Throne of Glass

After all, you aren’t Adarlan’s Assassin for nothing.

“My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered. “But it makes no difference if my name’s Celaena or Lillian or Bitch, because I’d still beat you, no matter what you call me.”

He didn’t know why, but seeing her made him feel like a man.

I am Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan’s Assassin. If these men knew who I was, they’d stop laughing. I am Celaena Sardothien. I am going to win. I will not be afraid.

When she awoke every morning, she repeated the same words: I will not be afraid. For a year, those words had meant the difference between breaking and bending; they had kept her from shattering in the darkness of the mines.

Even if she won her freedom . . . even if she lived in peace in the countryside . . . those scars would always remind her of what she’d endured. And that even if she was free, others were not.

Even if she won her freedom . . . even if she lived in peace in the countryside . . . those scars would always remind her of what she’d endured. And that even if she was free, others were not.

“Give me real men to fight. Then maybe I’ll bother trying.”

“Are you planning on biting the cue again? Because if you are, I’d like to invite the court painter so I can forever remember the sight.”

“Don’t you ever do anything other than read?” said Chaol.