Charlemagne conquered the Bavarians and the Saxons, the last of the independent Germanic tribes. “It took thirty-two campaigns to subdue the staunchly pagan Saxons, who lived between the Rhine and Elbe rivers. Charlemagne divided Saxony into bishoprics, built monasteries, and proclaimed harsh laws against paganism. Eating meat during Lent, cremating the dead (an old pagan practice), and pretending to be baptized were offenses punishable by death.” His brutality in conquering and converting the Saxons was extreme by any measure.
"Her şeye rasyonel yaklaşmaya çalışırsan katılaşırsın. Duyguların seline kapılıp kürek çekersen akıntıya kapılıp gidersin... Yaşaması pek de hoş bir yer değil, şu bizim dünyamız."
“Approach everything rationally, and you become harsh. Pole along in the stream of emotions, and you will be swept away by the current… It is not a very agreeable place to live, this world of ours.”
Hangi tür kitapları seviyorsun?
🔎 Polisiye
💕 Romantik
🚀 Bilim Kurgu
🏰 Fantastik
📖 Klasik
🧠 Kişisel Gelişim
🏛️ Tarih
😱 Gerilim
Each day I pray as my ancestors did. They once prayed to gods that were fallible and fickle. Then to one God who stood in harsh and terrifying judgment. Then to a loving, forgiving God. And then finally to a power with no name.
"I sing not siren-Iike
to tempt, for I am harsh"
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
A New demi fey
“How?” she said, stumbling away a step.
“You first,” he snarled, but whipped his head toward the forest behind
them. She followed his gaze. Saw nothing.
When she looked at his harsh face, a sword lay against her throat.
She tried to fall back, but he gripped her arm, holding her as steel bit
into her skin. “Why do you smell of one of them? Why do they chase you?”
She’d pocketed the stone, or else she might have shown him. But
movement might cause him to strike—and that small voice whispered to
keep the stone concealed.
She offered another truth. “Because I have spent the past several months
in Morath, living amongst that scent. They seek me because I managed to
get free. I flee north—to safety.”
Faster than she could see, he lowered his blade—only to slice it across
her arm. A scratch, barely more than a whisper of pain.
They both watched as her red blood surged and dribbled.
It seemed answer enough for him.
“You can call me Lorcan,” he said, though she hadn’t asked. And with
that, he hauled her over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran.
Elide knew two things within seconds:
That the remaining creatures—however many there were—had to be on
their trail and closing in fast. Had to have realized she’d bluffed her way
free.
And that the man, moving swift as a wind between the oaks, was demiFae.