Deleted Scene from Heir of Fire, Book 3 of the Throne of Glass Series



This content was written by Sarah J. Maas and is the property of her and the property of Bloomsbury Publishing.


“What’s your favorite food?” Lounging on a boulder like a lizard in the sun, Celaena chucked a nut in the air and caught it in her mouth.

“Whatever keeps me alive at the moment,” Rowan said from beside her, forearms braced on his knees as he monitored the foothills and valleys of Wendlyn rippling away below.

She clicked her tongue, “could you be any more of an animal?”

He slid a glance in her direction, lifting a brow as if to say, you remember what my other form is, don’t you? When she only scowled, he sighed. “There’s a street vendor in Doranelle who sells meat on a stick.”

“Meat on a stick,” Celaena said as steadily as she could, fighting to keep her lips in a straight line.

“And I suppose yours is some confection or useless bit of sugar.”

“Sweets aren’t useless. And yes. I’d crawl over hot coals for a piece of chocolate hazelnut cake right now.” Lies. The last time she’s had it, it had been with Chaol. She wasn’t sure she could ever eat it again.

“What good could that possibly be for keeping your body strong? With your magic, you’d burn through it and be hungry within half an hour.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Your priorities are obscenely out of order. Not all food is for survival and strength-building. You didn’t even try one of the chocolates from that town. I guarantee the moment you do, every time I turn my back, you’ll be shoveling them down.”

The thought of Rowan doing it made her clamp her lips together again. She knew he’d make her start training the moment she started howling, so she quickly asked, “favorite color?”

“Green”

“I’m surprised you actually know.”

He narrowed his eyes, but said, “what’s yours?”

“For a while, I made myself believe it was blue. But-it’s always been red. You probably know why.”

He made an affirmative sound.

Celaena lay down and raised a hand above her, threading a line of fire through her fingers. She plaited it between her knuckles, then snaked it down her palm until it curled around her wrist, twining and slithering along her skin.

“Good,” Rowan said. “Your control is improving.”

“Mmmhmm.” She lifted her other hand, and rings of flame encircled her fingers. She set to work on carving the flames, forging them into individual patterns.