Restraint, Endurance, and PassionAlıntı
What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home.
It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said.
It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be true as the turning of worlds.
You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion.
She did not choose to fire beam from her eyes, or have breating of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet.
Or any of her other well-documented miracles.
No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face.
She warmed her breath to converse with you.
She slowed herself to walk by your side.
Every moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her.
All the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanding to be released.
I believe this effort hurt her.
I belive she lived her life in pain.
But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat: These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow.
If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such an assertion was absurd.
She would say she felt fine and well and then she'd ask you if you needed any help.
Nox Owen Knows
“So, Erawan knows you’re not Aelin.”
She whipped her head to him. “What?” A quick, vague question to
buy herself time. Had Aedion risked telling him the truth?
Nox gave her a half smile. “I figured as much when I saw the surprise
on that demon’s face.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Am I? Or do you not remember me at all?”
She did her best to look down her nose at him, even as the messengerthief towered over her. Aelin had never mentioned a Nox Owen. “Why
should I remember one of Darrow’s lackeys?”
“A decent attempt, but Celaena Sardothien looked a little more
amused when she cut men into ribbons.”
He knew—who Aelin was, what she’d been. Lysandra said nothing,
and kept walking toward her tent. If she told Aedion, how quickly could
Nox be buried under the frozen earth?
“Your secret is safe,” Nox murmured. “Celaena—Aelin was a friend.
Is still one, I’d hope.”
“How.” She’d admit no more than that regarding her role in this.
“We fought in the competition together at the glass castle.” He
snorted. “I had no idea until today. Gods, I was there for Minister Joval
as a spy for the rebels. It was my first time out of Perranth. My first time,
and I wound up unwittingly training alongside my queen.” He laughed,
low and amazed. “I’d been working with the rebels for years, even as a
thief. They wanted me to be their inside eyes on the castle, the king’s
plans. I reported the strange goings-on until it became too dangerous.
Until Cel—Aelin warned me to run. I listened, and came back here.
Joval is dead. Fell in a skirmish with a band of rebels by the border this
spring. Darrow plucked me up to be his own messenger and spy. So here
I am.” A sidelong glance at her, awe still on his face. “I am at your
disposal, even if you’re not … you.” He angled his head. “Who are
Reklam
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
All of the Truth
His eyes lock on me, cold and certain. “You’re not getting away, not
without answering my questions. I recognize the feel of your mind, but I
can’t read your thoughts. I’m not a telepath. So, you’re going to do
something new for you and actually tell me the truth.”
I take a step back, eyeing Talan warily. My fingers twitch, and my legs
are still shaking, giving me away. My whole body is charged with panic and
something more corrosive. Heartbreak, maybe.
Months of deception have made lying second nature, and my mind
offers up a whole garden of falsehoods, pretty little blossoms of deceit
waiting to be plucked. Should I offer him another rotten bloom while I hide
a knife behind my back?
The question is which lie to pick…
Am I a scared farm girl blackmailed by enemies? An agent conspiring
with Fey nobles to put him on the throne? Am I a wide-eyed innocent, a
blank slate? An idiot?
Maybe a politician’s trick—I could just lie, lie, lie, flood him with lies
until he’s too exhausted to bother with the truth.
But the lies feel brittle now, dried roses ready to crumble at the slightest
touch. I can’t bring myself to lie again. And Talan won’t fall for it anymore.
So, I say nothing, because that’s all I’ve got left—silence.
The wind toys with Talan’s hair, lifting dark strands. “I’ve been inside
your mind before.” His voice is cold as midwinter frost. “Isn’t that right,
little telepath?”
I nod, just once.
My mind churns wildly like a raging storm.
He knows I stole from him. He just doesn’t know why.
He steps closer, slowly, like he has all the time in the world to destroy
me. All the warmth leeches from the air around us. In my thin nightgown, I
shiver.
“And why did you steal that map from me?”
It is Good To Be Rogue when there is An Assasion
“Your Highness,” one of them shouts. “Thank the gods you’re not hurt!
There’s been some sort of attack. Magical explosives. Both your quarters
and your father’s were the targets, apparently.”
“What happened to the king?” Talan’s voice echoes off the walls.
The guard shakes his head. “Luckily, he was in the library and not in his
room.”
“Any signs of the assassins?”
“Already gone, Your Highness. We’re sending trackers to hunt them
down.”
“Find them alive. I want their confession. Because they didn’t just try to
kill me. They tried to kill my wife, a mistake I will make them regret.”
Nausea rises in my gut, and I lean against the wall, head pounding and
my stomach twisted in knots.
The assassins never needed me to open the window to let them in.
The window was a signal that I was in the room with him.
“Thank the gods you’re alive,” she murmurs, her voice tight.
“Do you remember when you told me to have faith in Avalon Tower and
not to worry about the details?” I hiss. “I’m not sure I trust your judgement
at this point.”
“Obviously, I didn’t think explosives would be involved,” she snaps.
“The whole bloody point was for you to open the window for assassins to
sneak inside.”
“But what if there was a different reason they wanted me to open the
window? To let them know I was with Talan? They blew the room up right
after I opened the window. Within minutes. If they didn’t want me dead,
surely they would have waited a while longer. They were supposed to strike
when Talan was sleeping. They could see me in the window if they were
looking.”
Nivene shakes her head. “That couldn’t have been the instructions from
A Royal Scandal
As I reach the gate, I nod at the soldiers.
One of them shouts up to me. “My lady, the prince has been looking for
you.”
I smile at him. “Well, I’m back.”
They exchange looks that make me wonder exactly what sort of mood
the prince might be in, but I ride on with feigned indifference, my heart
thrumming in my chest.
As I bring my horse to the stables, this starts to feel like a terrible
mistake. Coldness creeps over my skin.
Surely Talan has figured out the truth by now.
As I walk inside the fortress, I half expect armed guards to accost me, to
chain me and drag me to the dungeon.
But no one does. Is Talan just biding his time?
I climb the stairs to my room, dread climbing up my throat.
There’s no turning back now, though, is there? The soldiers have seen
me.
I open the door and stagger into my room, out of breath.
Talan steps out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. Water slides
down his tan, muscled body.
It’s hard to believe that just days ago, I saw him riding a dragon’s back,
ready to light a city on fire.
“Where have you been?” A knife’s edge slides under his velvety tone.
“In hiding,” I say in what I hope is a breezy tone. “I left a note behind.
Arwenna wants me dead, and you were incapacitated. There was no one to
protect me from another attempt on my life.”
“I could have protected you if you’d stayed close to me, even at death’s
door.” Ferocity laces his voice. He prowls closer, and darkness slides
through the copper rings in his eyes. There’s something in his expression I
haven’t seen before, something that I can’t interpret. “Why did you not tell
me where you were going? I searched everywhere for you. Your father said
Reklam
Reklam