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“She watched him, her head angled. He sometimes felt that she looked at him the way a cat regards a mouse. He just wondered how long it would take for her to pounce.”
― Throne of Glass
― Throne of Glass
“No matter what happens,” she said quietly, “I want to thank you.”
Chaol tilted his head to the side. “For what?”
Her eyes stung, but she blamed it on the fierce wind and blinked away the dampness. “For making my freedom mean something.”
He didn’t say anything; he just took the fingers of her right hand and held them in his, his thumb brushing the ring she wore.”
― Throne of Glass
Chaol tilted his head to the side. “For what?”
Her eyes stung, but she blamed it on the fierce wind and blinked away the dampness. “For making my freedom mean something.”
He didn’t say anything; he just took the fingers of her right hand and held them in his, his thumb brushing the ring she wore.”
― Throne of Glass
“Two black boots came into view, then a pair of knees as someone crouched on the edge of the ring.
“Get up,” Chaol whispered. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face. It was over.(...)
“Get up,” Chaol said again, louder. She could only stare at the white line of chalk that marked the ring.(...)
“Celaena,” Chaol said gently. And then she heard the scraping noise as his hand came into view, sliding across the flagstones. His fingertips stopped just at the edge of the white line. “Celaena,” he breathed, his voice laced with pain—and hope. This was all she had left—his outstretched hand, and the promise of hope, of something better waiting on the other side of that line.
Moving her arm made sparks dance before her eyes, but she extended it until her fingertips reached the line of chalk, and stayed there, not a quarter of an inch from Chaol, the thick white mark separating them.
She lifted her eyes to his face, and found his gaze lined with silver. “Get up,” was all he said.
And in that moment, somehow his face was the only thing that mattered. She stirred, and couldn’t stop her sob as her body erupted with pain that made her lie still again. But she kept her focus on his brown eyes, on his tightly pressed lips as they parted and whispered, “Get up.”
― Throne of Glass
“Get up,” Chaol whispered. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face. It was over.(...)
“Get up,” Chaol said again, louder. She could only stare at the white line of chalk that marked the ring.(...)
“Celaena,” Chaol said gently. And then she heard the scraping noise as his hand came into view, sliding across the flagstones. His fingertips stopped just at the edge of the white line. “Celaena,” he breathed, his voice laced with pain—and hope. This was all she had left—his outstretched hand, and the promise of hope, of something better waiting on the other side of that line.
Moving her arm made sparks dance before her eyes, but she extended it until her fingertips reached the line of chalk, and stayed there, not a quarter of an inch from Chaol, the thick white mark separating them.
She lifted her eyes to his face, and found his gaze lined with silver. “Get up,” was all he said.
And in that moment, somehow his face was the only thing that mattered. She stirred, and couldn’t stop her sob as her body erupted with pain that made her lie still again. But she kept her focus on his brown eyes, on his tightly pressed lips as they parted and whispered, “Get up.”
― Throne of Glass
“Can I be honest with you?" Chaol leaned closer, and Celaena leaned to meet him as he whispered: "You sound like a raving lunatic.”
― Throne of Glass
― Throne of Glass
“She'd survived Endovier, yet she could still laugh.”
― Throne of Glass
― Throne of Glass
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