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119 okur puanı
Mayıs 2024 tarihinde katıldı
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To Celena
Young, and yet her face … It was an ancient face, wary and cunning and
limned with power. Beautiful, with the sun-kissed skin, the vibrant
turquoise eyes. Turquoise eyes, with a core of gold around the pupil.
Ashryver eyes.
The same as the golden-haired, handsome man who came up beside her,
muscled body tense as he assessed whether he’d need to spill blood, a bow
dangling from his hand.
Two sides of the same golden coin.
Aelin. Aedion.
They were both staring at her with those Ashryver eyes.
Aelin blinked. And her golden face crumpled as she said, “Are you
Elide?”
It was all Elide could do to nod. Lorcan was taut as a bowstring, his
body still half angled over her.
Aelin strode closer, eyes never leaving Elide’s face. Young—she felt so
young compared to the woman who approached. There were scars all over
Aelin’s hands, along her neck, around her wrists … where shackles had
been.
Aelin slid to her knees not a foot away, and it occurred to Elide that she
should be bowing, head to the dirt—
“You look … so much like your mother,” Aelin said, her voice cracking.
Aedion silently knelt, putting a broad hand on Aelin’s shoulder.
Her mother, who had gone down swinging, who had died fighting so
this woman could live—
“I’m sorry,” Aelin said, shoulders curving inward, head dropping low as
tears slid down her flushed cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” How many years had
those words been locked up?
Elide’s arm ached, but it didn’t stop her from touching Aelin’s hand,
clenched in her lap.
Touching that tanned, scarred hand. Warm, sticky skin met her
📚🔔 Tatil zili çaldı!
Bir yıl boyunca verilen emeklerin ardından şimdi dinlenme, keşfetme ve yeni maceralara atılma zamanı. 🌞
Bu yaz bol kahkahalı, bol anılı ve elbette bol kitaplı geçsin. Tüm öğrencilere keyifli tatiller diliyoruz! 💙📖
Maiden, mother, crone
A large circle—and two overlapping circles, one atop the other, within
its circumference. “That is the Three-Faced Goddess,” Manon said, her
voice low. “We call this …” She drew a rough line in the centermost circle,
in the eye-shaped space where they overlapped. “The Eye of the Goddess.
Not Elena.” She circled the exterior again. “Crone,” she said of the
outermost circumference. She circled the interior top circle: “Mother.” She
circled the bottom: “Maiden.” She stabbed the eye inside: “And the heart of
the Darkness within her.”
It was Aelin’s turn to shake her head. The others didn’t so much as
blink.
Manon said again, “That is an Ironteeth symbol. Blueblood prophets
have it tattooed over their hearts. And those who won valor in battle, when
we lived in the Wastes … they were once given those. To mark our glory—
our being Goddess-blessed.”
Wow
“Do you want to do the honors, or should I?” Rowan said. Fenrys and
Gavriel had risen to their feet, blades out as they monitored from a safe
distance. Aelin held out her free hand, her palm scarred, and took the knife
from him. A quick slice had her skin stinging, warm blood heating her
seawater-sticky skin.
Rowan had the knife a heartbeat later, and the scent of his blood filled
her nose, set her senses on edge. But she extended her bloodied palm.
Her magic swirled into the world with it, crackling in her veins, her
ears. She reined in the urge to tap her foot on the ground, to roll her
shoulders.
“Slow,” Rowan repeated, as if sensing the hair-trigger that her power
was now on, “and steady.” His shackled arm slid around her waist to hold
her to him. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
She lifted her head to study his face, the harsh planes and the curving
tattoo. He leaned in to brush a kiss to her mouth. And as his lips met hers,
he joined their bleeding palms.
Magic jolted through her, ancient and wicked and cunning, and she
arched against him, knees buckling as his cataclysmic power roared into
her.
All anyone on deck saw, she knew, was two lovers embracing.
But Aelin tunneled down, down, down into her power, felt him doing
the same with his, felt every ounce of ice and wind and lightning go
slamming from him into her. And when it reached her, the core of his power
yielded to her own, melted and became embers and wildfire. Became the
molten heart of the earth, shaping the world and birthing new lands.
Deeper and deeper, she went.
Aelin had a vague sense of the ship rocking beneath them, felt the faint
bite of the iron as it rejected her magic, felt the presence of Fenrys and
Gavriel flickering around them like candles.
It had been months since she’d drawn
Love Confession
When the Ocean Rose glittered like a pale jewel a block ahead, Aelin
paused in the shadows beside a chimney and murmured, “There is no room
for error.”
Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know. We’ll make it count.”
Her eyes burned. “We’re playing a game against two monarchs who
have ruled and schemed longer than most kingdoms have existed.” And
even for her, the odds of outsmarting and outmaneuvering them … “Seeing
the cadre, how Maeve contains them … She came so close to separating us
this spring. So close.”
Rowan traced his thumb over her mouth. “Even if Maeve had kept me
enslaved, I would have fought her. Every day, every hour, every breath.” He
kissed her softly and said onto her lips, “I would have fought for the rest of
my life to find a way to return to you again. I knew it the moment you
emerged from the Valg’s darkness and smiled at me through your flames.”
She swallowed the tightness in her throat and raised a brow. “You were
willing to do that before all this? So few benefits back then.”
Amusement and something deeper danced in his eyes. “What I felt for
you in Doranelle and what I feel for you now are the same. I just didn’t
think I’d ever get the chance to act on it.”
She knew why she needed to hear it—he knew, too. Darrow’s and
Rolfe’s words danced around in her head, an endless chorus of bitter
threats. But Aelin only smirked at him. “Then act away, Prince.”
Rowan let out a low laugh, and said nothing else as he claimed her
mouth, nudging her back against the crumbling chimney. She opened for
him, and his tongue swept in, thorough, lazy.
Oh, gods—this. This was what drove her out of her mind—this fire
between them.
They could burn the entire world to ashes with it. He was hers and she
was his, and they had found each other across centuries of
As I said Queen
“Spend a year in Endovier, Rolfe, and you quickly learn how to play a
different sort of game.”
“I told you”—Rolfe seethed with quiet venom—“that you’d one day
pay for that arrogance.”
Aelin’s smile became lethal. “Indeed I did. And so did Arobynn
Hamel.”
Rolfe blinked—just once, then straightened. “Get out of my seat. And
put back that emerald you slipped up your sleeve.”
Aelin snorted, and with a flash of her fingers, an emerald—the fourth
one Dorian had forgotten—appeared between her fingers. “Good. At least
your eyesight isn’t failing in your old age.”
“And the other one,” Rolfe said through clenched teeth.
Aelin grinned again. And then leaned back in Rolfe’s chair, tipped up
her head, and spat out an emerald she’d somehow kept hidden under her
tongue. Dorian watched the gem arc neatly through the air.
Its plunk in the dish was the only sound.
Dorian glanced at Rowan. But delight shone in the prince’s eyes—
delight and pride and simmering lust. Dorian quickly looked away.
Aelin said to the Pirate Lord, “I have two questions for you.”
Rolfe’s hand twitched toward his rapier. “You’re in no rutting position
to ask questions.”
“Aren’t I? After all, I made you a promise two and a half years ago. One
that you signed.”
Rolfe snarled.
Aelin propped her chin on a fist. “Have you or have any of your ships
bought, traded, or transported slaves since that … unfortunate day?”
“No.”
A satisfied little nod. “And have you provided sanctuary for them
here?”
“We haven’t gone out of our way, but if any arrived, yes.” Each word