“‘As my friend, you should either bring me along, or keep me company.’
‘Friend?’ he asked.
She blushed. ‘Well, ‘scowling escort’ is a better description. Or ‘reluctant acquaintance,’ if you prefer.’”
“‘No matter what happens,’ she said quietly, ‘I want to thank you.’
Chaol tilted his head to the side. ‘For what?’
Her eyes stung, but she blamed it on the fierce wind and blinked away the dampness. ‘For making my freedom mean something.’”
“His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his cheek against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly, and yet she felt utterly calm—as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them. She pictured his fingers, pushing against that line of chalk, reaching for her despite the barrier between them.”
“With each day, he felt the barriers melting. He let them melt. Because of her genuine laugh, because he caught her one afternoon sleeping with her face in the middle of a book, because he knew that she would win.”
“‘Celaena,’ Chaol said gently. And then she heard the scraping noise as his hand came into view, sliding across the flagstones. His fingertips stopped just at the edge of the white line. ‘Celaena,’ he breathed, his voice laced with pain—and hope. This was all she had left—his outstretched hand, and the promise of hope, of something better waiting on the other side of the line.”
“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.”
“She had made a vow—a vow to free Eyllwe. So in between moments of despair and rage and grief, in between thoughts of Chaol and the Wyrdkeys and all she’d left behind and lost, Celaena had decided on one plan to follow when she reached these shores.”