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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

Did you get the rest you needed?” Yrene gaped at him truly this time. “Yes.” She scowled now, too. “And it’s none of your concern—” “It certainly is.” He said it so calmly. With such male entitlement. “I know that in Adarlan, women bow to whatever men say, but here, if I say it’s none of your business, then it isn’t.” Chaol gave her a half smile. “So we’re back to the animosity today.

Yrene opened and closed her mouth. “And how will you 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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