Ev Gençleri
Türkiye'de milyonlarca gencin yaşadığı ama çoğu zaman yüzeysel tartışılan bir gerçek var: "Ev Genci" olgusu. Uluslararası literatürde NEET (Not in Education, Employment, or Training) olarak adlandırılan bu durum, bir gencin ne eğitimde ne istihdamda ne de herhangi bir meslekî eğitim programında yer almaması anlamına gelmektedir. Türkiye'de bu kavram, eğitim ve üretim süreçlerinin tamamen dışında kalan gençleri ifade eder. Resmî analizler genellikle 15-24 yaş aralığına odaklansa da güncel tartışmalarda üniversite sonrası geçiş dönemini de kapsaması nedeniyle 15-29 yaş aralığı daha gerçekçi bir çerçeve sunar. Son veriler,
Long Live the Queen
Not an official throne—just a larger, finer chair that had been selected
from the sad lot of candidates.
Darrow, too, stared toward the open doors, face impassive. Yet his
eyes glowed.
The trumpets rang out.
A four-note summons. Repeated three times.
Pews groaned as everyone twisted to the doors.
Behind the dais, hidden beyond a painted wooden screen, a small
group of musicians began playing a processional. Not the grand,
sprawling orchestra that might accompany an event of this magnitude,
but better than nothing.
It didn’t matter anyway.
Not as Elide appeared in a lilac gown, a garland of ribbons atop her
braided black hair. Every step limped, and Rowan knew it was because
she had asked Lorcan not to brace her foot. She’d wanted to make this
walk down the long aisle on her own two feet.
Poised and graceful, the Lady of Perranth kept her shoulders thrown
back as she clutched the bouquet of holly before her and walked to the
dais. Lady of Perranth—and one of Aelin’s handmaidens. For today.
For Aelin’s coronation.
Elide was halfway down the aisle when Lysandra appeared, clad in
green velvet. People murmured. Not just at the remarkable beauty, but
what she was.
The shape-shifter who had defended their kingdom. Had helped take
down Erawan.
Lysandra’s chin remained high as she glided down the aisle, and
Aedion’s own head lifted at the sight of her. The Lady of Caraverre.
Then came Evangeline, green ribbons in her red-gold hair, beaming,
those scars stretched wide in utter joy. The young Lady of Arran.
Darrow’s ward. Who had somehow melted the lord’s heart enough for
Hangi tür kitapları seviyorsun?
🔎 Polisiye
💕 Romantik
🚀 Bilim Kurgu
🏰 Fantastik
📖 Klasik
🧠 Kişisel Gelişim
🏛️ Tarih
😱 Gerilim
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
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.
“I am the right hand man of the one who would save the world… And you and your friend are invited to be a part of that. He waits for you, in the Crystal Hills of Abu Dhabi… He is Ra’s Al Ghul, and your training is not complete.”
The willpower miracle was physical exercise.
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