” he snarled at Nesryn.

The way she spat that no… He took no satisfaction in that. The woman only laughed, hefting the baby a bit higher as she headed into her charming house. “I certainly would.” Still red, Yrene turned to him, distinctly not meeting his eyes. “She’s opinionated.” Chaol chuckled. “I hadn’t realized that I was a firm no.” She glared at him. “I don’t share a bed with patients. And you’re with Captain Faliq,” she added quickly. “And you’re—” “Not in fit form to pleasure a woman?” He was shocked he said it. But again more than a tad smug to see her eyes flare. “No,” Yrene said, somehow going redder. “Certainly not that. But you’re… you.” “I’m trying not to be insulted.” She waved a hand, looking everywhere but at him. “You know what I mean.

For someone who hates being called Lord Westfall,” Yrene mused, “you certainly seem to enjoy using the title for me.” “You’re suited to it,” he said kissing her neck again. “Yes, and so suited to it that Eretia won’t stop mocking me with her curtsying and bowing.” “Eretia is someone whom I could have gladly left behind in Antica.

He’d brought that damned gold couch with them, shredded cushions and all. It had earned him no shortage of comments from Hasar when it was hauled into the cargo hold, but he didn’t care. If they survived this war, he’d build a house for Yrene around the damn thing. Along with a stable for Farasha, currently terrorizing the poor soldiers tasked with mucking out her stall aboard the ship. A wedding gift from Hasar, along with Yrene’s own Muniqi horse.

Chaol took the scrap from Yrene, the paper velvet-soft from its countless readings and foldings and how’d shed held it in her pocket, clutched it, all these years. He unfolded the note and read the words he already knew were within. Chaol glanced to Yrene, smiling serenely at the sea, then to the note. To the handwriting he knew as well as his own.

It’s owned by the royals. No one is allowed there. It’s their private refuge.” “Ah.” He scratched at the shadow of stubble on his jaw. “And asking to access it outright will lead to too many questions.” “Exactly.” He studied her, eyes narrowing. “Don’t you dare suggest I use Kashin,” she hissed. Chaol lifted his hands, eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t dare. Though he certainly ran the moment you snapped your fingers the other night. He’s a good man.” Yrene braced her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you invite him to a romantic interlude in the desert, then.” Chaol chuckled, trailing her as she started for the courtyard again.

I can’t take this.” “You’d better,” he said as she lowered the oval locket into her palm to examine it. “I had your initials carved onto it.” Yrene put a hand to her throat, right over the scar. “Mountains. And seas,” she whispered. “So you never forget that you climbed them and crossed them. That you—only you—got yourself here.

I am glad,” she whispered, “that you do not love that queen. Or Nesryn.” “I am glad that I do not love them either, Yrene Towers,” he whispered onto her lips.

Do not think about attempting to lift me off this horse, or carry me, or anything.” He gave her a wry look, but obeyed. “Anything?” “Yes, anything,” Yrene said, fluffing out her wrinkled clothes. “It’s likely because of anything that you’re limping worse than before.” Chaol let her fall into step beside him, and balanced on his cane long enough to press a kiss to her temple. He didn’t care who saw. Who reported on it. They could all go to hell. But behind them, he could have sworn Shen and the other guards were grinning from ear to ear.

Can’t I just heal him again?” She leaned toward him, as if she’d do just that. Hafiza shook her head. “It is part of the balance—the cost. Do not tempt the compassion of the force that granted this to you.” But Chaol touched Yrene’s hand. “It is no burden, Yrene,” he said softly. “To be given this. It is no burden at all.” Yet agony filled her face. “But I—” “Using the chair is not a punishment. It is not a prison,” he said. “It never was. And I am as much of a man in that chair, or with that cane, as I am standing on my feet.” He brushed away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “I wanted to heal you,” she breathed. “You did,” he said, smiling. “Yrene, in every way that truly matters… You did.

Yrene was watching him warily. He kissed her once—twice. He did not regret. He did not look back.

And what about you then? How about we make a deal: you tell me all your deep, dark secrets, Yrene Towers, and I’ll tell you mine.” Indignation lit those remarkable eyes as she glared at him. He glared right back. Finally, Yrene snorted, smiling faintly. “You’re as stubborn as an ass.” “I’ve been called worse,” he countered, the beginnings of a smile tugging on his mouth. “I’m not surprised.