Celaena opened her arms wide, Goldryn burning bright in one hand. “Behold my power, Maeve. Behold what I grapple with in the deep dark, what prowls under my skin.”

Celaena exhaled a breath and extinguished each and every flame in the city.

The power wasn't in might or skill. It was in the control — the power lay in controlling herself.

I'm going to call in old debts and promises. To raise an army of assassins and thieves and exiles and commoners.

Aelin was no savior to rally behind, but a cataclysm to be weathered.

Aelin had promised herself, months and months ago, that she would not pretend to be anything but what she was. She had crawled through darkness and blood and despair-she had survived.

Aedion touched her shoulder. "Welcome home, Aelin."

A land of towering mountains-the Stagehorns-spread before them, with valleys and rivers and hills; a land of untamed, wild beauty.

Terrasen.

And the smell-of pine and snow.. How had she never realized that Rowan's scent was of Terrasen, of home? Rowan came close enough to graze her shoulder and murmured, "I feel as if I've been looking for this place my entire life.

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