..but if I can be allowed a mediocre generalization, don't pointless things have a place, too, in this far-from-perfect fetched world? Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it'd lose even its imperfection.
The white wolf
The white wolf was watching her again.
Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius ran an ironclad finger over
the rim of the stone altar on which she lay.
As much movement as she could manage.
Cairn had left her here this time. Had not bothered moving her to the
iron box against the adjacent wall.
A rare reprieve. To wake not in darkness, but in flickering firelight.
The braziers were dying, beckoning in the damp cold that pressed to
her skin. To whatever wasn’t covered by the iron.
She’d already tugged on the chains as quietly as she could. But they
held firm.
They’d added more iron. On her. Starting with the metal gauntlets.
She did not remember when that was. Where that had been. There had
only been the box then.
The smothering iron coffin.
She had tested it for weaknesses, over and over. Before they’d sent
that sweet-smelling smoke to knock her unconscious. She didn’t know
how long she’d slept after that.
When she’d awoken here, there had been no more smoke.
She’d tested it again, then. As much as the irons would allow. Pushing
with her feet, her elbows, her hands against the unforgiving metal. She
didn’t have enough room to turn over. To ease the pain of the chains
digging into her. Chafing her.
The lash wounds etched deep into her back had vanished. The ones
that had cleaved her skin to the bone. Or had that been a dream, too?
She had drifted into memory, into years of training in an assassin’s
keep. Into lessons where she’d been left in chains, in her own waste,
until she figured out how to remove them.
But she’d been bound with that training in mind. Nothing she tried in
the cramped dark had worked.
Reklam
One of the main tasks of the mind is to fight or remove that emotional pain, which is one of the reasons for its incessant activity, but all it can ever achieve is to cover it up temporarily. In fact, the harder the mind struggles to get rid of the pain, the greater the pain. The mind can never find the solution, nor can it afford to allow you to find the solution, because it is itself an intrinsic part of the "problem."
Sayfa 45 - incessant: sürekli
Where is his wife?
“Where is Aelin.”
There was pure panic, too—pure panic as Whitethorn saw the blood, the
scattered blades, and the shirt.
“Where is Aelin.”
What had he done, what had he done—
Pain sliced Lorcan’s neck, warm blood dribbled down his throat, his
chest.
Rowan hissed, “Where is my wife?”
Lorcan swayed where he knelt.
Wife.
Wife.
“Oh, gods,” Elide sobbed as she overheard, the words carrying the
sound of Lorcan’s own fractured heart. “Oh, gods …”
And for the first time in centuries, Lorcan wept.
Rowan dug the dagger deeper into Lorcan’s neck, even as tears slid
down Lorcan’s face.
What that woman had done …
Aelin had known. That Lorcan had betrayed her and summoned Maeve
here. That she had been living on borrowed time.
And she had married Whitethorn … so Terrasen could have a king.
Perhaps had been spurred into action because she knew Lorcan had already
betrayed her, that Maeve was coming …
And Lorcan had not helped her.
Whitethorn’s wife.
His mate.
Aelin had let them whip and chain her, had gone willingly with Maeve,
so Elide didn’t enter Cairn’s clutches. And it had been just as much a
sacrifice for Elide as it had been a gift to him.
She had bowed to Maeve.
For Elide.
And I think yes, I wouldn’t mind doing the kind of work that would remove Adam Kent from this world. A traitor like him does not deserve to live.
Reklam
Reklam