To be an artist means: not to calculate and count; to grow and ripen like a tree which does not hurry the flow of its sap and stands at ease in the spring gales without fearing that no summer may follow. It will come. But it comes only to those who are patient, who are simply there in their vast, quiet tranquillity, as if eternity lay before them. It is a lesson I learn every day amid hardships I am thankful for: patience is all!
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.
Reklam
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
FİNALLY
he Piedmont air is hot, heavy, sticky. Like the deepest hole of summer, even though it’s only spring. I’ve never started sweating so quickly. Even the breeze is warm, offering no respite as it rolls across the flat, hot concrete. The landing field is awash with floodlights, so bright it almost crowds out the stars. In the distance, more jets line up. Some are forest green, same as the ones I saw in Caesar’s Square. Airjets like the Blackrun, as well as bigger cargo craft. Montfort, I realize as the dots connect in my brain. The white triangle on their wings is their mark. I saw it before, back at Tuck on crates of equipment and on the twins’ uniforms. Peppered in with the Montfort crafts are deep blue jets, as well as yellow-and-white ones, their wings painted in stripes. The first are Lakelander, the second from Piedmont itself. Everything around us is well-organized and, judging by hangars and outbuildings, well funded.
Clearly, we’re on a military base, and not the kind the Scarlet Guard is used to.
Both Cal and Cameron look just as surprised as I do.
“I just spent six months a prisoner, and you’re telling me I know more about our operations than the both of you?” I scoff at them.
Cal looks sheepish. He’s a general; he’s Silver; he was born a prince. Being confused and helpless deeply unsettles him.
Cameron just bristles. “Took you just a few hours to regain your self-righteousness. Must be a new record.”
She’s right, and it stings. I hurry to catch her, Cal at my side. “I just—sorry. I thought this would be easier.”
A hand at the small of my back bleeds warmth, soothing my muscles. “What do you know that we don’t?” Cal asks, his voice achingly gentle. Part of me wants to shake him out of it. I’m not a doll—not Maven’s doll, no one’s—and I’m in control again.
It’s a beautiful spring day; the sky is just visible above the wires, tauntingly blue.
Measurements taken by Toscanelli’s gnomon would assist in the replacement of the Julian calendar, which had been implemented as early as 46 bc. A slight inaccuracy in this calendar resulted in the addition of three-quarters of an hour every four years. By the 1500s, the spring equinox (when the hours of day and night are equal) appeared on the Julian calendar ten days earlier than it actually took place. In 1582, Pope Gregory XIII would introduce the Gregorian calendar, which is still in use to this day.
Reklam
Reklam