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Aelin swiped up the emeralds in a hand, picking them over as she glanced at Rowan beneath her lashes. “She must be a rare, staggering beauty to make you so faithful.”
Gods save them all. He could have sworn Fenrys coughed behind him.

Aelin gave Rowan a sultry sweep from foot to face. Rowan’s expression remained unreadable, eyes intent—near-glowing. And then Aelin said to Rowan with a secret smile, “You, I don’t know. But I’d like to.”
Rowan’s lips tugged upward. “I’m not on the market, unfortunately.”
“Pity,” Aelin said, cocking her head as she noticed a bowl of small emeralds on Rolfe’s desk. Don’t do it, don’t—

“I have a distinct memory, Celaena Sardothien, of saying that if you set foot in my territory again, your life was forfeit.”
“Ah,” Aelin said, lowering her hands but leaving her feet still propped on Rolfe’s desk, “but where would the fun be in that?”

Aelin Galathynius, her hands laced behind her head, grinned at them all and said, “I like this office far better than your other one, Rolfe.”
I AM CACKLING I LOVE AELINNNN

“Rolfe unlocked the door, muttering, “This had better be worth my time,” and stalked into the awaiting dimness beyond. Then stopped dead.
Even in the watery light, Dorian could perfectly see the woman sitting at Rolfe’s desk, her black clothes dirty, weapons gleaming, and her feet propped on the dark wooden surface.

Yrene…….

Her attention flicked over Manon’s shoulder. “So you, Granddaughter, will not die for this. But one of your Thirteen will.”
For the first time in a long, long while, Manon knew what fear, what human helplessness, tasted like as her grandmother said, triumph lighting her ancient eyes, “Your Second, Asterin Blackbeak, shall pay the blood debt between our clans. She dies at sunrise tomorrow.”

Omgggg nooooo

“Why should the heir of the Blackbeak Witch-Clan yield her life for that of a mere sentinel? Wing Leader or not, it is still the word of heir against heir in this matter. But the blood has still been shed. And blood must be paid.”
Manon again gripped her helm. Her grandmother smiled a little.
“The blood shed must be equal,” her grandmother intoned.

“She’d forgotten how much taller he was. Face-to-face, Dorian panted as he stared down at her and breathed, “Hello, witchling.”
Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him. Not a whiff of fear. Interesting.
Manon purred back, “Hello, princeling.”

Ugh I love them

He was Lord of Nothing. Lord of Oath-Breakers. Lord of Liars.
And as Chaol lifted his torso and met the upswept eyes of the white-haired man on that throne, as the khagan’s weathered brown skin crinkled in a small, cunning smile … Chaol wondered if the khagan knew it as well.”
🥺🥺🥺 ugh chaol w all this self loathing

“The Lord now in front of Chaol’s name was a mockery. A mockery and a lie that Dorian had refused to abandon despite Chaol’s protests.
Lord Chaol Westfall, Hand of the King.
He hated it. More than the sound of wheels. More than the body he now could not feel beneath his hips, the body whose stillness still surprised him, even all these weeks later.

I hate Darrow

“And what of your particular skill set? Should I be glad of that, too?”
She didn’t care how he’d learned. Aelin cocked her head, choosing each word, forcing herself to think it through for once. “Is there a skill set that you would prefer I possess?”
”
wtf is this man’s problem

“Lord Darrow said, “At least your Fae warrior is good for something other than brute violence.”
“If this meeting is interrupted by unfriendly forces,” Aelin said smoothly, “you’ll be glad for that brute violence, Lord Darrow.”

“There is a glass wall in Rifthold. Impossible to miss.” She knew it—had perched atop it. “Damage the city enough to instill fear, show our power. But that wall … Bring it down.”
She only said, “Why?”
Those golden eyes simmered like hot coals. “Because destroying a symbol can break the spirits of men as much as bloodshed.”
That glass wall—Aelin Galathynius’s power. And mercy. ”

The next morning, two crowns waited: one for Aelin, and a smaller one for the scarred girl. Another day, the Little Folk left a replica of Rowan’s hawk form, crafted from gathered sparrow feathers, acorns, and beetle husks. Her Fae Prince had smiled a bit when he’d found it—and carried it in his saddlebag since.
”
The little folk are so cute ☺️

“The next morning, two crowns waited: one for Aelin, and a smaller one for the scarred girl. Another day, the Little Folk left a replica of Rowan’s hawk form, crafted from gathered sparrow feathers, acorns, and beetle husks. Her Fae Prince had smiled a bit when he’d found it—and carried it in his saddlebag since.
”
The little folk are so cute ☺️

“But they’d left small gifts just outside the border of Rowan’s nightly shields, somehow deposited without alerting whichever of them was on watch.
One morning, it had been a crown of forest violets. Aelin had given it to Evangeline, who had worn the crown on her red-gold head until it fell apart.

Elena sent up a final prayer on a pillar of smoke rising from the valley floor that the unborn, faraway scions of this night, heirs to a burden that would doom or save Erilea, would forgive her for what she was about to do.”

“The Lord of the North flickered down at her. Perhaps the final gift of Mala to these lands—in this age, at least. Perhaps a thank-you to Elena herself, and a farewell.
Because for Terrasen, for Erilea, Elena would walk into the eternal darkness lurking across the valley to buy them all a chance.

His lips tightened, his sapphire eyes wide.
“No one must know,” she said, her voice breaking. “Even if we succeed, no one must know what we do.”
Wow…

Perhaps it will be a future in which Fae and humans fight side by side, ripe with power. Maybe they will find a way to end this. So we will lose this battle, Gavin,” she said. “Our friends will die on that killing field come dawn, and we will use it as our distraction to contain Erawan so that Erilea might have a future.”

“Even now,” she pushed, “our magic is failing, our gods abandoning us. Running from us. We have no Fae allies beyond those in my father’s army. And their power, like his, is fading. But perhaps, when that third movement comes … perhaps the players in our unfinished game will be different.

“This war,” she said quietly, “is but the second movement in a game that has been played since those ancient days across the sea.”
“We put it off for someone else to inherit if he’s freed. And it will not save those soldiers down there from slaughter tomorrow.”
“If we do not act, there won’t be anyone to inherit this war,” Elena said. Doubt danced in Gavin’s eyes.

“He cannot be killed, Elena. You heard what your father’s oracle whispered.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“And even if we manage to contain him—trap him…” Gavin considered her words. “You know that we are only pushing the war onto someone else—to whoever one day rules these lands.”

I love manon 🥺🥺🥺 she came to check on Dorian