There was a scrape and crunch of shoes, then a small, smooth hand slid toward her. But it was not Chaol or Sam or Nehemia who lay across from her, watching her with those sad turquoise eyes. Her cheek against the moss, the young princess she had been-Aelin Galathynius-reached a hand for her. "Get up," she said softly. Celaena shook her head. Aelin strained for her, bridging that rift in the foundation of the world. "Get up." A promise-a promise for a better life, a better world. The Valg princes paused. She had wasted her life, wasted Marion's sacrifice. Those slaves had been butchered because she had failed-because she had not been there in time. "Get up," someone said beyond the young princess. Sam. Sam, standing just beyond where she could see, smiling faintly. "Get up," said another voice-a woman's. Nehemia. "Get up." Two voices together-her mother and father, faces grave but eyes bright. Her uncle was beside them, the crown of Terrasen on his silver hair. "Get up," he told her gently. One by one, like shadows emerging from the mist, they appeared. The faces of the people she had loved with her heart of wildfire. And then there was Lady Marion, smiling beside her husband. "Get up," she whispered, her voice full of that hope for the world, and for the daughter she would never seen again."
( Sarah J. Maas )
[ Heir of Fire ]
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