Celaena Sardothein has changed her identity and stepped into a new school to escape her past. Will she be successful in keeping it a secret and yet uncovering the reason for her torment? Dabbling with dark past, new school, friendship, bullies and p...
Almost 4000 words. Got to be the longest one of this book. Could have divided into 2 but why not? It has scenes from the series, modified to fit this book. If you have stuck reading this until now, you know I do that. Tell me what you thought of the end of the chapter though.
Also, the quote from the last chapter was:
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No one could find it though, so I'm guessing you guys haven't read the other series by Sarah J Mass, ACOTAR, ACOMAF and ACOWAR, or didn't notice it. Happy Reading!
She didn't have a black dress fit for mourning, but Aelin figured Sam would have preferred to see her in something bright and lovely anyway. So she wore an oversized green sweater, the color of spring grass, it's sleeves going beyond her hands. It was the one Sam had gifted her . Life, she thought as she strode through the small, pretty graveyard overlooking the Avery. The clothes Sam would have wanted her to wear reminded her of life.
The graveyard was empty, but the headstones and grass were well kept, and the towering oaks were budding with new leaves. A breeze coming in off the glimmering river set them sighing and ruffled her unbound hair, in its normal honey-gold glory.
Rowan had stayed near the little iron gate, leaning against one of those oaks to keep an eye on the passersby on the quiet city street behind them. If they were behind her like Kaltain, and his black clothes and weapons didn't paint him as a threat, his body language did.
She had planned to come alone. But yesterday morning she'd awoken and just ... needed someone with her. Not just someone, Rowan
The new grass cushioned each step between the pale headstones bathed in the sunlight streaming down.
She picked up pebbles along the way, discarding the misshapen and rough ones, keeping those that gleamed with bits of quartz or color. She clutched a fistful of them by the time she approached the last line of graves at the edge of the large, muddy river flowing lazily past.
It was a lovely grave—simple, clean—and on the stone was written:
