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Sarah J. Maas

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“And then that voice from behind her said her name again. "Celaena." They had done this. Her bloody fingers slid down Dorian's face, to his neck. He just stared at her, suddenly still. "Celaena," a familiar voice said. A warning. They had did this. They had betrayed her. Betrayed Nehemia. They had taken her away. Her nail brushed Dorian's exposed throat. "Celaena," the voice said. Celaena slowly turned. Chaol stared at her, a hand on his sword. The sword she'd brought to the warehouse- the sword she'd left there. Archer had told her that Chaol had known they were going to do this. He had known. She shattered completely, and launched herself at him.”

“Dorian could only stare at her. This was different from the feral creature she'd become the night Nehemia had died. What she was right now, the edge on which she was balancing... Wyrd help them all. But than Chaol was at her chair, grasping her elbow. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Celaena looked up at him and smiled sweetly. "Your job, apparently." She shook off his grip with a thrash, then got up from her seat, stalking around the table.”

“A feral smile, and he grabbed her by the chin--not hard enough to hurt, but to get her to look at him. "First thing," he breathed, "we're not friends. I'm still training you, and that means you're still under my command." the flicker of hurt must have shown, because he leaned closer, his grip tightening on her jaw. "Second--whatever we are, whatever this is? I'm still figuring it out, too. So if I'm going to give you the space you deserve to sort yourself out, then you can damn well give it to me.”

“I am glad we’re not ordinary, Elentiya.” Nehemia was smiling into the darkness of the carriage. “It’d be so boring if we were.” Celaena grinned. “Incredibly boring.” “And, for what it’s worth, I’d pick you over a thousand ordinary and extraordinary friends. I think even if we just met on the street, even if I just saw you in passing, I’d know what you are.” Celaena cocked her head to the side. “An assassin?” Nehemia’s dark eyes were bright as she shook her head. “The sister of my heart.”

“He didn’t even have time to cry out as she swept his feet out from under him, nor did he have time to raise his weapon before she crouched over his chest, the iron-coated tip of the staff at his throat. She brought her mouth close to his ear. “My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered. “But it makes no difference if my name’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.” She smiled at him as she stood. He just stared up at her, his bloody nose leaking down the side of his cheek. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and dropped it on his chest. “You can keep that,” she said before she walked off the veranda.”

“Celaena threw her weight into the dagger she held aloft, and gained an inch. His arms strained. She was going to kill him. She truly going to kill him. He made himself look into her eyes, look at the face so twisted with rage that he couldn't find her. "Celaena," he said, squeezing her wrists so hard that he hoped the pain registered somewhere- wherever she had gone. But she still wouldn't lossen her grip on the blade. "Celaena, I'm your friend." She stared at him, panting through gritted teeth, her breath coming quicker and quicker before she roared, the sound filling the room, his blood, his world: "You will never be my friend. You will always be my enemy." She bellowed the last word with such soul-deep hated that he felt it like a punch to the gut. She surged again, and he lost his grip on the wrist that held the dagger. The blade plunged down.”

“The world slowed to the beat of an ancient, ageless drum. Celaena behold the room. The blood was everywhere. Before the bed, Nehemia's bodyguards lay with their throats cut from ear to ear, their internal organs spilling out onto the floor. And on the bed... On the bed... She could hear the shouts growing closer, reaching the room, but their words were somehow muffled, as though she were underwater, the sounds coming from the surface above. Celaena stood in the center of the freezing bedroom, gazing at the bed, and the princess's broken body atop it. Nehemia was dead.”

“After a moment, his father looked up from the list and surveyed her. "Well done, Champion. Well done indeed." Then Celaena and the King of Adarlan smiled at each other, and it was the most terrifying thing Dorian had ever seen. "Tell my exchequer to give you double last month's payment," the king said. Dorian felt his gorge rise- not just for the severed head and her blood- stiffened clothing, but also for the fact that he could not, for the life of him, find the girl had loved anywhere in her face. And from Chaol's expression, he knew his friend felt the same. Celaena bowed dramatically to the king, flourishing a hand before her. Then, with a smile devoid of any warmth, she stared down Chaol before stalking from the room, her dark cape sweeping behind her. Silence.”

“... the doors to his father's council room were thrown open and Celaena prowled in, her dark cape billowing behind her. All twenty men at the table fell silent, including his father, whose eyes went straight to the thing dangling from Celaena's hand. Chaol was already striding across the room from his post by the door. But he, too, stopped when he beheld the object she carried. A head. The man's face was still set in a scream, and there was something vaguely familiar about the grotesque feature and mousy brown hair that she gripped. It was hard to be certain as it swung from her gloved fingers.”

“Tamlin's claws punched out. 'Even if I risked it, you're untrained abilities render your presence more of a liability than anything.' It was like being hit with stones- so hard I could feel myself cracking. But I lifted my chin and said, 'I'm coming along whether you want me to or not.' 'No, you aren't.' He strode right through the door, his claws slashing the air at his sides, and was halfway down the steps before I reached the threshold. Where I slammed into an invisible wall. I staggered back, trying to reorder my mind around the impossibility of it. It was identical to the one I'd built that day in the study, and I searched inside the shards of my soul, my heart, for a tether to that shield, wondering if I'd blocked myself, but- there was no power emanating from me. I reached a hand to the open air of the doorway. And met solid resistance. 'Tamlin,' I rasped. But he was already down the front drive, walking towards the looming iron gates. Lucien remained at the foot of the stairs, his face so, so pale. 'Tamlin,' I said again, pushing against the wall. He didn't turn. I slammed my hand into the invisible barrier. No movement- nothing but hardened air. And I had not learned about my own powers enough to try to push through, to shatter it... I had let him convince me not to learn those things for his sake- 'Don't bother trying,' Lucien said softly, as Tamlin cleared the gates and vanished- winnowed. 'He shielded the entire house around you. Others can go in and out, but you can't. Not until he lifts the shield.' He'd locked me in here. I hit the shield again. Again. Nothing. 'Just- be patient, Feyre,' Lucien tried, wincing as he followed after Tamlin. 'Please. I'll see what I can do. I'll try again.' I barely heard him over the roar in my ears. Didn't wait to see him pass the gates and winnow, too. He'd locked me in. He'd sealed me inside the house. I hurtled for the nearest window in the foyer and shoved it open. A cool spring breeze rushed in- and I shoved my hand through it- only for my fingers to bounce off an invisible wall. Smooth, hard air pushed against my skin. Breathing became difficult. I was trapped. I was trapped inside this house. I might as well have been Under the Mountain. I might as well have been inside that cell again- I backed away, my steps too light, too fast, and slammed into the oak table in the centre of the foyer. None of the nearby sentries came to investigate. He'd trapped me in here; he'd locked me up. I stopped seeing the marble floor, or the paintings on the walls, or the sweeping staircase looming behind me. I stopped hearing the chirping of the spring birds, or the sighing of the breeze through the curtains. And then crushing black pounded down and rose up beneath, devouring and roaring and shredding. It was all I could do to keep from screaming, to keep from shattering into ten thousand pieces as I sank onto the marble floor, bowing over my knees, and wrapped my arms around myself. He'd trapped me; he'd trapped me; he'd trapped me- I had to get out, because I'd barely escaped from another prison once before, and this time, this time- Winnowing. I could vanish into nothing but air and appear somewhere else, somewhere open and free. I fumbled for my power, for anything, something that might show me the way to do it, the way out. Nothing. There was nothing and I had become nothing, and I couldn't even get out- Someone was shouting my name from far away. Alis- Alis. But I was ensconced in a cocoon of darkness and fire and ice and wind, a cocoon that melted the ring off my finger until the folden ore dripped away into the void, the emerald tumbling after it. I wrapped that raging force around myself as if it could keep the walls from crushing me entirely, and maybe, maybe buy me the tiniest sip of air- I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out; I couldn't get out-”

“I doubted the stone and iron of the building could hold any of us, certainly not together, but... Letting them shut us in here to wait... It rubbed against some nerve. Made my body restless, a cold sweat breaking out. Too small, not enough air... It's all right, Rhys soothed. This place cannot hold you. I nodded, though he hadn't spoken, trying to swallow the feeling of the walls and ceiling pushing on me. Nesta was watching me carefully. I admitted to her, 'Sometimes... I have problems with small spaces.' Nesta studied me for a long moment. And then she said with equal quiet, though we could all hear, 'I can't get into a bathtub anymore. I have to use buckets.' I hadn't known- hadn't even thought that bathing, submerging in water... I knew better than to touch her hand. But I said, 'When we get home, we'll install something else for you.' I could have sworn there was gratitude in her eyes- that she might have said something else when horses approached.”

“Cassian asked, 'What stair did you make it to?' 'One hundred eleven.' Nesta didn't rise. 'Pathetic.' Her fingers pushed into the floor, but her body didn't move. 'This stupid House wouldn't give me wine.' 'I figured that would be the only motivator to make you risk ten thousand stairs.' Her fingers dug into the stone floor once more. He threw her a crooked smile, glad for the distraction. 'You can't get up, can you?' Her arms strained, elbows buckling. 'Go fly into a boulder.' Cassian pushed off the wall and reached her in three strides. He wrapped his hands under her arms and hauled her up. She scowled at him the entire time. Glared at him some more when she swayed and he gripped her tighter, keeping her upright. 'I knew you were out of shape,' he observed, stepping away when she'd proved she wasn't about to collapse, 'but a hundred steps? Really?' 'Two hundred, counting the ones up,' she grumbled. 'Still pathetic.' She straightened her spine and raised her chin. Keep reaching out your hand. Cassian shrugged, turning toward the hall and the stairwell that would take him up to his rooms. 'If you get tired of being weak as a mewling kitten, come to training.' He glanced over a shoulder. Nesta still panted, her face flushed and furious. 'And participate.”

“There's nothing wrong with being a party girl. I don't get why the world thinks there is.' But she considered her words. 'It's easier for me- when people assume the worst about what I am. It lets me see who they really are.' 'So you're saying you think I'm really an asshole?' A Corner of his mouth curled up. But her eyes were dead serious. 'I've met and dealt with a lot of assholes, Hunt. You're not one of them.”

“You're telling me this now?' 'I got sidetracked,' he said, his eyes twinkling. And the light in those eyes, the quiet joy... They knocked the breath from me. A future- we would have a future together. I would have a future. A life. His smile faded into something awed, something... reverent, and I reached out to cup his face in my hands- To find my skin glowing. Faintly, as if some inner light shone beneath my skin, leaking out into the world. Warm and white light, like the sun- like a star. Those wonder-filled eyes met mine, and Rhys ran a finger down my arm. 'Well, at least now I can gloat that I literally make my mate glow with happiness.' I laughed, and the glow flared a little brighter. He leaned in, kissing me softly, and I melted for him, wrapping my arms around his neck.”

“The House had a taste for romance novels. Nesta stayed up later than she should have to finish the one it had left the day before, and when she returned to her room that evening, another was waiting. 'Don't tell me you somehow read these?' She leafed through the volume on her nightstand. In answer, two more books thumped on the surface. Each one utterly filthy. Nesta let out a small chuckle. 'It must get awfully dull up here.' A third book plopped atop the others. Nesta laughed again, a rusty, hoarse sound. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. A true, belly-deep laugh. Maybe before her mother had died. She'd certainly had nothing to laugh about once they'd fallen into poverty. Nesta nodded toward the desk. 'No dinner tonight?' Her bedroom door only swung open to reveal the dimly lit hallway. 'I've had enough of him for one day.' She'd barely been able to speak to Cassian for the rest of their lesson, unable to stop thinking of how he'd put up a wall without her so much as saying a word, anticipating that she would go after him, assuming that she was so awful she couldn't have a normal conversation. That she'd mock him about his mother and their pain. 'I'd rather stay here.' The door opened wider. Nesta sighed. Her stomach ached with hunger. 'You're as much a busybody as the rest of them,' she muttered, and aimed for the dining room.”

“I took it upon myself to add your presents to the communal trove.' I lifted my brows. 'Everyone gave you their gifts?' 'He's the only one who can be trusted not to snoop,' Mor explained. I looked toward Azriel. 'Even him,' Amren said. Azriel gave me a guilty cringe. 'Spymaster, remember?' 'We started doing it two centuries ago,' Mor went on. 'After Rhys caught Amren literally shaking a box to figure out what was inside.' Amren clicked her tongue as I laughed. 'What they didn't see was Cassian down here ten minutes earlier, sniffing each box.' Cassian threw her a lazy smile. 'I wasn't the one who got caught.' I turned to Rhys. 'And somehow you're the most trustworthy one?' Rhys looked outright offended. 'I am a High Lord, Feyre darling. Unwavering honour is built into my bones.' Mor and I snorted.”

“And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organise party-planning committees?' Lucien's metal eye clicked faintly and narrowed. 'You can be as much of an asshole as that mate of yours, you know that?' True. I sighed again. 'I'm sorry. I just-' 'I don't have anywhere else to go.' Before I could object, he said. 'You ruined any chance I have of going back to Spring. Not to Tamlin, but to the court beyond his house. Everyone either still believes the lies you spun or they believe me complicit in your deceit. And as for here...' He shook off my grip and headed for the door. 'I can't stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can't stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“You make me so very happy. My life is happy, and I will never stop being grateful that you are in it. I looked up to find him not at all ashamed to have tears slipping down his cheeks in public. I brushed a few away before the chill wind could freeze them, and Rhys whispered into my ear, 'I will never stop being grateful to have you in my life, either, Feyre darling. And no matter what lies ahead' - a small, joyous smile at that- 'we will face it together. Enjoy every moment of it together.' I leaned into him again, his arm tightening around my shoulders. Around the top of the arm inked with the tattoo we both bore, the promise between us. To never part, not until the end. And even after that. I love you, I said down the bond. What's not to love? Before I could elbow him, Rhys kissed me again, breathless and swift. To the stars who listen, Feyre. I brushed a hand over his cheek to wipe away the last of his tears, his skin warm and soft, and we turned down the street that would lead us home. Toward our future- and all that waited within it. To the dreams that are answered, Rhys.”

“I want to draw you,' I said. 'As my birthday present to me.' His smile was positively feline. I added, flipping open my sketchbook and turning to the first page, 'You said once that nude would be best.' Rhys's eyes glowed, and a whisper of his power through the room had the curtains parting, flooding the space with midmorning sunshine. Showing every glorious naked inch of him sprawled across the bed, illuminating the faint reds and golds of his wings. 'Do your worst, Cursebreaker.”

“Whatever he said or did, Tamlin decided he wishes to remain in solitude.' His russet eye darkened. 'Your mate should have known better than to kick a downed male.' 'I can't say I'm particularly sorry that he did.' 'You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled. Tread carefully.' I didn't want to think about it, consider it, today. Any day. 'My business with him is done.' 'Yours might be, but Rhys's isn't. And you'd do well to remind your mate of that fact.”