Heir of Fire

She was the heir of ash and fire, and she would bow to no one.

You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.

And then I am going to rattle the stars.

I claim you, Rowan Whitethorn. I don't care what you say and how much you protest. I claim you as my friend.

...her dearest friends are characters in books.

Their hands clasped between them, he whispered into her ear, "I claim you, too, Aelin Galathynius.

Because I am lost," she whispered onto the earth. "And I do not know the way.

She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius—­and she would not be afraid.

I claim you, Aelin. To whatever end.

You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you've committed. And I know this because I've been doing the same damn thing for two hundred years. Tell me, do you think you will go to some blessed Afterworld, or do you expect a burning hell? You're hoping for hell--because how could you face them in the Afterworld? Better to suffer, to be damned for eternity and--

It would not take a monster to destroy a monster - but light, light to drive out darkness.

The people you love are just weapons that will be used against you.

You didn't need a weapon at all when you were born one.

Chaol kept his sword drawn. “I will not go to Anielle,” he growled. “And I will not serve you a moment longer. There is one true king in this room—­there always has been. And he is not sitting on that throne.” Dorian stiffened. But Chaol went on. “There is a queen in the north, and she has already beaten you once. She will beat you again. And again. Because what she represents, and what your son represents, is what you fear most: hope. You cannot steal it, no matter how many you rip from their homes and enslave. And you cannot break it, no matter how many you murder.

What are you doing?” “What?” Emrys didn’t raise his voice as he said, “To that girl. What are you doing that makes her come in here with such emptiness in her eyes?” “That’s none of your concern.” Emrys pressed his lips into a tight line. “What do you see when you look at her, Prince?” He didn’t know. These days, he didn’t know a damn thing. “That’s none of your concern, either.” Emrys ran a hand over his weathered face. “I see her slipping away, bit by bit, because you shove her down when she so desperately needs someone to help her back up.

As for Celaena," he said again, "you do not have the right to wish she were not what she is. The only thing you have a right to do is decide whether you are her enemy or her friend.

Gods, he was brilliant. Cunning and wicked and brilliant. Even when he beat the hell out of her. Every. Damn. Day.

Because she is dead!" She screamed the last word so loudly it burned in her throat. "Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!

Witches didn't need blood to survive, but humans didn't need wine, either.

He'd known, since the moment he figured out who she was, that while Celaena would always pick him, Aelin would not.

She realized that Rowan saw each of those thoughts and more as he reached into his tunic and pulled out a dagger. Her dagger. He extended it to her, it's long blade gleaming as if he'd been secretly polishing and caring for it these months. And when she grasped the dagger, it's weight lighter than she remembered, Rowan looked into her eyes, into her very core of her, and said, 'Fireheart'.

She had lied to him. She had wanted to save lives, yes. But she had gone out there with no intention of saving her own.

I wish you to become who you ­were born to be. To become queen.

Celaena shuddered. "This conversation's become far too awful to have after eating." she said, slumping against the pillows. "Tell me which one of your little cadre is the handsomest, and if he would fancy me." Rowan choked. "The thought of you with any of my companions makes my blood run cold." "They're that awful? Your kitty-cat friend looked decent enough." Rowan's brows rose high. "I don't think my kitty-cat friend would know what to do with you-nor would any of the others. It would likely end in bloodshed." She kept grinning, and he crossed his arms. "They would likely have very little interest in you, as you'll be old and decrepit soon enough and thus not worth the effort it would take to win you." She rolled her eyes. "Killjoy.

Her cheek against the moss, the young princess she had been - Aelin Galathynius - reached a hand for her. 'Get up', she said softly.

It was a long story, and sometimes she grew quiet and cried - and during those times he leaned over to wipe away her tears.

You don't bite the women of other males.

And he looked lonely enough that she said, 'If you like, you could be my friend'.

All she knew was that whatever and whoever climbed out of that abyss of despair and grief would not be the same person who had plummeted in.

He would see that world reborn, even if it took his last breath. Even if he had no name now, no position or title save Oath-Breaker, Traitor, Liar.