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Michael Jackson hayranı(Moonwalker)(Soldier of Love) Harry Styles Hayranı(Harries) Taylor Swift Hayranı(Swiftie) ve kitap delisi
119 okur puanı
Mayıs 2024 tarihinde katıldı
Şu anda okuduğu kitap
Slowly
She was Aelin and yet she was not.
She was Aelin and yet she was infinite; she was all worlds, she was—
She was Aelin.
She was Aelin.
And by letting the keys into her, they had entered the true Wyrdgate.
A step, or a thought, or a wish would allow them to access any world
they desired. Any possibility.
An archway lingered behind them. An archway that would smell of
pine and snow.
Slowly, the Lock formed, light turning to metal—to gold and silver.
Dorian was panting, his jaw stretched tight, as they gave and gave and
gave their power toward it. Never to see it again.
It was agony. Agony like nothing she had known.
She was Aelin. She was Aelin and not the things that she’d set in her
arm, not this place that existed beyond reason. She was Aelin; she was
Aelin; and she had come here to do something, had come here promising
to do something—
She fought her rising scream as her power rippled away, like peeling
skin from her bones. Precisely how Cairn had done it, delighted in it. She
had outlasted him, though. Had escaped Maeve’s clutches. She had
outlasted them both. To do this. To come here.
But she had been wrong.
She couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stomach it, this loss and pain and
growing madness as a new truth became clear:
They would not leave this place. Would have nothing left anyway.
They would dissolve, mist to float into the fog around them.
Her çiçeğin bir mevsimi, her kitabın bir zamanı vardır. Haziranın tadını yeni hikâyelerle çıkarın.
The Keys
She heard the warning just as a dark shape shot past, so large it
blotted out the sun above the forest canopy.
Wyvern.
Bows groaned, and the ruks were racing by, chasing after that wyvern.
If an Ironteeth scout spotted them—
Aelin readied her magic. The wyvern banked toward them, barely
visible through the latticework of branches.
But light flared then. Blasted back the rukhin—harmlessly.
Not light. But ice, flickering and flashing before it turned to flame.
Rowan recognized it, too. Roared the order to hold their fire.
It was not Abraxos who landed at the crossroads. And there was no
sign of Manon Blackbeak.
Light flashed again. And then Dorian Havilliard stood there, his
jacket and cape stained and worn.
Aelin galloped down the road toward him, Rowan and Elide beside
her, the others at their backs.
Dorian lifted a hand, his face grave as death, even as his eyes widened
at the sight of her.
But Aelin sensed it then.
What Dorian carried.
The Wyrdkeys.
All three of them.
From now until the Darkness claims us.
Asterin spoke first, cutting through the silence of the coven. “We
know their every move, every weapon. And now the Crochans do, too.
The Matrons are likely in a panic.”
She’d never seen her grandmother in a panic, but Manon huffed a
dark laugh. “We shall see tomorrow, I suppose.” She surveyed her
Thirteen. “You have come with me this far, but tomorrow it will be your
own kind that we face. You may be fighting friends or lovers or family
members.” She swallowed. “I will not blame you if you cannot do it.”
“We have come this far,” Sorrel said, “because we are all prepared for
what tomorrow will bring.”
Indeed, the Thirteen nodded. Asterin said, “We are not afraid.”
No, they were not. Looking at the clear eyes around her, Manon could
see that for herself.
“I’d expected at least some,” Vesta groused, “from the Ferian Gap to
join us.”
“They don’t understand,” Ghislaine said. “What we even offered
them.”
Freedom—freedom from the Matrons who had forged them into tools
of destruction.
“A waste,” Asterin grumbled. Even the green-eyed demon twins
nodded.
Silence fell again. Despite their clear eyes, her Thirteen were well
aware of the limitations of five thousand Crochans against the Ironteeth,
and the army beneath it.
So Manon said, looking them each in the eye, “I would rather fly with
you than with ten thousand Ironteeth at my side.” She smiled slightly.
“Tomorrow, we will show them why.”
Her coven grinned, wicked and defiant, and touched two fingers to
their brows in deference.
Manon returned the gesture, bowing her head as she did. “We are the
Thirteen,” she said. “From now until the Darkness claims us.”
The Crochans
Darrow hissed, “Then why has your master sent you to speak with
us?”
Asterin laughed again.
“We have no master,” Manon Blackbeak said, and it was indeed a
queen’s voice that she spoke with, her golden eyes bright. “We come to
honor a friend.”
There was no sign of Dorian amongst the Thirteen, but Aedion was
reeling enough that he didn’t have the words to ask.
“We came,” Manon said, loud enough that all on the city walls could
hear, “to honor a promise made to Aelin Galathynius. To fight for what
she promised us.”
Darrow said quietly, “And what was that?”
Manon smiled then. “A better world.”
Darrow took a step back. As if disbelieving what stood before him, in
defiance of the legion that swept toward their city.
Manon only looked to Aedion, that smile lingering. “Long ago, the
Crochans fought beside Terrasen, to honor the great debt we owed the
Fae King Brannon for granting us a homeland. For centuries, we were
your closest allies and friends.” That crown of stars blazed bright upon
her head. “We heard your call for aid.” Lysandra began weeping. “And
we have come to answer it.”
“How many,” Aedion breathed, scanning the skies, the mountains.
“How many?”
Pride and awe filled the Witch-Queen’s face, and even her golden
eyes were lined with silver as she pointed toward the Staghorns. “See for
yourself.”
And then, breaking from between the peaks, they appeared.
Red cloaks flowing on the wind, they filled the northern skies. So
many he could not count them, nor the swords and bows and weapons
they bore upon their backs, their brooms flying straight and unwavering.
As One
Wordlessly, Manon handed Bronwen her sword, nodding in thanks.
Then she removed the crown of stars and extended it toward Glennis.
“This belongs to you,” she said, her voice low.
The Crochans murmured, shifting.
Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced
the crone’s face. “No,” she said, “it does not.”
Manon didn’t move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on
Manon’s head.
Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow. “What was stolen has been
restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon
Crochan, Queen of Witches.”
Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs.
Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a
knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than
she’d ever seen.
And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they
bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces.
“Queen of Witches,” Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.
As one people.