Buongiorno a tutti.
Erano mesi che tentavo di leggere questo libro e non capisco davvero cosa mi impedisse di farlo, anche perché l’ho adorato, come i precedenti libri della serie. Se non la conoscete, datele una possibilità perché ne vale davvero la pena. La seria racchiude un sacco di elementi particolarmente interessanti: avrete assassini, principi, re e regine, streghe e il Popolo Fatato. I libri sono particolari e molto ben scritti quindi provate a leggerli e fatemi sapere che ne pensate!
She didn’t have a black gown fit for mourning, but Aelin figured Sam would have preferred to see her in something bright and lovely anyway. So she wore a tunic the color of spring grass, its sleeves capped with dusty golden velvet cuffs. 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, which was back now to its normal honey-gold.
Rowan had stayed near the little iron gate, leaning against one of those oaks to keep passersby on the quiet city street behind them from noticing him. If they did, his black clothes and weapons painted him as a mere bodyguard.
She had planned to come alone. But this morning she’d awoken and just … needed him with her.
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:
Sam Cortland
Beloved
Arobynn had left it blank—unmarked. But Wesley had explained in his letter how he’d asked the tombstone carver to come. She approached the grave, reading it over and over.
Beloved—not just by her, but by many.
Sam. Her Sam.
For a moment, she stared at that stretch of grass, at the white stone. For a moment she could see that beautiful face grinning at her, yelling at her, loving her. She opened her fist of pebbles and picked out the three loveliest—two for the years since he’d been taken from her, one for what they’d been together. Carefully, she placed them at the apex of the headstone’s curve.
Then she sat down against the stone, tucking her feet beneath her, and rested her head against the smooth, cool rock.
“Hello, Sam,” she breathed onto the river breeze.
She said nothing for a time, content to be near him, even in this form. The sun warmed her hair, a kiss of heat along her scalp. A trace of Mala, perhaps, even here.Chapter 39 – QUEEN OF SHADOES [THRONE OF GLASS #4] di Sarah J. Maas
