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
Only in Gaza;
You sleep counting rockets rather than stars.
You wake up, if you wake up, to the sounds of bombs rather than birds.
Only in Gaza;
You sleep not knowing if, or how, you’ll wake up.
In Gaza,
You sleep in your house,
And you wake up under the rubble.
In Gaza,
You sleep with your body parts whole,
And you wake up missing a hand or a leg.
In Gaza,
You sleep beside family and friends,
And the next day you are on your own.
Only in Gaza;
People celebrate birthdays while war echoes in the background, then welcome you into a tent with warm hands and a cup of tea.
Only in Gaza;
Despite the pain,
People remain.
Not just survivors,
But warriors.
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His Plan
“Lord Aedan!” Auberon whirls. “Get your bannermen here and arrest
Malleus. My son as well. And then we will deal with the human-loving
peasant mob outside.”
Aedan lifts his chin. “I think I prefer to stay out of this, Your Majesty.
Like the Dream Stalker, I have a great aversion to unnecessary death.”
As he speaks, I recall the poisons in his bedroom with a shudder. Man
loves his poisons.
Auberon pounds the table. “My son thrives on death. What is the
meaning of this?”
Aedan stands. “I tend to agree with Prince Talan. The kingdom has been
mismanaged, and that is the cause of the unrest now.”
Every word planted in his brain by Talan long ago.
“This is treason!” Arwenna’s father, the Marquis de Bosclair, gets to his
feet. “You will do as our king demands.”
“I will not.” Aedan looks resolute. “It is time to take a stand.”
The marquis’s cheeks turn pink. “Once we’ve dealt with the
commoners, I will march my own armies against any noble who refused to
obey His Majesty. The king is correct. Any commoners marching on the
king are trying to aid our enemies. They’re working for the filthy humans
who spread the famine. They’re our enemy within our kingdom, and we
must deal with them the way we do any threat to the crown.”
“That’s nonsense.” Ker-Ys’s shrill voice rises. “They’re not helping the
humans, and they’re not demi-Fey. They’re just starving. I stand with Prince
Talan.”
And here before me, each strand of Talan’s plan weaves together in
perfect precision.
Months of whispering dreams into nobles’ ears, of sowing thoughts like
threads—now, his schemes stitch themselves into place, a tapestry worthy
of Elaine of Shalott’s loom. He’s even managed to construct it so that KerYs has looked like his enemy. For months, he’s been controlling Ker-Ys to
oppose him. Now, I realize, it
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?”
People rarely “do wrong” because they’re evil. They do it because something inside them is damaged, missing, distorted, or unresolved. Most of what you call “sin” is just pain acting through a person.
They Finally Banged
I swear I’m not doing it on purpose, but my hips shift back again. His
muscles tense. His hand slides around my waist in a protective embrace.
His fingers tighten on me, right above my hip bone. “Nia.” His voice
sounds deep and husky.
“Yes, Raphael?”
“This is a terrible idea.” His breath warms my throat. “Especially since
you screamed that I’ve never been good enough for you, and I never would
be.”
My cheeks flush. “Did I scream that?”
“Yes, and it sounded like you meant it.”
“Ten years ago, you kissed me, then entirely stopped speaking to me. It
seemed very much like it was happening again.”
He leans closer, murmuring, “You don’t know why I stopped speaking
to you back then, do you?”
“Because you thought I was a spoiled American.”
“No, I started to fall for you the moment I saw you. I thought you were
perfect. I still do. But your mother explained to me that you were mistaken.
She said you thought I was rich, and she knew I wasn’t. She told me that
you were looking for someone wealthy. She said the moment you realized I
was a grape picker, you’d be gone. She was very persuasive at the time. I
believed her then, but I don’t anymore.”
My jaw drops. “Oh, gods. She really said that to you?” I wish I could
say that sort of thing wasn’t in her character. “You know what, I’m not as
shocked by this as I should be.”
My body presses into his.
You’re what I’ve been missing all these years. His thoughts echo in my
mind.
Was this the first time I was hearing his thoughts? My mind flashes back
to the vineyards all those years ago, when our fingers touched, and I heard
the words beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…
