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Sarah J. Maas

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“Bryce clamped her fingers around his. 'You might see yourself that way, but I see you, too, Athalar. I see your kindness and your... whatever.' She squeezed his hand for emphasis. 'I see all the shit you conveniently forget. Briggs is a bad person. He might have once gotten into the human rebellion for the right reasons, but he is a bad person. You aren't. You will never be. End of story.' 'This bargain I've got with Micah suggests otherwise-' 'You're not like him.”

“I have fun with you, Quinlan. Despite how terrible this case is, despite all of it, I haven't had fun like this in a while.' In ever. He could have sworn she blushed. 'Hang with me, Athalar,' she said, trying to wipe the grime off her legs and hands from kneeling at the grate entrance, 'and you might get rid of that sick up your ass after all.”

“There are thirty-six photos on your four-year-old phone, and all of them are of dismembered bodies,' she said. Someone gasped across the store. Hunt gritted his teeth. 'Say it a little louder, Quinlan.' She frowned. 'You never take any others?' 'Of what?' 'Oh, I don't know- of life? A pretty flower or good meal or something?' 'What's the point?' She blinked, then shook her head. 'Weirdo.' And before he could stop her, she'd angled his phone in front of her, beamed from ear to ear, and snapped a photo of herself before she handed it back to him. 'There. One non-corpse photo.”

“I know you'll keep going forward, Quinlan- even if it sucks.' 'What makes you so sure of it?' His feet were silent as he crossed the kitchen. She tipped back her head to hold his stare. 'Because you pretend to be irreverent and lazy, but deep down, you don't give up. Because you know that if you do, then they win. All the asp-holes, as you called them, win. So living, and living well- it's the greatest fuck you that you can ever give them.' 'That's why you're still fighting.' He ran a hand ver the tattoo on his brow. 'Yes.' She let out a hmm, stirring the mixture in the pain again. 'Well then, Athalar. I guess it'll be you and me in the trenches for a while longer.' He smiled at her, more openly than he'd dared do with anyone in a long while. 'You know,' he said, 'I think I like the sound of that.”

“Hunt hissed to Bryce through his gritted teeth, thunder cracking above him, 'I heard what you said.' Pump, pump, pump went his powerful arms. 'What you waited to admit until I was almost dead, you fucking coward.' His lightning surged into her, sending her body arcing off the ground as he tried to jump-start her heard. He snarled in her ear. 'Now come say it to my face.”

“What is it you want, exactly?' Hunt asked, surveying a stall full of ancient knives. 'A boyfriend or mate or husband who will just sit there, with no opinions, and agree to everything you say, and never dare to ask you for anything?' 'Of course not.' 'Just because I'm male and have an opinion doesn't make me into some psychotic, domineering prick.”

“Closer and closer, they hauled her like a bucking horse toward the open cell door. The two waiting guards sniggered, eyes on the flap of the robe that fell open as she kicked, revealing her thighs, her stomach, everything to them. Elide sobbed, even as she knew the tears would do her no good. They just laughed, devouring her with their eyes— Until a hand with glittering iron nails shoved through the throat of one of them, puncturing it wholly. The guards froze, the one at the door whirling at the spray of blood— He screamed as his eyes were slashed into ribbons by one hand, his throat shredded by another. Both guards collapsed to the ground, revealing Manon Blackbeak standing behind them. Blood ran down her hands, her forearms. And Manon’s golden eyes glowed as if they were living embers as she looked at the two guards gripping Elide. As she beheld the disheveled robe. They released Elide to grab their weapons, and she sagged to the floor. Manon just said, “You’re already dead men.” And then she moved.”

“His tunic was unbuttoned at the top, and he ran a hand through his blue-black hair before he wordlessly slumped against the wall across from me and slid to the floor. 'What do you want?' I demanded. 'A moment of peace and quiet,' he snapped, rubbing his temples. I paused. 'From what?' He massaged his pale skin, making the corners of his eyes go up and down, out and in. He sighed. 'From this mess.' I sat up farther on my pallet of hay. I'd never seen him so candid. 'That damned bitch is running me ragged,' he went on and dropped his hands from his temples to lean his head against the wall. 'You hate me. Imagine how you'd feel if I made you serve in my bedroom. I'm High Lord of the Night Court- not her harlot.' So the slurs were true. And I could imagine very easily how much I would hate him- what it would do to me- to be enslaved to someone like that. 'Why are you telling me this?' The swagger and nastiness were gone. 'Because I'm tired and lonely, and you're the only person I can talk to without putting myself at risk.' He let out a low laugh. 'How absurd: a High Lord of Prythian and a -' 'You can leave if you're just going to insult me.' 'But I'm so good at it.' He flashed one of his grins. I glared at him, but he sighed.”

“Stay, I begged. Stay. Light glowed beyond my shut eyelids. Stay. And in that silence... I began to tell him. About that first night I'd seen him. When I'd heard that voice beckoning me to the hills. When I couldn't resist its summons, and now... now I wondered if I had heard him calling for me on Calanmai. If it had been his voice that brought me there that night. I told him how I had fallen in love with him- every glance and passed note and croak of laughter he coaxed from me. I told him of everything we'd done, and what it had meant to me, and all that I still wanted to do. All the life still left before us. And in return... a thud sounded. I opened my eyes. Another thud. And this his chest rose, lifting my head with it. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe- A hand brushed my back. Then Rhys groaned. 'If we're all here, either things went very, very wrong or very right.' Cassian's broken laugh cracked out of him. I couldn't lift my head, couldn't do anything but hold him, savouring every heartbeat and breath and the rumble of his voice as Rhys rasped, 'You lot will be pleased to know... My power remains my own. No thieving here.' 'You do know how to make an entrance,' Helion drawled. 'Or should I say exit?' 'You're horrible,' Viviane snapped. 'That's not even remotely funny-' I didn't hear what else they said. Rhys sat up, lifting me off him. He brushed away the hair clinging to my damp cheeks. 'Stay with the High Lord,' he murmured. I hadn't believed it- until I looked into that face. Those star-flecked eyes. Hadn't let myself believe it wasn't anything but some delusion- 'It's real,' he said, kissing my brow.”

“Everything was black, and warm- and thick. Inky, but bordered with gold. I was swimming, kicking for the surface, where Tamlin was waiting, where life was waiting. Up and up, frantic for air. The golden light grew, and the darkness became like sparkling wine, easier to swim through, the bubbles fizzing around me, and- I gasped, air flooding my throat. I was lying on the cold floor. No pain- no blood, no broken bones. I blinked. A chandelier dangled above me- I'd never noticed how intricate the crystals were, how the hushed gasp of the crowd echoed off them. A crowd- meaning I was still in the throne room, meaning I... I truly wasn't dead. Meaning I had... I had killed those... I had... The room spun. I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but- the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I'd laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt- felt strong, and fast and sleek. And- And I'd become High Fae.”