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Thisone’sforthephenomenalworldwideteamatBloomsbury:thankyouformakingmydreamscometrue

Andformycunningandbrillianteditor,Margaret:thankyouforbelievinginCelaenafrompageone

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Contents

Map

TheAssassinandThePirateLordTheAssassinandTheHealerTheAssassinandTheDesertTheAssassinandTheUnderworldTheAssassinandTheEmpire

AcknowledgmentsAlsobySarahJ.Maas

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Map

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THEASSASSINANDTHE

PIRATELORD

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CHAPTER1

Seated in the council room of the Assassins’ Keep, Celaena Sardothienleanedback inherchair. “It’spast four in themorning,” shesaid,adjustingthefoldsofhercrimsonsilkdressinggownandcrossingherbarelegsbeneaththewoodentable.“Thishadbetterbeimportant.”“Perhaps if you hadn’t been reading all night, you wouldn’t be so

exhausted,”snappedtheyoungmanseatedacrossfromher.Sheignoredhimandstudiedthefourotherpeopleassembledintheundergroundchamber.Allmale,allfarolder thanshe,andallrefusingtomeetherstare.Achill

thatdidn’thavetodowiththedraftyroomrandownherspine.Pickingathermanicured nails, Celaena schooled her features into neutrality. The fiveassassinsgatheredatthelongtable—includingherself—werefiveofArobynnHamel’ssevenmosttrustedcompanions.This meeting was undeniably important. She’d known that from the

moment the serving girl pounded on her door, insisting Celaena comedownstairs and not even bother to get dressed.When Arobynn summonedyou,youdidn’tkeephimwaiting.Thankfully,hersleepwearwasasexquisiteasherdaytimewardrobe—andcostnearlyasmuch.Still,beingsixteen inaroomwithmenmadeherkeepaneyeonthenecklineofherrobe.Herbeautywasaweapon—oneshekepthoned—butitcouldalsobeavulnerability.ArobynnHamel,Kingof theAssassins, loungedat theheadof the table,

hisauburnhairshininginthelightfromtheglasschandelier.Hissilvereyesmethers,andhefrowned.Itmighthavejustbeenthelatehour,butCelaenacouldhaveswornthathermentorwaspalerthanusual.Herstomachtwisted.“Gregori’s been caught,” Arobynn finally said.Well, that would explain

one personmissing from thismeeting. “Hismission was a trap. He’s nowbeingheldintheroyaldungeons.”Celaenasighedthroughhernose.Thiswaswhyshe’dbeenawakened?She

tappedaslipperedfootonthemarblefloor.“Thenkillhim,”shesaid.She’dneverlikedGregori,anyway.Whenshewasten,she’dfedhishorse

abagofcandyandhe’dthrownadaggeratherheadforit.She’dcaughtthedagger, of course, and ever since,Gregori had borne the scar on his cheekfromherreturnthrow.“KillGregori?”demandedSam,theyoungmanseatedatArobynn’sleft—a

placethatusuallywenttoBen,Arobynn’ssecond-in-command.CelaenaknewverywellwhatSamCortland thought of her.She’dknown since theywerechildren,whenArobynn took her in and declared her—notSam—tobe hisprotégéeandheir.Thathadn’tstoppedSamfromtryingtoundermineherateveryturn.Andnow,atseventeen,Samwasstillayearolderthanshe,andhestillhadn’tforgottenthathewouldalwaysbesecondbest.ShebristledatthesightofSaminBen’sseat.Benwouldprobablythrottle

Samfor itwhenhearrived.Or shecould just saveBen theeffort anddo itherself.CelaenalookedtoArobynn.Whyhadn’thereprimandedSamforsittingin

Ben’s place? Arobynn’s face, still handsome despite the silver starting toshow in his hair, remained impassive. She hated that unreadable mask,especiallywhen controlling her own expressions—and temper—remained ataddifficult.“IfGregori’sbeencaught,”Celaenadrawled,brushingbackastrandofher

long, golden hair, “then the protocol’s simple: send an apprentice to slipsomethingintohisfood.Nothingpainful,”sheaddedasthemenaroundhertensed.“Justenoughtosilencehimbeforehetalks.”WhichGregorimightverywelldo,ifhewasintheroyaldungeons.Most

criminalswhowentintherenevercameoutagain.Notalive.Andnotinanyrecognizableshape.Thelocationof theAssassins’Keepwasawell-guardedsecret,oneshe’d

beentrainedtokeepuntilherlastbreath.Butevenifshedidn’t,noonewaslikely tobelieve thatanelegantmanorhouseonaveryrespectablestreet inRiftholdwashometosomeofthegreatestassassinsintheworld.Whatbetterplacetohidethaninthemiddleofthecapitalcity?“Andifhe’salreadytalked?”challengedSam.“And if Gregori’s already talked,” she said, “then kill everyone who

heard.”Sam’sbrowneyesflashedasshegavehimalittlesmilethatsheknewmadehimirate.CelaenaturnedtoArobynn.“Butyoudidn’tneedtodragusheretodecidethis.Youalreadygavetheorder,didn’tyou?”Arobynnnodded,hismouthathinline.Samchokedbackhisobjectionand

looked toward the crackling hearth beside the table. The firelight cast thesmooth, elegant panes of Sam’s face into light and shadow—a face, she’dbeen told, that could have earned him a fortune if he’d followed in hismother’s footsteps. But Sam’smother had opted instead to leave himwithassassins,notcourtesans,beforeshedied.Silencefell,anda roaringnoise filledherearsasArobynn tookabreath.

Somethingwaswrong.

“What else?” she asked, leaning forward.Theother assassins focusedonthetable.Whateverhadhappened,theyknew.Whyhadn’tArobynntoldherfirst?Arobynn’ssilvereyesbecamesteel.“Benwaskilled.”Celaena gripped the arms of her chair. “What?” Ben—Ben, the ever-

smilingassassinwhohadtrainedherasoftenasArobynnhad.Ben,whohadoncemendedhershatteredrighthand.Ben,theseventhandfinalmemberofArobynn’s innercircle.Hewasbarelythirtyyearsold.Celaena’s lipspulledbackfromherteeth.“Whatdoyoumean,‘killed’?”Arobynn eyed her, and a glimmer of grief flashed across his face. Five

years Ben’s senior, Arobynn had grown up with Ben. They’d been trainedtogether;BenhadseentoitthathisfriendbecametheunrivaledKingoftheAssassins, and never questioned his place asArobynn’s Second.Her throatclosedup.“ItwassupposedtobeGregori’smission,”Arobynnsaidquietly.“Idon’t

knowwhyBenwas involved.Orwhobetrayed them.They foundhisbodynearthecastlegates.”“Doyouhavehisbody?”shedemanded.Shehadtoseeit—hadtoseehim

onelasttime,seehowhe’ddied,howmanywoundsithadtakentokillhim.“No,”Arobynnsaid.“Whythehellnot?”Herfistsclenchedandunclenched.“Because the place was swarming with guards and soldiers!” Sam burst

out,andshewhippedherheadtohim.“Howdoyouthinkwelearnedaboutthisinthefirstplace?”ArobynnhadsentSamtoseewhyBenandGregoriweremissing?“If we’d grabbed his body,” Sam said, refusing to back down from her

glare,“itwouldhaveledthemrighttotheKeep.”“You’re assassins,” she growled at him. “You’re supposed to be able to

retrieveabodywithoutbeingseen.”“Ifyou’dbeenthere,youwouldhavedonethesame.”Celaenapushedherchairbacksoharditflippedover.“IfI’dbeenthere,I

would have killed all of them to get Ben’s body back!” She slammed herhandsonthetable,rattlingtheglasses.Samshot tohis feet, a handon thehilt of his sword. “Oh, listen toyou.

OrderingusaboutlikeyouruntheGuild.Butnotyet,Celaena.”Heshookhishead.“Notyet.”“Enough,”Arobynnsnapped,risingfromhischair.CelaenaandSamdidn’tmove.Noneof theotherassassinsspoke, though

they gripped their variousweapons. She’d seen firsthandwhat fights at the

Keepwerelike;theweaponswereasmuchforthebearers’ownsafetyastheyweretopreventherandSamfromdoingseriousdamagetoeachother.“Isaid,enough.”IfSamtookonesteptowardher,drewhisswordafractionofaninch,that

concealeddaggerinherrobewouldfinditselfanewhomeinhisneck.Arobynnmovedfirst,grabbingSam’schininonehand,forcingtheyoung

mantolookathim.“Checkyourself,orI’lldoitforyou,boy,”hemurmured.“You’reafoolforpickingafightwithhertonight.”Celaenabitdownonherreply.ShecouldhandleSamtonight—oranyother

night,forthatmatter.Ifitcamedowntoafight,she’dwin—shealwaysbeatSam.ButSamreleasedthehiltofhissword.Afteramoment,Arobynnremoved

hisgriponSam’sface,butdidn’tstepaway.Samkepthisgazeonthefloorashe strode to the far side of the council room.Crossing his arms, he leanedagainstthestonewall.Shecouldstillreachhim—oneflickofherwrist,andhisthroatwouldspoutblood.“Celaena,”Arobynnsaid,hisvoiceechoinginthesilentroom.Enough blood had been spilled tonight; they didn’t need another dead

assassin.Ben.Benwas dead and gone, and she’d never again run into him in the

hallsoftheKeep.He’dneversetherinjurieswithhiscool,defthands,nevercoaxalaughfromherwithajokeoralewdanecdote.“Celaena,”Arobynnwarnedagain.“I’mdone,”Celaenasnapped.Sherolledherneck,runningahandthrough

herhair.Shestalkedtothedoor,butpausedonthethreshold.“Just so you know,” she said, speaking to all of them but still watching

Sam,“I’mgoing to retrieveBen’sbody.”Amuscle feathered inSam’s jaw,thoughhewiselykepthiseyesaverted.“Butdon’texpectme toextend thesamecourtesytotherestofyouwhenyourtimecomes.”With that, she turnedonherheel andascended the spiral staircase to the

manorabove.Fifteenminuteslater,noonestoppedherwhensheslippedoutthefrontgateandintothesilentcitystreets.

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CHAPTER2

Two months, three days, and about eight hours later, the clock on themantelchimednoon.CaptainRolfe,LordofthePirates,waslate.Thenagain,so were Celaena and Sam, but Rolfe had no excuse, not when they werealreadytwohoursbehindschedule.Notwhentheyweremeetinginhisoffice.Anditwasn’therfaultforbeingtardy.Shecouldn’tcontrolthewinds,and

thoseskittishsailorshadcertainlytakentheirtimesailingintothearchipelagooftheDeadIslands.Shedidn’twanttothinkabouthowmuchgoldArobynnhadspentbribingacrewtosail intotheheartofpirateterritory.ButSkull’sBaywasonanisland,sotheyhadn’treallyhadachoiceabouttheirmodeoftransportation.Celaena, concealed behind a far-too-stuffy black cloak, tunic, and ebony

mask,rosefromherseatbeforethePirateLord’sdesk.Howdarehemakeherwait!Heknewpreciselywhytheywerehere,afterall.Three assassins had been foundmurdered by pirate hands, andArobynn

hadsenthertobehispersonaldagger—toextractretribution,preferablythegoldkind,forwhattheirdeathswouldcosttheAssassins’Guild.“With every minute he makes us wait,” Celaena said to Sam, the mask

makingherwords lowandsoft,“I’maddinganextra tengoldpieces tohisdebt.”Sam,whodidn’twearamaskoverhishandsomefeatures,crossedhisarms

and scowled. “You’ll do no such thing. Arobynn’s letter is sealed, and it’sgoingtoremainthatway.”NeitherofthemhadbeenparticularlyhappywhenArobynnannouncedthat

SamwouldbesenttotheDeadIslandswithCelaena.EspeciallywhenBen’sbody—whichCelaenahadretrieved—hadbarelybeeninthegroundfortwomonths.Thestingoflosinghimhadn’texactlywornoff.HermentorhadcalledSamanescort,butCelaenaknewwhathispresence

meant: awatchdog.Not that she’ddo anythingbadwhen shewas about tomeet the Pirate Lord of Erilea. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Eventhough the tiny,mountainous island and ramshackle port city hadn’t reallymademuchofanimpressionsofar.She’dbeenexpectingamanorhouseliketheAssassins’Keep,oratleasta

fortified,agingcastle,but thePirateLordoccupied theentire top floorofa

rathersuspecttavern.Theceilingswerelow,thewoodenfloorscreaked,andthe cramped room combined with the already-sizzling temperature of thesouthern islandsmeantCelaenawas sweatingbuckets beneathher clothing.Butherdiscomfortwasworthit:asthey’dstrodethroughSkull’sBay,headshad turned at the sight of her—the billowing black cape, the exquisiteclothing, and themask transformed her into awhisper of darkness.A littleintimidationneverdidanyharm.Celaenawalked to thewooden desk and picked up a piece of paper, her

black-glovedhandsturningitovertoreadthecontents.Aweatherlog.Howdull.“Whatareyoudoing?”Celaenaliftedanotherpieceofpaper.“IfHisPiratenesscan’tbebothered

tocleanforus,thenIdon’tseewhyIcan’thavealook.”“He’ll be here any second,” Samhissed. She picked up a flattenedmap,

examining the dots and markings along the coastline of their continent.Somethingsmallandroundgleamedbeneaththemap,andsheslippeditintoherpocketbeforeSamcouldnotice.“Oh,hush,”shesaid,opening thehutchon thewalladjacent to thedesk.

“With these creaky floors, we’ll hear him a mile off.” The hutch wascrammedwith rolled scrolls, quills, the odd coin, and some very old, veryexpensive-lookingbrandy.Shepulledoutabottle,swirlingtheamberliquidin the sunlight streaming through the tiny porthole window. “Care for adrink?”“No,” Sam snapped, half-twisting in his seat to watch the door. “Put it

back.Now.”Shecockedherhead,twirledthebrandyoncemoreinitscrystalbottle,and

setitdown.Samsighed.Beneathhermask,Celaenagrinned.“He can’t be a very good lord,” she said, “if this is his personal office.”

SamgaveastifledcryofdismayasCelaenaploppedintothegiantarmchairbehindthedeskandsetaboutopeningthepirate’sledgersandturningoverhispapers.Hishandwritingwascrampedandnear-illegible,hissignaturenothingmorethanafewloopsandjaggedpeaks.Shedidn’tknowwhatshewaslookingfor,exactly.Herbrowsroseabitat

the sight of a piece of purple, perfumed paper, signed by someone namedJacqueline.She leanedback in thechair,proppingherfeeton thedesk,andreadit.“Damnit,Celaena!”She raisedherbrows,but realizedhecouldn’t see.Themaskandclothes

wereanecessaryprecaution,onethatmadeitfareasiertoprotectheridentity.

Infact,allofArobynn’sassassinshadbeensworntosecrecyaboutwhoshewas—underthethreatofendlesstortureandeventualdeath.Celaenahuffed,thoughherbreathonlymadetheinterioroftheinsufferable

mask hotter. All that the world knew about Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan’sAssassin,wasthatshewasfemale.Andshewantedtokeepitthatway.Howelse would she be able to stroll the broad avenues of Rifthold or infiltrategrandpartiesbyposingasforeignnobility?AndwhileshewishedthatRolfecould have the chance to admire her lovely face, she had to admit that thedisguisealsomadeherratherimposing,especiallywhenthemaskwarpedhervoiceintoagrowlingrasp.“Getback inyour seat.”Sam reached for a sword thatwasn’t there.The

guardsattheentrancetotheinnhadtakentheirweapons.Ofcourse,noneofthem had realized that Sam and Celaena were weapons themselves. TheycouldkillRolfejustaseasilywiththeirbarehands.“Oryou’llfightme?”Shetossedtheloveletterontothedesk.“Somehow,I

don’t think that’dmake a favorable impression on our new acquaintances.”She crossed her arms behind her head, gazing at the turquoise sea visiblebetweenthedilapidatedbuildingsthatmadeupSkull’sBay.Samhalf-rosefromhischair.“Justgetbackinyourseat.”“I’vespentthepasttendaysatsea.WhyshouldIsitinthatuncomfortable

chairwhenthisone’sfarmoresuitedtomytastes?”Samletoutagrowl.Beforehecouldspeak,thedooropened.Samfroze,butCelaenaonlyinclinedherheadingreetingasCaptainRolfe,

LordofthePirates,enteredhisoffice.“I’mgladtoseeyou’vemadeyourselfathome.”Thetall,dark-hairedman

shut the door behind him. Boldmove, consideringwhowaswaiting in hisoffice.Celaena remained where she sat. Well, he certainly wasn’t what she’d

expected. Itwasn’teveryday thatshewassurprised,but…she’d imaginedhimtobeabitdirtier—andfarmoreflamboyant.Consideringthetalesshe’dheardofRolfe’swild adventures, shehad troublebelieving that thisman—lean but notwiry,well dressed but not overtly so, and probably in his latetwenties—wasthelegendarypirate.Perhapshe,too,kepthisidentityasecretfromhisenemies.Samstood,bowinghishead slightly. “SamCortland,”he saidbywayof

greeting.Rolfeextendedahand,andCelaenawatchedhistattooedpalmandfingers

as theyclaspedSam’sbroadhand.Themap—thatwas themythicmap thathe’dsoldhissoultohaveinkedonhishands.Themapoftheworld’soceans

—themapthatchangedtoshowstorms,foes…andtreasure.“Isupposeyoudon’tneedanintroduction.”Rolfeturnedtoher.“No.”Celaenaleanedbackfartherinhisdeskchair.“IsupposeIdon’t.”Rolfe chuckled, a crooked smile spreading across his tanned face. He

stepped to the hutch, giving her the chance to examine him further. Broadshoulders, head held high, a casual grace to hismovements that camewithknowinghehadall thepowerhere.Hedidn’thaveasword,either.Anotherboldmove.Wise, too, given that they could easilyusehisweapons againsthim.“Brandy?”heasked.“No,thankyou,”Samsaid.CelaenafeltSam’seyesharduponher,willing

hertotakeherfeetoffRolfe’sdesk.“Withthatmaskon,”Rolfemused,“Idon’tthinkyoucouldhaveadrink,

anyway.”Hepouredbrandy for himself and took a long sip. “Youmust beboilinginallthatclothing.”Celaena lowered her feet to the ground as she ran her hands along the

curvededgeofhisdesk,stretchingoutherarms.“I’musedtoit.”Rolfedrankagain,watchingher foraheartbeatover therimofhisglass.

Hiseyeswereastrikingshadeofseagreen,asbrightasthewaterjustafewblocksaway.Loweringtheglass,heapproachedtheendofthedesk.“Idon’tknowhowyouhandle things in theNorth,butdownhere,we like toknowwhowe’respeakingto.”Shecockedherhead.“Asyousaid,Idon’tneedanintroduction.Andasfor

theprivilegeofseeingmybeautifulface,I’mafraidthat’ssomethingfewmenreceive.”Rolfe’stattooedfingerstightenedontheglass.“Getoutofmychair.”Across the room, Sam tensed. Celaena examined the contents of Rolfe’s

desk again. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You really need toworkonorganizingthismess.”Shesensedthepirategrabbingforhershoulderandwasonherfeetbefore

his fingers could graze the blackwool of her cloak.He stood a good headtallerthanher.“Iwouldn’tdothatifIwereyou,”shecrooned.Rolfe’s eyes gleamedwith the challenge. “You’re inmy city, and onmy

island.”Only a handbreadth separated them. “You’re not in anyposition togivemeorders.”Samclearedhis throat, butCelaena staredup intoRolfe’s face.His eyes

scanned the blackness beneath the hood of her cloak—the smooth blackmask, theshadowsthatconcealedanytraceofherfeatures.“Celaena,”Samwarned,clearinghisthroatagain.“Verywell.” She sighed loudly, and stepped around Rolfe as if he were

nothing but a piece of furniture in herway. She sank into the chair besideSam,whoflashedheraglare thatburnedenoughtomelt theentiretyof theFrozenWastes.She could feel Rolfe watching their every movement, but he merely

adjustedthelapelsofhismidnight-bluetunicbeforesittingdown.Silencefell,interruptedonlybythecryofgullscirclingabovethecityandtheshoutingofpiratescallingtooneanotherinthefilthystreets.“Well?”Rolferestedhisforearmsonthedesk.Samglancedather.Hermove.“Youknowpreciselywhywe’rehere,”Celaenasaid.“Butperhapsallthat

brandy’sgonetoyourhead.ShallIrefreshyourmemory?”Rolfegesturedwithhisgreen,blue,andblackhandforhertocontinue,as

ifhewereakingonhisthronelisteningtothecomplaintsoftherabble.Ass.“Three assassins fromourGuildwere founddead inBellhaven.Theone

thatgotawaytoldustheywereattackedbypirates.”Shedrapedanarmalongthebackofherchair.“Yourpirates.”“Andhowdidthesurvivorknowtheyweremypirates?”She shrugged. “Perhaps it was the tattoos that gave them away.” All of

Rolfe’smenhadtheirwriststattooedwithanimageofamulticoloredhand.Rolfeopenedadrawerinhisdesk,pullingoutapieceofpaperandreading

thecontents.Hesaid,“OnceIcaughtwindthatArobynnHamelmightblameme,Ihad theshipyardmasterofBellhavensendmetheserecords. Itseemstheincidentoccurredatthreeinthemorningatthedocks.”ThistimeSamanswered.“That’scorrect.”Rolfesetdownthepaperandliftedhiseyesskyward.“Soifitwasthreein

themorning,andit tookplaceatthedocks—whichhavenostreetlamps,asI’msureyouknow”—shedidn’t—“thenhowdidyourassassinseealloftheirtattoos?”Beneathhermask,Celaenascowled.“Becauseithappenedthreeweeksago

—duringthefullmoon.”“Ah. But it’s early spring. Even up in Bellhaven, nights are still cold.

Unlessmymenwerewithoutcoats,therewasnowayfor—”“Enough,” Celaena snapped. “I suppose that piece of paper has ten

differentpaltryexcusesforyourmen.”Shegrabbedthesatchelfromthefloorandyankedout the two sealeddocuments. “These are for you.”She tossedthemonthedesk.“Fromourmaster.”A smile tugged on Rolfe’s lips, but he pulled the documents to him,

studyingtheseal.Heheldituptothesunlight.“I’msurprisedithasn’tbeentampered with.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. Celaena could sense

Sam’ssmugnessoozingoutofhim.Withtwodeftflicksofhiswrist,Rolfeslicedopenbothenvelopeswitha

letter-knife she somehow hadn’t spotted. How had she missed it? A fool’smistake.InthesilentminutesthatpassedasRolfereadtheletters,hisonlyreaction

was the occasional drumming of his fingers on thewooden desk. The heatwassuffocating,andsweatslippeddownherback.Theyweresupposedtobehere for three days—long enough for Rolfe to gather the money he owedthem.Which,judgingbythegrowingfrownonRolfe’sface,wasquitealot.Rolfe letouta longbreathwhenhe finishedandshuffled thepapers into

alignment.“Yourmasterdrivesahardbargain,”Rolfesaid, lookingfromCelaena to

Sam. “But his terms aren’t unfair. Perhaps you should have read the letterbeforeyoustartedflingingaccusationsatmeandmymen.Therewillbenoretributionforthosedeadassassins.Whosedeaths,yourmasteragrees,werenotmyfaultintheleast.Hemusthavesomecommonsense,then.”Celaenaquelledtheurgetoleanforward.IfArobynnwasn’tdemandingpaymentforthe death of those assassins, then what were they doing here? Her faceburned.She’dlookedlikeafool,hadn’tshe?IfSamsmiledjusttheslightestbit…Rolfe drummed his inked fingers again and ran a hand through his

shoulder-length dark hair. “As for the trade agreement he’s outlined… I’llhave my accountant draw up the necessary fees, but you’ll have to tellArobynn thathecan’texpectanyprofitsuntilat least the second shipment.Possiblythethird.Andifhehasanissuewiththat, thenhecancomedownherehimselftotellme.”Foronce,Celaenawasgrateful for themask. It sounded like they’dbeen

sent for some sort of business investment. Sam nodded at Rolfe—as if heknewexactlywhatthePirateLordwastalkingabout.“AndwhencanwetellArobynntoexpectthefirstshipment?”heasked.Rolfe stuffed Arobynn’s letters into a desk drawer and locked it. “The

slaveswillbehere in twodays—ready foryourdeparture thedayafter. I’llevenloanyoumyship,soyoucantell that tremblingcrewofyoursthey’refreetoreturntoRiftholdtonight,ifitpleasesthem.”Celaenastaredathim.Arobynnhadsentthemherefor…forslaves?How

couldhestoopsodisgustinglylow?AndtotellhershewasgoingtoSkull’sBayforonethingbuttoreallysendherhereforthis…Shefelthernostrilsflare.Samhadknownaboutthisdeal,buthe’dsomehowforgottentomentionthetruthbehindtheirvisit—evenduringthetendaysthey’dspentatsea.Assoon as she got him alone, she’d make him regret it. But for now… she

couldn’tletRolfecatchontoherignorance.“You’dbetternotbotch this,”Celaenawarned thePirateLord.“Arobynn

won’tbepleasedifanythinggoesawry.”Rolfechuckled.“Youhavemyword that itwillallgoaccording toplan.

I’mnotLordofthePiratesfornothing,youknow.”Sheleanedforward,flatteninghervoiceintotheeventonesofabusiness

partnerconcernedabouther investment.“Howlong,exactly,haveyoubeeninvolved in the slave trade?” It couldn’t have been long.Adarlan had onlystartedcapturingandsellingslavestwoyearsago—mostofthemprisonersofwar from whatever territories dared rebel against their conquest. Many ofthemwere fromEyllwe, but therewere still prisoners fromMelisande andFenharrow,ortheisolatedtribeintheWhiteFangMountains.Themajorityofslaves went to Calaculla or Endovier, the continent’s largest and mostnotorious labor camps, tomine for salt and preciousmetals. Butmore andmoreslavesweremakingtheirwayintothehouseholdsofAdarlan’snobility.And for Arobynn to make a filthy trade agreement—some sort of blackmarketdeal…ItwouldsullytheAssassins’Guild’sentirereputation.“Believeme,”Rolfe said, crossing his arms, “I have enough experience.

Youshouldbemoreconcernedaboutyourmaster.Investingintheslavetradeisaguaranteedprofit,buthemightneedtoexpendmoreofhisresourcesthanhe’dlikeinordertokeepourbusinessfromreachingthewrongears.”Herstomachturnedover,butshefeigneddisinterestasbestshecouldand

said, “Arobynn is a shrewd businessman. Whatever you can supply, he’llmakethemostofit.”“Forhissake,Ihopethat’strue.Idon’twanttoriskmynamefornothing.”

Rolfe stood, andCelaena andSam rosewithhim. “I’ll have thedocumentssigned and returned to you tomorrow. For now…”He pointed toward thedoor.“Ihavetworoomspreparedforyou.”“Weonlyneedone,”sheinterrupted.Rolfe’seyebrowsrosesuggestively.Beneathhermask,herfaceburned,andSamchokedonalaugh.“Oneroom,twobeds.”Rolfechuckled,stridingtothedoorandopeningitforthem.“Asyouwish.

I’ll havebathsdrawn for you aswell.”Celaena andSam followedhimoutinto the narrow, dark hallway. “You could both use one,” he addedwith awink.Ittookallofherself-restrainttokeepfrompunchinghimbelowthebelt.

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CHAPTER3

Ittookthemfiveminutestosearchthecrampedroomforanyspyholesorsigns of danger; five minutes for them to lift the framed paintings on thewood-paneledwalls,tapatthefloorboards,sealthegapbetweenthedoorandthefloor,andcoverthewindowwithSam’sweatherwornblackcloak.When she was certain that no one could either hear or see her, Celaena

rippedoffherhood,untiedthemask,andwhirledtofacehim.Sam,seatedonhissmallbed—whichseemedmore likeacot—raisedhis

palmstoher.“Beforeyoubitemyheadoff,”hesaid,keepinghisvoicequietjust in case, “letme say that I went into thatmeeting knowing as little asyou.”Sheglaredathim, savoring the freshaironher sticky, sweaty face.“Oh,

really?”“You’renottheonlyonewhocanimprovise.”Samkickedoffhisbootsand

hoisted himself farther onto the bed. “That man’s as much in love withhimselfasyouare;thelastthingweneedisforhimtoknowthathehadtheupperhandinthere.”Celaenadughernails intoherpalms.“WhywouldArobynnsendushere

without tellingus the truereason?ReprimandRolfe…foracrimethathadnothing to do with him! Maybe Rolfe was lying about the content of theletter.”Shestraightened.“Thatmightverywellbe—”“He was not lying about the content of the letter, Celaena,” Sam said.

“Whywouldhebother?Hehasmoreimportantthingstodo.”Shegrumbledaslewofnastywordsandpaced,herblackbootsclunking

againsttheunevenfloorboards.PirateLordindeed.Thiswasthebestroomhecould offer them? She was Adarlan’s Assassin, the right arm of ArobynnHamel—notsomebackstreetharlot!“Regardless,Arobynnhashisreasons.”Samstretchedoutonhisbedand

closedhiseyes.“Slaves,” she spat, draggingahand throughherbraidedhair.Her fingers

caughtintheplait.“WhatbusinessdoesArobynnhavegettinginvolvedintheslavetrade?We’rebetterthanthat—wedon’tneedthatmoney!”UnlessArobynnwaslying;unlessallofhisextravagantspendingwasdone

with nonexistent funds. She’d always assumed that his wealth was

bottomless.He’dspentaking’sfortuneonherupbringing—onherwardrobealone. Fur, silk, jewels, the weekly cost of just keeping herself lookingbeautiful…Of course, he’d alwaysmade it clear that shewas to pay himback,andshe’dbeengivinghimacutofherwagestodoso,but…Maybe Arobynn wanted to increase what wealth he already had. If Ben

werealive,hewouldn’thavestoodforit.Benwouldhavebeenasdisgustedasshewas.Beinghiredtokillcorruptgovernmentofficialswasonething,buttakingprisonersofwar,brutalizingthemuntiltheystoppedfightingback,andsentencingthemtoalifetimeofslavery…Samopenedaneye.“Areyougoingtotakeabath,orcanIgofirst?”Shehurledhercloakathim.Hecaughtitwithasinglehandandtosseditto

theground.Shesaid,“I’mgoingfirst.”“Ofcourseyouare.”She shot him a dirty look and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the

doorbehindher.

Of all the dinners she’d ever attended, this was by far the worst. Notbecause of the company—which was, she grudgingly admitted, somewhatinteresting—and not because of the food, which looked and smelledwonderful, but simply because she couldn’t eat anything, thanks to thatconfoundedmask.Sam, of course, seemed to take second helpings of everything solely to

mockher.Celaena,seatedatRolfe’sleft,half-hopedthefoodwaspoisoned.Sam had only served himself from the array of meats and stews afterwatchingRolfeeatsomehimself,sothelikelihoodofthatwishcomingtruewasratherlow.“Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, his dark brows rising high on his

forehead.“Youmustbefamished.Orismyfoodnotpleasingenoughforyourrefinedpalate?”Beneath the cape and the cloak and the dark tunic,Celaenawas not just

famished, but also hot and tired. And thirsty. Which, combined with hertemper,usuallyturnedouttobealethalcombination.Ofcourse,theycouldn’tseeanyofthat.“I’mquitefine,”shelied,swirlingthewaterinhergoblet.Itlappedagainst

thesides,tauntingherwitheachrotation.Celaenastopped.“Maybeifyoutookoffyourmask,youmighthaveaneasiertimeeating,”

Rolfe said, taking a bite of roasted duck. “Unlesswhat lies beneath it willmakeusloseourappetites.”

Thefiveotherpirates—allcaptainsinRolfe’sfleet—sniggered.“Keeptalkinglikethat”—Celaenagrippedthestemofhergoblet—“andI

mightgiveyouareasontowearamask.”Samkickedherunderthetable,andshekickedhimback,adeftblowtohisshins—hardenoughthathechokedonhiswater.Someoftheassembledcaptainsstoppedlaughing,butRolfechuckled.She

restedherglovedhandatop thestaineddining table.The tablewasfreckledwithburnsanddeepgouges;ithadclearlyseenitsfairshareofbrawls.Didn’tRolfe haveany taste for luxury? Perhaps he wasn’t so well off, if he wasresortingtotheslavetrade.ButArobynn…ArobynnwasasrichastheKingofAdarlanhimself.Rolfe flicked his sea-green eyes to Sam, who was frowning yet again.

“Haveyouseenherwithoutthemask?”Sam,tohersurprise,grimaced.“Once.”Hegaveheranalltoobelievably

warylook.“Andthatwasenough.”Rolfe studied Sam for a heartbeat, then took another bite of his meat.

“Well, ifyouwon’tshowmeyourface, thenperhapsyou’ll indulgeuswiththetaleofhow,exactly,youbecameprotégéetoArobynnHamel?”“Itrained,”shesaiddully.“Foryears.Wearen’tallluckyenoughtohavea

magicmapinkedonourhands.Someofushadtoclimbtothetop.”Rolfe stiffened, and theother pirates halted their eating.He stared at her

longenoughforCelaenatowanttosquirm,andthensetdownhisfork.Samleanedabitclosertoher,but,sherealized,onlytoseebetterasRolfe

laidbothofhishandspalmuponthetable.Together,hishandsformedamapoftheircontinent—andonlythat.“Thismaphasn’tmoved for eight years.”His voicewas a lowgrowl.A

chillwentdownherspine.Eightyears.ExactlythetimethathadpassedsincetheFaehadbeenbanished and executed,whenAdarlanhad conquered andenslavedtherestofthecontinentandmagichaddisappeared.“Don’tthink,”Rolfecontinued,withdrawinghishands,“thatIhaven’thadtoclawandkillmywayasmuchasyou.”Ifhewasnearlythirty,thenhe’dprobablydoneevenmorekillingthanshe

had.And,fromthemanyscarsonhishandsandface,itwaseasytotellthathe’ddonealotofclawing.“Goodtoknowwe’rekindredspirits,”shesaid.IfRolfewasalreadyused

togettinghishandsdirty, thentradingslaveswasn’tastretch.Buthewasafilthy pirate. They were Arobynn Hamel’s assassins—educated, wealthy,refined.Slaverywasbeneaththem.Rolfe gave her that crooked smile. “Do you act like this because it’s

actually in your nature, or is it just because you’re afraid of dealing withpeople?”“I’mtheworld’sgreatestassassin.”Sheliftedherchin.“I’mnotafraidof

anyone.”“Really?”Rolfe asked. “Because I’m theworld’sgreatest pirate, and I’m

afraidofagreatnumberofpeople.That’showI’vemanagedtostayaliveforsolong.”Shedidn’tdeigntoreply.Slave-mongeringpig.Heshookhishead,smiling

inexactlythesamewayshesmirkedatSamwhenshewantedtopisshimoff.“I’m surprised Arobynn hasn’t made you check your arrogance,” Rolfe

said.“Yourcompanionseemstoknowwhentokeephismouthshut.”Sam coughed loudly and leaned forward. “How did you become Pirate

Lord,then?”Rolferanafingeralongadeepgrooveinthewoodentable.“Ikilledevery

piratewhowasbetterthanme.”Thethreeothercaptains—allolder,allmoreweathered and far less attractive than him—huffed, but didn’t refute it.“Anyonearrogantenoughtothinktheycouldn’tpossiblylosetoayoungmanwithapatchworkcrewandonlyoneshiptohisname.Buttheyallfell,onebyone.Whenyougetareputationlikethat,peopletendtoflocktoyou.”RolfeglancedbetweenCelaenaandSam.“Youwantmyadvice?”heaskedher.“No.”“I’dwatchyourbackaroundSam.Youmightbethebest,Sardothien,but

there’salwayssomeonewaitingforyoutoslip.”Sam,thetraitorousbastard,didn’thidehissmirk.Theotherpiratecaptains

chuckled.CelaenastaredhardatRolfe.Herstomachtwistedwithhunger.She’deat

later—swipesomethingfromthetavernkitchens.“Youwantmyadvice?”Hewavedahand,beckoninghertogoon.“Mindyourownbusiness.”Rolfegaveheralazysmile.

“I don’t mind Rolfe,” Sam mused later into the pitch darkness of theirroom. Celaena, who’d taken first watch, glared toward where his bed layagainstthefarwall.“Of course you don’t,” she grumbled, relishing the free air on her face.

Seatedonherbed,sheleanedagainstthewallandpickedatthethreadsontheblanket.“Hetoldyoutoassassinateme.”Samchuckled.“Itiswiseadvice.”

Sherolledupthesleevesofhertunic.Evenatnight,thisrottenplacewasscorchinghot.“Perhapsitisn’tawiseideaforyoutogotosleep,then.”Sam’smattressgroanedasheturnedover.“Comeon—youcan’ttakeabit

ofteasing?”“Wheremylifeisconcerned?No.”Sam snorted. “Believeme, if I came homewithout you,Arobynnwould

skinmealive.Literally.IfI’mgoingtokillyou,Celaena,it’llbewhenIcanactuallygetawaywithit.”Shescowled.“Iappreciatethat.”Shefannedhersweatingfacewithahand.

She’dsellhersoultoapackofdemonsforacoolbreezerightnow,buttheyhad to keep the window covered—unless she wanted some spying pair ofeyestodiscoverwhatshelookedlike.Though,nowthatshethoughtaboutit,she’d love to see the look on Rolfe’s face if he found out the truth.Mostalreadyknew that shewas a youngwoman, but if heknewhewasdealingwithasixteen-year-old,hispridemightneverrecover.They’d only be here for three nights; they could both gowithout a little

sleepifitmeantkeepingheridentity—andtheirlives—safe.“Celaena?” Sam asked into the dark. “Should I worry about going to

sleep?”Sheblinked,thenlaughedunderherbreath.AtleastSamtookherthreats

somewhatseriously.ShewishedshecouldsaythesameforRolfe.“No,”shesaid.“Nottonight.”“Someothernight,then,”hemumbled.Withinminutes,hewasout.Celaenarestedherheadagainstthewoodenwall,listeningtothesoundof

hisbreathingasthelonghoursofthenightstretchedby.

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CHAPTER4

Evenwhenherturntosleepcame,Celaenalayawake.Inthehoursshe’dspent watching over their room, one thought had become increasinglyproblematic.Theslaves.Perhaps if Arobynn had sent someone else—perhaps if it was just a

businessdealthatshefoundoutaboutlater,whenshewastoobusytocare—she might not have been so bothered by it. But to send her to retrieve ashipment of slaves… people who had done nothing wrong, only dared tofightfortheirfreedomandthesafetyoftheirfamilies…HowcouldArobynnexpecthertodothat?IfBenhadbeenalive,shemight

have found an ally in him; Ben, despite his profession, was the mostcompassionatepersonsheknew.Hisdeathleftavacancythatshedidn’tthinkcouldeverbefilled.Shesweatedsomuchthathersheetsbecamedamp,andsleptsolittlethat

whendawncame,shefeltlikeshe’dbeentrampledbyaherdofwildhorsesfromtheEyllwegrasslands.Samfinallynudgedher—anone-too-gentleproddingwith thepommelof

hissword.Hesaid,“Youlookhorrible.”Deciding to let that set the tone for the day,Celaena got out of bed and

promptlyslammedthebathroomdoor.Whensheemergedawhile later,as freshasshecouldgetusingonly the

washbasinandherhands,sheunderstoodonethingwithperfectclarity.Therewasnoway—noway inanyrealmofHell—thatshewasgoing to

bring those slaves toRifthold.Rolfe couldkeep them for all she cared,butshewouldn’tbetheonetotransportthemtothecapitalcity.ThatmeantshehadtwodaystofigureouthowtoruinArobynnandRolfe’s

deal.Andfindawaytocomeoutofitalive.Sheslunghercapeoverhershoulders,silentlybemoaningthefactthatthe

yards of fabric concealed much of her lovely black tunic—especially itsdelicategoldenembroidery.Well,atleasthercapewasalsoexquisite.Evenifitwasabitdirtyfromsomuchtraveling.“Whereareyougoing?”Samasked.Hesatupfromwhereheloungedon

thebed,cleaninghisnailswith the tipofadagger.Samdefinitelywouldn’thelpher.She’dhavetofindawaytogetoutofthedealonherown.“Ihave somequestions to askRolfe.Alone.”She fastenedhermaskand

strodetothedoor.“IwantbreakfastwaitingformewhenIreturn.”Samwentrigid,hislipsformingathinline.“What?”Celaenapointed to thehallway, toward thekitchen. “Breakfast,” she said

slowly.“I’mhungry.”Samopenedhismouth,andshewaitedfortheretort,butitnevercame.He

bowed deeply. “As you wish,” he said. They swapped particularly vulgargesturesbeforeshestalkeddownthehallway.

Dodging puddles of filth, vomit, and the gods knew what else, Celaenafound it just a tad difficult to match Rolfe’s long stride.With rain cloudsgathering overhead, many of the people in the street—raggedy piratesswaying where they stood, prostitutes stumbling past after a long night,barefoot orphans running amok—had begun migrating into the variousramshacklebuildings.Skull’s Bay wasn’t a beautiful city by any definition, and many of the

leaning and sagging buildings seemed to have been constructed from littlemorethanwoodandnails.Asidefromitsdenizens,thecitywasmostfamousforShip-Breaker,thegiantchainthathungacrossthemouthofthehorseshoe-shapedbay.Ithadbeenaroundforcenturies,andwassolargethat,asitsnameimplied,

it could snap the mast of any ship that came up against it. While mostlydesigned to discourage any attacks, it also kept anyone from sneaking off.Andgiven that the restof the islandwascoveredwith toweringmountains,thereweren’tmanyotherplaces foraship tosafelydock.So,anyship thatwantedtoenterorexit theharborhadtowaitforit tobeloweredunderthesurface—andbereadytopayaheftyfee.“Youhavethreeblocks,”Rolfesaid.“Bettermakethemcount.”Was he deliberately walking fast? Steadying her rising temper, Celaena

focused on the jagged, lush mountains hovering around the city, on theglittering curveof thebay, on thehint of sweetness in the air. She’d foundRolfe just about to leave the tavern to go to a businessmeeting, and he’dagreedtoletheraskquestionsashewalked.“When the slaves arrive,” she said, trying to sound as inconvenienced as

possible, “will I get the chance to inspect them, or can I trust that you’regivingusagoodbatch?”

He shook his head at her impertinence, and Celaena jumped over theoutstretched legs of an unconscious—or dead—drunk in her path. “They’llarrive tomorrow afternoon. I was planning to inspect them myself, but ifyou’resoworriedaboutthequalityofyourwares,I’llallowyoutojoinme.Consideritaprivilege.”She snorted. “Where?Onyour ship?”Better to get a good senseof how

everythingworked,andthenbuildherplanfromthere.Knowinghowthingsoperatedmightcreatesomeideasforhowtomakethedealfallapartwithaslittleriskaspossible.“I’veconverteda large stableat theotherendof the town intoaholding

facility. I usually examine all the slaves there, but since you’re leaving thenextmorning,we’llexamineyoursontheshipitself.”Sheclickedher tongue loudlyenough forhim tohear it. “Andhow long

canIexpectthistotake?”Heraisedaneyebrow.“Youhavebetterthingstodo?”“Justanswerthequestion.”Thunderrumbledinthedistance.Theyreachedthedocks,whichwerebyfarthemostimpressivethingabout

thetown.Shipsofallshapesandsizesrockedagainstthewoodenpiers,andpiratesscurriedalongthedecks, tyingdownvariousthingsbeforethestormhit. On the horizon, lightning flashed above the lone watchtower perchedalong the northern entrance to the bay—the watchtower from which Ship-Breakerwasraisedandlowered.Intheflash,she’dalsoseenthetwocatapultsatop one of the tower landings. If Ship-Breaker didn’t destroy a boat, thenthosecatapultsfinishedthejob.“Don’t worry,Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, striding past the various

tavernsand inns that lined thedocks.Theyhad twoblocks left. “Your timewon’tbewasted.Thoughgettingthroughahundredslaveswilltakeawhile.”Ahundredslavesononeship!Wheredidtheyallfit?“As longasyoudon’t try to foolme,”shesnapped,“I’llconsider it time

wellspent.”“Soyoudon’tfindreasonstocomplain—andI’msureyou’lltryyourbest

to do just that—I have another shipment of slaves being inspected at theholding facility tonight.Why don’t you join me? That way, you can havesomethingtocomparethemtotomorrow.”Thatwouldbeperfect,actually.Perhapsshecouldmerelyclaimtheslaves

weren’tuptoparandrefusetodobusinesswithhim.Andthenleave,noharmdonetoeitherofthem.She’dstillhavetofaceSam—andthenArobynn—but…she’dfigurethemoutlater.Shewavedahand.“Fine,fine.Sendsomeoneformewhenit’stime.”The

humiditywassothickshefeltasifshewereswimmingthroughit.“AndafterArobynn’sslavesareinspected?”Anybitofinformationcouldlaterbeusedas aweapon against him. “Are theymine to look after on the ship, orwillyour men be watching them for me? Your pirates might very well thinkthey’refreetotakewhateverslavestheywish.”Rolfeclenchedthehiltofhissword.Itglintedinthemutedlight,andshe

admiredtheintricatepommel,shapedlikeaseadragon’shead.“IfIgivetheorderthatnooneistotouchyourslaves,thennoonewilltouchthem,”Rolfesaidthroughhisteeth.Hisannoyancewasanunexpecteddelight.“However,I’ll arrange to have a few guards on the ship, if that will make you sleepeasier. I wouldn’t want Arobynn to think I don’t take his investmentseriously.”Theyapproachedablue-painted tavern,whereseveralmen indark tunics

loungedoutfront.AtthesightofRolfe,theystraightened,salutinghim.Hisguards?Whyhadn’tanyoneescortedhimthroughthestreets?“Thatwill be fine,” she said crisply. “I don’twant tobehere any longer

thannecessary.”“I’msureyou’reeagertoreturntoyourclientsinRifthold.”Rolfestopped

infrontofthefadeddoor.Thesignaboveit,swinginginthegrowingstormwinds,saidTHESEADRAGON. Itwasalso thenameofhis famedship,whichwas docked just behind them, and really didn’t look all that spectacular,anyway. Perhaps this was the Pirate Lord’s headquarters. And if he wasmakingherandSamstayat that taverna fewblocksaway, thenperhapshetrustedthemaslittleastheytrustedhim.“IthinkI’mmoreeagertoreturntocivilizedsociety,”shesaidsweetly.Rolfe let out a low growl and stepped onto the threshold of the tavern.

Inside, it was all shadows andmurmuring voices—and reeked of stale ale.Otherthanthat,shecouldseenothing.“Oneday,”Rolfesaid,tooquietly,“someone’sreallygoingmakeyoupay

for that arrogance.”Lightningmadehisgreeneyes flicker. “I justhope I’mtheretoseeit.”Heshutthetaverndoorinherface.Celaenasmiled,andhersmilegrewwiderasfatdropsofrainsplatteredon

therust-coloredearth,instantlycoolingthemuggyair.Thathadgonesurprisinglywell.

“Is it poisoned?” she askedSam,ploppingdownonherbed as a clapofthundershook the tavern to its foundations.The teacuprattled in its saucer,

andshebreathedinthesmelloffresh-bakedbread,sausage,andporridgeasshethrewbackherhoodandremovedhermask.“By them,orbyme?”Samwas sittingon the floor, his back against the

bed.Celaenasniffedallherfood.“DoIdetect…belladonna?”Samgaveheraflatstare,andCelaenasmirkedasshetoreabitefromthe

bread.Theysatinsilenceforafewminutes,theonlysoundsthescrapeofherutensilsagainstthechippedplates,thedrummingoftherainontheroof,andtheoccasionalgroanofathunderheadbreaking.“So,”Samsaid.“Areyougoingtotellmewhatyou’replanning,orshould

IwarnRolfetoexpecttheworst?”Shesippeddaintilyather tea.“Idon’thave the faintest ideawhatyou’re

talkingabout,SamCortland.”“Whatsortof‘questions’didyouaskhim?”Shesetdownherteacup.Rainlashedtheshutters,mufflingtheclinkofher

cupagainstthesaucer.“Politeones.”“Oh?Ididn’tthinkyouknewwhatpolitemeant.”“Icanbepolitewhenitpleasesme.”“Whenitgetsyouwhatyouwant,youmean.Sowhatisityouwantfrom

Rolfe?”Shestudiedhercompanion.He certainlydidn’t seem tohaveanyqualms

about the deal.While hemight not trust Rolfe, it didn’t bother him that ahundred innocentsoulswereabout tobe traded likecattle.“Iwanted toaskhimmoreaboutthemaponhishands.”“Damnit,Celaena!”Samslammedhisfistontothewoodenfloor.“Tellme

thetruth!”“Why?” she asked, giving him a pout. “And how do you know I’m not

tellingthetruth?”Samgot to his feet andbeganpacing the lengthof their small room.He

undidthetopbuttonofhisblacktunic,revealingtheskinbeneath.Somethingabout it felt strangely intimate, and Celaena found herself quickly lookingawayfromhim.“We’vegrownuptogether.”Samstoppedatthefootofherbed.“Youthink

Idon’tknowhowtotellwhenyou’recookingupsomescheme?WhatdoyouwantfromRolfe?”Ifshetoldhim,he’ddoeverythinginhispowertopreventherfromruining

thedeal.Andhavingoneenemywasenough.Withherplanstillunformed,shehadtokeepSamoutofit.Besides,ifworsecametoworst,RolfemightverywellkillSamforbeinginvolved.Orsimplyforknowingher.

“MaybeI’mjustunabletoresisthowhandsomeheis,”shesaid.Samwentrigid.“He’stwelveyearsolderthanyou.”“So?”Hedidn’tthinkshewasserious,didhe?He gave her a look so scathing it could have turned her to ash, and he

stalkedtothewindow,rippinghiscloakdown.“Whatareyoudoing?”Heflungopenthewoodenshutters torevealaskyfullofrainandforked

lightning. “I’m sick of suffocating. And if you’re interested in Rolfe, he’sboundtofindoutwhatyoulooklikeatsomepoint,isn’the?Sowhybotherslowlyroastingtodeath?”“Shutthewindow.”Heonlycrossedhisarms.“Shutit,”shegrowled.When he made no move to close the window, she jumped to her feet,

upsettingthetrayoffoodonhermattress,andshovedhimasidehardenoughforhimtotakeastepback.Keepingherheaddown,sheshutthewindowandshuttersandthrewhiscapeoverthewholething.“Idiot,”sheseethed.“What’sgottenintoyou?”Sam stepped closer, his breath hot on her face. “I’m tired of all the

melodrama and nonsense that happens whenever you wear that ridiculousmaskandcloak.AndI’mevenmoretiredofyouorderingmearound.”Sothat’swhatthiswasabout.“Getusedtoit.”She made to turn to her bed, but he grabbed her wrist. “Whatever plan

you’reconcocting,whateverbitofintrigueyou’reabouttodragmeinto,justrememberthatyou’renotheadoftheAssassins’Guildyet.YoustillanswertoArobynn.”Sherolledhereyes,yankingherwristoutofhisgrasp.“Touchmeagain,”

shesaid,stridingtoherbedandpickingupthespilledfood,“andyou’lllosethathand.”Samdidn’tspeaktoherafterthat.

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CHAPTER5

DinnerwithSamwassilent,andRolfeappearedateighttobringthembothto theholding facility.Samdidn’tevenaskwhere theyweregoing.He justplayedalong,asifhe’dknownthewholetime.Theholdingfacilitywasanenormouswoodenwarehouse,andevenfrom

downtheblock,somethingabouttheplacemadeCelaena’sinstinctsscreamathertogetaway.Thesharpreekofunwashedbodiesdidn’thitheruntiltheystepped inside. Blinking against the brightness of the torches and crudechandeliers,ittookherafewheartbeatstosortoutwhatshewasseeing.Rolfe, striding ahead of them, didn’t falter as he passed cell after cell

packedwithslaves.Instead,hewalkedtowardalargeopenspaceintherearof thewarehouse,where a nut-brownEyllweman stoodbefore a cluster offourpirates.Beside her, Sam let out a breath, his face wan. If the smell wasn’t bad

enough, thepeople in thecells,clinging to thebarsorcoweringagainst thewalls or clutching their children—children—ripped at every shred of herbeing.Asidefromsomeoccasionalmuffledweeping,theslavesweresilent.Some

oftheireyeswidenedatthesightofher.She’dforgottenhowshemustappear—faceless, cloak waving behind her, striding past them like Death itself.Some of the slaves even sketched invisible marks in the air, warding offwhatevereviltheythoughtshewas.Shetookinthelocksonthepens,countingthenumberofpeoplecrammed

into each cell. They hailed from all the kingdoms on the continent. Therewereevensomeorange-haired,gray-eyedmountainclansmen—wild-lookingmenwho trackedhermovements.Andwomen—someof thembarelyolderthanCelaenaherself.Hadtheybeenfighters,too,orjustinthewrongplaceatthewrongtime?Celaena’s heart pounded faster. Even after all these years, people still

defiedAdarlan’sconquest.ButwhatrightdidAdarlan—orRolfe,oranyone—haveto treat themlike this?Conquestwasn’tenough;no,Adarlanhad tobreakthem.Eyllwe, she’d heard, had taken the brunt of it. Though their king had

yieldedhispowertotheKingofAdarlan,Eyllwesoldiersstillcouldbefound

fightingintherebelgroupsthatplaguedAdarlan’sforces.Butthelanditselfwas too vital for Adarlan to abandon. Eyllwe boasted two of the mostprosperouscitiesonthecontinent;itsterritory—richinfarmland,waterways,andforests—wasacrucialveinintraderoutes.Now,itseemed,Adarlanhaddecidedthatitmightmakemoneyoffitspeople,too.ThemenstandingaroundtheEyllweprisonerpartedasRolfeapproached,

bowingtheirheads.Sherecognizedtwoofthemenfromdinnerthepreviousnight: the short, bald Captain Fairview and the one-eyed, hulking CaptainBlackgold.CelaenaandSamstoppedbesideRolfe.TheEyllwemanhadbeen strippednaked, hiswiry body alreadybruised

andbleeding.“Thisonefoughtbackabit,”saidCaptainFairview.Thoughsweatgleamed

ontheslave’sskin,hekepthischinhigh,hiseyesuponsomedistantsight.Hemusthavebeenaroundtwenty.Didhehaveafamily?“Keephim in irons, though,andhe’ll fetchagoodprice,”Fairviewwent

on,wipinghisfaceontheshoulderofhiscrimsontunic.Thegoldembroiderywas fraying, and the fabric,which had probably once been richwith color,wasfadedandstained.“I’dsendhimtothemarketinBellhaven.Lotsofrichmen there needing strong hands to do their building. Or women needingstronghandsforsomethingelseentirely.”HewinkedinCelaena’sdirection.Unyielding rage boiled up so fast the breathwas knocked from her. She

didn’t realizeherhandwasmoving towardhersworduntilSamknottedhisfingers throughhers. Itwas a casual-enoughgesture, and to anyone else, itmight have looked affectionate.But he squeezed her fingers tightly enoughforhertoknowthathewaswellawareofwhatshewasabouttodo.“Howmanyof these slaveswill actuallybedeemeduseful?”Samasked,

releasing her gloved fingers. “Ours are all going to Rifthold, but you’redividingthisbatchup?”Rolfesaid,“Youthinkyourmasteristhefirsttostrikeadealwithme?We

have other agreements in different cities.My partners inBellhaven tellmewhatthewealthyarelookingfor,andIsupplythem.IfIcan’tthinkofagoodplace to sell the slaves, I’ll send them to Calaculla. If your master hasleftovers,sendingthemtoEndoviermightbeagoodoption.Adarlan’sstingywithwhat they’llofferwhenbuyingslavesfor thesaltmines,but it’sbetterthanmakingnomoneyatall.”So Adarlan wasn’t just snatching prisoners from battlefields and their

homes—theywerebuyingslavesfortheSaltMinesofEndovier,too.“Andthechildren?”sheasked,keepinghervoicewasneutralaspossible.

“Wheredotheygo?”

Rolfe’s eyes darkened a bit at that, glimmering with enough guilt thatCelaenawonderediftheslavetradehadbeenalastresortforhim.“Wetrytokeep the children with their mothers,” he said quietly. “But at the auctionblock,wecan’tcontrolwhetherthey’reseparated.”Shefoughttheretortonhertongue,andjustsaid,“Isee.Aretheyaburden

tosell?Andhowmanychildrencanweexpectinourshipment?”“We have about ten here,” Rolfe said. “Your shipment shouldn’t contain

more than that.And they’renotaburden to sell, ifyouknowwhere to sellthem.”“Where?”Samdemanded.“Some wealthy households might want them for scullery maids or

stableboys.”Thoughhisvoiceremainedsteady,Rolfestudiedtheground.“Abrothelmadammightshowupattheauction,too.”Sam’s facewentwhitewith fury. If therewasone thing that sethimoff,

onesubjectsheknewshecouldalwaysrelyupontorilehim,itwasthis.Hismother,soldateighttoabrothel,hadspenthertoo-shorttwenty-eight

years clawing her way up from an orphan to one of the most successfulcourtesans in Rifthold. She’d had Sam only six years before she’d died—murdered by a jealous client. And though she’d amassed some money, ithadn’tbeenenoughtoliberateherfromherbrothel—ortoprovideforSam.But she’d been a favorite of Arobynn’s, and when he’d learned that shewantedSamtobetrainedbyhim,he’dtakentheboyin.“We’lltakethatintoconsideration,”Samsaidsharply.Itwasn’tenoughforCelaenatoensurethedealfellapart.No,thatwasn’t

nearlyenough.Notwhenallofthesepeoplewereimprisonedhere.Herbloodpoundedinherveins.Death,atleast,wasquick.Especiallywhendealtbyherhand.Butslaverywasunendingsuffering.“Verywell,”shesaid,liftingherchin.Shehadtogetoutofhere—andget

Samoutofherebeforehesnapped.Adeadlygleamwasgrowinginhiseyes.“I look forward to seeing our shipment tomorrow night.” She inclined herheadtowardthepensbehindher.“Whenwilltheseslavesbesentout?”Itwassuchadangerous,stupidquestion.Rolfe looked toCaptain Fairview,who rubbed his dirty head. “This lot?

We’ll divvy them up, and they’ll be loaded onto a new ship tomorrow,probably. They’ll sail around the same time you do, I bet. We need toassemblecrews.”HeandRolfestartedoffonaconversationaboutmanningtheships,andCelaenatookthatashercuetoleave.Withafinallookattheslavestillstandingthere,Celaenastrodeoutofthe

warehousethatstankoffearanddeath.

“Celaena,wait!”Samcalled,pantingashewalkedafterher.She couldn’twait. She’d just startedwalking, andwalking, andwalking,

andnow,asshereachedtheemptybeachfarfromthelightsofSkull’sBay,shewouldn’tstopwalkinguntilshereachedthewater.Nottoofardownthecurveinthebay, thewatchtowerstoodguard,Ship-

Breaker hanging across the water for the duration of the night. The moonilluminatedthepowder-finesandandturnedthecalmseaintoasilvermirror.Sheremovedhermaskanddroppeditbehindher,thenrippedoffhercloak,

boots,andtunic.Thedampbreezekissedherbareskin,flutteringherdelicatewhiteundershirt.“Celaena!”Bath-warmwavesfloodedpasther,andshekickedupasprayofwateras

shekeptwalking.Beforeshecouldgetdeeperthanhercalves,Samgrabbedherarm.“Whatareyoudoing?”hedemanded.Sheyankedonherarm,butheheld

firm.Ina single, swiftmovement, she twirled, swingingherotherarm.Buthe

knewthemove—becausehe’dpracticeditrightalongsideherforyears—andhecaughtherotherhand.“Stop,”hesaid,butshesweptherfoot.Shecaughthimbehindtheknee,sendinghimtumblingdown.Samdidn’treleaseher,andwaterandsandsprayedastheyhittheground.Celaenalandedontopofhim,butSamdidn’tpauseforamoment.Before

she could give him a sharp elbow to the face, he flipped her. The airwhooshedoutofherlungs.Samlungedforher,andshehadthesensetobringherfeetupjustasheleapt.Shekickedhimsquareinthestomach.Hecursedashedroppedtohisknees.Thesurfbrokearoundhim,ashowerofsilver.Shesprangintoacrouch,thesandhissingbeneathherfeetasshemadeto

tacklehim.But Sam had been waiting, and he twisted away, catching her by the

shouldersandthrowinghertotheground.Sheknewshe’dbeencaughtbeforeheevenfinishedslammingherintothe

sand.Hepinnedherwrists,hiskneesdiggingintoherthighstokeepherfromgettingherlegsunderheragain.“Enough!”Hisfingersdugpainfullyintoherwrists.Aroguewavereached

them,soakingher.Shethrashed,herfingerscurling,strainingtodrawblood,buttheycouldn’t

reachhishands.Thesandshiftedenoughthatshecouldscarcelygetasteadysurface to support herself, to flip him. But Sam knew her—he knew her

movements,knewwhattricksshelikedtopull.“Stop,”hesaid,hisbreathingragged.“Please.”In themoonlight, his handsome facewas strained. “Please,” he repeated

hoarsely.The sorrow—the defeat—in his voice made her pause. A wisp of cloud

passedover themoon, illuminating the strongpanesof his cheekbones, thecurve of his lips—the kind of rare beauty that had made his mother sosuccessful.Farabovehishead,stars flickeredfaintly,nearly invisible in theglowofthemoon.“I’mnotgoingtoletgountilyoupromisetostopattackingme,”Samsaid.

Hisfacewasinchesaway,andshefeltthebreathofeveryoneofhiswordsonhermouth.Shetookanunevenbreath,thenanother.ShehadnoreasontoattackSam.

Notwhenhe’dkeptherfromguttingthatpirateinthewarehouse.Notwhenhe’dgottensoriledabouttheslavechildren.Herlegstrembledwithpain.“Ipromise,”shemumbled.“Swearit.”“Iswearonmylife.”Hewatchedherforasecondlonger,thenslowlyeasedoffher.Shewaited

until hewas standing, then got to her feet. Both of themwere soaked andcrustedwithsand,andshewasfairlycertainherhairhadcomehalfoutofherbraidandshelookedlikearaginglunatic.“So,”hesaid, takingoffhisbootsand tossing themonto thesandbehind

them. “Are you going to explain yourself?” He rolled his pants up to thekneesandtookafewstepsintothesurf.Celaenabeganpacing,wavessplatteringatherfeet.“Ijust…,”shebegan,

butwavedanarm,shakingherheadfiercely.“Youwhat?”Hiswordswerealmostdrownedoutbythecrashingwaves.Shewhirledtofacehim.“Howcanyoubeartolookatthosepeopleandnot

doanything?”“Theslaves?”Sheresumedherpacing.“Itmakesmesick.Itmakesme…makesmeso

madIthinkImight…”Shecouldn’tfinishthethought.“Mightwhat?”Splashingstepssounded,andshelookedoverhershoulder

tofindhimapproaching.Hecrossedhisarms,bracingforafight.“MightdosomethingasfoolishasattackingRolfe’smenintheirownwarehouse?”Itwasnowornever.Shehadn’twantedtoinvolvehim,but…nowthather

planshadchanged,sheneededhishelp.“Imightdosomethingasfoolishasfreeingtheslaves,”shesaid.

Samwentsostill thathemighthavebeenturnedintostone.“Iknewyouwerethinkingupsomething—butfreeingthem…”“I’mgoingtodoitwithorwithoutyou.”She’donlyintendedtoruinthe

deal, but from themoment she’dwalked into thatwarehouse tonight, she’dknownshecouldn’tleavetheslavesthere.“Rolfewillkillyou,”Samsaid.“OrArobynnwill,ifRolfedoesn’tfirst.”“Ihavetotry,”shesaid.“Why?”Samsteppedcloseenoughthatsheneededtotiltherheadbackto

seehisface.“We’reassassins.Wekillpeople.Wedestroyliveseveryday.”“Wehaveachoice,”shebreathed.“Maybenotwhenwewerechildren—

whenitwasArobynnordeath—butnow…NowyouandIhaveachoiceinthethingswedo.Thoseslaveswerejust taken.Theywerefightingfor theirfreedom, or lived too close to a battlefield, or some mercenaries passedthroughtheirtownandstolethem.They’reinnocentpeople.”“Andweweren’t?”Something icy pierced her heart at the glimmer of memory. “We kill

corruptofficialsandadulterousspouses;wemake itquickandclean.Theseareentire familiesbeing rippedapart.Everyoneof thesepeopleused tobesomebody.”Sam’seyesglowed.“I’mnotdisagreeingwithyou.Idon’tliketheideaof

thisatall.Notjusttheslaves,butArobynn’sinvolvement.Andthosechildren…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we’re just two people—surroundedbyRolfe’spirates.”Shegavehimacrookedgrin.“Thenit’sgoodthatwe’rethebest.And,”she

added,“it’sgoodthatI’vebeenaskinghimsomanyquestionsabouthisplansforthenexttwodays.”Samblinked.“Yourealizethisisthemostrecklessthingyou’veeverdone,

right?”“Reckless,butmaybethemostmeaningful,too.”Samstaredatherlongenoughforheattofloodhercheek,asifhecouldsee

right inside of her—see everything.The fact that he didn’t turn away fromwhateverhesawmadeherbloodthruminherveins.“Isupposeifwe’regoingtodie,itshouldbeforanoblecause,”hesaid.Shesnorted,usingitasanexcusetostepawayfromhim.“We’renotgoing

todie.Atleast,notifwefollowmyplan.”Hegroaned.“Youalreadyhaveaplan?”She grinned, then told him everything. When she finished, he only

scratchedhishead.“Well,”headmitted,sittingonthesand,“Isupposethat’dwork.We’dhavetotimeitright,but…”

“Butitcouldwork.”Shesatbesidehim.“WhenArobynnfindsout…”“LeaveArobynntome.I’llfigureouthowtodealwithhim.”“Wecouldalwaysjust…notreturntoRifthold,”Samsuggested.“What,runaway?”Sam shrugged. Though he kept his eyes on the waves, she could have

swornablushdarkenedhischeeks.“Hemightverywellkillus.”“Ifwe ran away, he’d hunt us for the rest of our lives. Even ifwe took

differentnames,he’d findus.”As if she could leaveher entire lifebehind!“He’s invested too much money in us—and we’ve yet to pay him backentirely.He’dseeitasabadinvestment.”Sam’sgazedriftednorthward,asifhecouldseethesprawlingcapitalcity

anditstoweringglasscastle.“Ithinkthere’smoreatworkherethanthistradeagreement.”“Whatdoyoumean?”Samtracedcirclesinthesandbetweenthem.“Imean,whysendthetwoof

us here in the first place? His excuse for sending us was a lie.We’re notinstrumentaltothisdeal.Hecouldjustaseasilyhavesenttwootherassassinswhoaren’tateachother’sthroatsallthetime.”“Whatareyouimplying?”Sam shrugged. “Perhaps Arobynn wanted us out of Rifthold right now.

Neededtogetusoutofthecityforamonth.”Achillwentthroughher.“Arobynnwouldn’tdothat.”“Wouldn’the?”Samasked.“DidweeverfindoutwhyBenwastherethe

nightGregorigotcaptured?”“Ifyou’reimplyingthatArobynnsomehowsetBenupto—”“I’mnot implyinganything.Butsomethingsdon’taddup.Andthereare

questionsthathaven’tbeenanswered.”“We’renotsupposedtoquestionArobynn,”shemurmured.“Andsincewhendoyoueverfolloworders?”She stood. “Let’s get through the next few days. Then we’ll consider

whateverconspiracytheoriesyou’reinventing.”Samwasonhisfeetinaninstant.“Idon’thaveanytheories.Justquestions

that you should be asking yourself, too. Why did he want us gone thismonth?”“WecantrustArobynn.”Evenasthewordslefthermouth,shefeltstupid

forsayingthem.Samstoopedtopickuphisboots.“I’mgoingbacktothetavern.Areyou

coming?”

“No.I’mstayinghereforalittlelonger.”Sam gave her an appraising look, but nodded. “We’re to examine

Arobynn’sslavesontheirshipatfourtomorrowafternoon.Trynottostayoutherethewholenight.Weneedalltherestwecanget.”Shedidn’treply,andturnedawaybeforeshecouldwatchhimheadtoward

thegoldenlightsofSkull’sBay.She walked along the curve of the shoreline, all the way to the lone

watchtower.After studying it from the shadows—the two catapults near itstop, the giant chain anchored above them—she continued on. She walkeduntil therewasnothing in theworldbut thegrumbleandhissof thewaves,thesighofthesandbeneathherfeet,andtheglareofthemoononthewater.Shewalkeduntilasurprisinglycoldbreezesweptpasther.Shehalted.Slowly, Celaena turned north, toward the source of the breeze, which

smelledofafarawaylandshehadn’tseenineightyears.Pineandsnow—acity still inwinter’s grasp. She breathed it in, staring across the leagues oflonely, black ocean, seeing, somehow, that distant city that had once, longago, been her home. The wind ripped the strands of hair from her braid,lashingthemacrossherface.Orynth.Acityoflightandmusic,watchedoverby an alabaster castle with an opal tower so bright it could be viewed formiles.Themoonlightvanishedbehindathickcloud.Inthesuddendark,thestars

glowedbrighter.Sheknewall the constellationsbyheart, and she instinctively soughtout

theStag,LordoftheNorth,andtheimmovablestarthatcrownedhishead.Backthen,shehadn’thadanychoice.WhenArobynnofferedherthispath,

itwaseitherthat,ordeath.Butnow…She took a shuddering breath. No, she was as limited in her choices as

she’d been when she was eight years old. She was Adarlan’s Assassin,ArobynnHamel’sprotégéeandheir—andshewouldalwaysbe.Itwasalongwalkbacktothetavern.

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CHAPTER6

After yet another miserably hot and sleepless night, Celaena spent thefollowing day with Sam, walking through the streets of Skull’s Bay. Theykept theirpace leisurely,pausingatvariousvendors’cartsandpopping intothe occasional shop, but all thewhile tracing each stepof their plan, goingovereverydetailthatthey’dneedtoorchestrateperfectly.Fromthefishermenalongthedocks,theylearnedthattherowboatstiedto

thepiersbelongedtonobodyinparticular,andthattomorrow’smorningtidecameinjustaftersunrise.Notadvantageous,butbetterthanmidday.Fromflirtingwiththeharlotsalongthemainstreet,Samlearnedthatevery

onceinawhile,Rolfecoveredthetabforallthepiratesinhisservice,andtherevelry lasted for days. Sam also picked up a few other pointers that herefusedtotellCelaenaabout.And from the half-drunk pirate languishing in an alley, Celaena learned

how many men guarded the slave ships, what manner of weapons theycarried,andwheretheslaveswerekept.Whenfouro’clockrolledaround,CelaenaandSamwerestandingaboard

the ship Rolfe had promised them, watching and counting as the slavesstumbledontothewidedeck.Ninety-three.Mostlymen,mostofthemyoung.Thewomenwereabroaderrangeofages,andtherewereonlyahandfulofchildren,justasRolfehadsaid.“Dotheymeetyourrefinedtastes?”Rolfeaskedasheapproached.“Ithoughtyousaidthere’dbemore,”sherepliedcoldly,keepinghereyes

uponthechainedslaves.“Wehadanevenhundred,butsevendiedonthejourney.”Shebitback theanger that flared.Sam,knowingher far toowell forher

liking, cut in. “And how many can we expect to lose on the journey toRifthold?”Hisfacewasrelativelyneutral,thoughhisbrowneyesflashedwithannoyance.Fine—hewasagoodliar.Asgoodasshewas,maybe.Rolfe ran a hand through his dark hair. “Don’t you two ever stop

questioning?There’snowayofpredictinghowmanyslavesyou’lllose.Justkeepthemwateredandfed.”A lowgrowl slipped throughher teeth,butRolfewasalreadywalking to

hisgroupofguards.CelaenaandSamfollowedhim,observingasthelastof

theslaveswereshovedontothedeck.“Wherearetheslavesfromyesterday?”Samasked.Rolfewavedahand.“Mostareonthatship,andwillleavetomorrow.”He

pointed to a nearby ship and ordered one of the slave drivers to start theinspection.Theywaiteduntilafewslaveshadbeenlookedover,offeringremarkson

how fit a slavewas,where he’d fetch a good price inRifthold.Eachwordtastedfoulerthanthelast.“Tonight,”shesaid to thePirateLord,“youcanguarantee that thisship’s

protected?” Rolfe sighed loudly and nodded. “That watchtower across thebay,” she pressed. “I assume that they’ll also be responsible formonitoringthisship,too?”“Yes,”Rolfesnapped.Celaenaopenedhermouth,butheinterrupted.“And

beforeyouask, letme say thatwechange thewatch justbeforedawn.”Sothey’d have to target themorningwatch instead, to avoid any alarm beingraisedatdawn—athigh tide.Whichwasaslighthitch inherplan,but theycouldeasilyfixit.“Howmanyoftheslavesspeakourlanguage?”sheasked.Rolferaisedabrow.“Why?”She could feel Sam tense beside her, but she shrugged. “Itmight add to

theirvalue.”Rolfe studied her a bit too closely, then whirled to face a slave woman

standingnearby.“Doyouspeakthecommontongue?”She looked thisway and that, clutching her scraps of clothing to her—a

mix of fur and wool undoubtedly worn to keep her warm in the frigidmountainpassesoftheWhiteFangs.“DoyouunderstandwhatI’msaying?”Rolfedemanded.Thewomanlifted

hershackledhands.Raw,redskinlayaroundtheiron.“Ithinktheanswerisno,”Samoffered.Rolfe glared at him, then walked through the stables. “Can any of you

speakthecommontongue?”Herepeatedhimself,andwasabouttoturnbackwhenanolderEyllweman—reed thin andcoveredwith cuts andbruises—steppedforward.“Ican,”hesaid.“That’sit?”Rolfebarkedattheslaves.“Nooneelse?”Celaenaapproached

themanwhohadspoken,committinghisfacetomemory.Herecoiledathermaskandhercloak.“Well, at least he might fetch a higher price,” Celaena said over her

shouldertoRolfe.SamsummonedRolfewithaquestionaboutthemountain-

woman in frontofhim,providingenoughdistraction.“What’syourname?”Celaenaaskedtheslave.“Dia.”Hislong,frailfingerstrembledslightly.“You’refluent?”He nodded. “My—my mother was from Bellhaven. My father was a

merchantfromBanjali.Igrewupwithbothlanguages.”And he’d probably never worked a day in his life. How had he gotten

caught up in thismess? The other slaves on the deck hung back, huddlingtogether, even someof the largermen andwomenwhose scars and bruisesmarkedthemasfighters—prisonersofwar.Hadtheyalreadyseenenoughofslaverytobreakthem?Forbothhersakeandtheirs,shehopednot.“Good,”shesaid,andstrodeaway.

Hours later, no one noticed—or if they did, they certainly didn’t care—when twocloaked figuresslipped into tworowboatsandheaded toward theslave ships hovering several hundred yards offshore. A few lanternsilluminated the behemoth vessels, but the moon was bright enough forCelaenatoeasilymakeouttheGoldenWolfassherowedtowardit.Toherright,SamrowedasquietlyashecouldtotheLoveless,where the

slavesfromyesterdaywerebeingheld.Silencewastheironlyhopeandally,though the townbehind themwas already in themidst of revelry. It hadn’ttakenlongforwordtogetoutthatArobynnHamel’sassassinshadopenedacelebratorytabatthetavern,andevenastheyhadstrodetothedocks,pirateswerealreadystreamingtheotherwaytowardtheinn.Pantingthroughhermask,Celaena’sarmsachedwitheachstroke.Itwasn’t

thetownshewasworriedabout,butthesolitarywatchtowertoherleft.Afireburned in its jagged turret, faintly illuminating thecatapultsand theancientchainacrossthenarrowbaymouth.Iftheyweretobecaught,thefirstalarmwouldbesoundedfromthere.It might have been easier to escape now—take down the watch-tower,

overpowertheslaveships,andsetsail—butthechainwasonlythefirstinaline of defenses. The Dead Islands were nearly impossible to navigate atnight,andatlowtide…They’dgetafewmilesandrunagroundonareeforasandbank.CelaenadriftedthelastfewfeettotheGoldenWolfandgraspedtherungof

awoodenladdertokeeptheboatfromthuddingtoohardagainstthehull.Theywerebetteroffatfirstlighttomorrow,whenthepirateswouldbetoo

drunkorunconscioustonotice,andwhentheyhadhightideontheirside.

Sam flashed a compact mirror, indicating he’d made it to the Loveless.Catching the light in her own mirror, she signaled him back, then flashedtwice,indicatingthatshewasready.A moment later, Sam returned the same signal. Celaena took a long,

steadyingbreath.Itwastime.

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CHAPTER7

Nimbleasacatandsmoothasasnake,Celaenaclimbedthewoodenladderbuiltintothesideoftheship.Thefirstguarddidn’tnoticeshewasuponhimuntilherhandswerearound

his neck, striking the two points that sent him into unconsciousness. Heslumpedtothedeck,andshecaughthimbyhisfilthytunic,softeninghisfall.Quietasmice,quietasthewind,quietasthegrave.Thesecondguard,stationedatthehelm,sawhercomingupthestaircase.

Hemanagedtoemitamuffledcrybeforethepommelofherdaggerslammedintohis forehead.Notasneat,andnotasquiet:hehit thedeckwitha thudthatmadethethirdguard,stationedattheprow,whirltosee.But itwasshadowy,and therewereyardsofshipbetween them.Celaena

crouchedlowtothedeck,coveringthefallenguard’sbodywithhercloak.“Jon?”thethirdguardcalledacrossthedeck.Celaenawincedatthesound.

Nottoofaraway,theLovelesswassilent.CelaenagrimacedatthereekfromJon’sunwashedbody.“Jon?” the guard said, and thumping steps followed. Closer and closer.

He’dseethefirstguardsoon.Three…two…one…“Whatinhell?”Theguardtrippedoverthefirstguard’sprostratebody.Celaenamoved.Sheswungovertherailingfastenoughthattheguarddidn’tlookupuntil

she’dlandedbehindhim.Allittookwasaswiftblowtotheheadandshewaseasing his body down atop the first guard’s. Her heart hammering througheveryinchofher,shesprintedtotheprowoftheship.Sheflashedthemirrorthreetimes.Threeguardsdown.Nothing.“Comeon,Sam.”Shesignaledagain.Fartoomanyheartbeatslater,asignalgreetedher.Theairrushedfromher

lungs inabreathshehadn’t realizedshe’dbeenholding.Theguardson theLovelesswereunconscious,too.She signaledonce.Thewatchtowerwas stillquiet. If theguardswereup

there, they hadn’t seen anything. She had to be quick, had to get this donebeforeherdisappearancewasnoticed.

The guard outside the captain’s quarters managed to kick the wall hardenough to wake the dead before she knocked him out, but it didn’t stopCaptainFairviewfromsquealingwhensheslippedintohisofficeandshutthedoor.WhenFairviewwassecuredinthebrig,gaggedandboundandfullyaware

thathiscooperationandthecooperationofhisguardsmeanthislife,shecreptdowntothecargoarea.The passages were cramped, but the two guards at the door still didn’t

noticeheruntilshetookthelibertyofrenderingthemunconscious.Silentlyasshecould,shegrabbedalanternhangingfromapegonthewall

andopenedthedoor.Thereekalmostbroughthertoherknees.Theceilingwassolowshealmostgrazeditwithherhead.Theslaveshad

allbeenchained,sitting,tothefloor.Nolatrines,nosourceoflight,nofoodorwater.The slaves murmured, squinting against the sudden brightness of the

torchlightleakinginfromthehallway.Celaenatooktheringofkeysshe’dstolenfromthecaptain’squartersand

stepped into the cargo chamber. “Where is Dia?” she asked. They saidnothing,eitherbecausetheydidn’tunderstand,oroutofsolidarity.Celaena sighed, stepping farther into the chamber, and someof thewild-

eyedmountainmenmurmured to one another.While theymight have onlyrecentlydeclaredthemselvesAdarlan’senemies,thepeopleoftheWhiteFangMountainshadlongbeenknownfortheirunyieldingloveofviolence.Ifshewere to meet with any trouble in here, it would be from them. “Where isDia?”sheaskedmoreloudly.Atremblingvoicecamefromthebackofthecargoarea.“Here.”Hereyes

strainedtospyhisnarrow,finefeatures.“I’mhere.”She strode carefully through the crowded darkness. They were so close

together that therewasnoroomtomove,andhardlyanyair tobreathe.Nowondersevenhaddiedonthevoyagehere.She tookoutCaptainFairview’skeyand freed theshacklesatDia’s feet,

thenhismanacles,beforeofferinghimahandup.“You’regoingtotranslateforme.”Themountainfolkandwhoeverelsedidn’tspeakeitherthecommontongueorEyllwecouldfigureoutenoughontheirown.Dia rubbedhiswrists,whichwerebleedingandscabbed inplaces.“Who

areyou?”Celaenaunlockedthechainsof the too-thinwomanbesideDia, thenheld

out the keys in her direction. “A friend,” she said. “Tell her to unlockeveryone,buttellthemnottoleavethisroom.”

Dianodded,andspokeinEyllwe.Thewoman,mouthslightlyopen,lookedat Celaena, then took the keys.Without a word, she set about freeing hercompanions.Diathenaddressedtheentirecargobay,hisvoicesoftbutfierce.“The guards are unconscious,” she said.Dia translated. “The captain has

beenlockedinthebrig,andtomorrow,shouldyouchoosetoact,hewillguideyouthroughtheDeadIslandsandtosafety.Heknowsthatthepenaltyforbadinformationisdeath.”Dia translated, his eyes growing wider and wider. Somewhere near the

back, one of the mountain men began translating. And then two otherstranslated,too—oneinthelanguageofMelisande,andanotherinalanguageshedidn’trecognize.Haditbeencleverorcowardlyofthemnottospeakuplastnightwhensheaskedwhospokethecommontongue?“When I am done explaining our plan of action,” she said, her hands

shaking a bit as she suddenly recalledwhat, exactly, lay before them, “youmayleavethisroom,butdonotsetfootonthedecks.Thereareguardsinthewatchtower,andguardsmonitoringthisshipfromland.Iftheyseeyouonthedeck,theywillwarneveryone.”SheletDiaandtheothersfinishbeforegoingon.“MycolleagueisalreadyaboardtheLoveless,anotherslaveshipsettosail

tomorrow.”Sheswallowedhard.“WhenIamdonehere,heandIwillreturntothetownandcreateadistractionlargeenoughthatwhenthedawnbreaks,youwillhaveenoughtimetosailoutoftheharbor.Youneedthefulldaytosail out of the Dead Islands before dark—or else you’ll be caught in theirlabyrinth.”Diatranslated,butawomanspokefromnearby.Diafrownedasheturned

toCelaena.“Shehastwoquestions.Whatofthechainattheentrancetothebay?Andhowwillwesailtheship?”Celaena nodded. “Leave the chain to us.We’ll have it down before you

reachit.”WhenDiaandtheotherstranslated,murmursbrokeout.Shackleswerestill

thuddingtothegroundasslaveafterslavewasunlocked.“As for sailing the ship,” shewent on above the noise, “are any of you

sailors?Fishermen?”Somehandswentup.“CaptainFairviewwillgiveyouspecificinstructions.

You’llhavetorowoutofthebay,though.Everyonewhohasthestrengthwillbeneededontheoars,oryouwon’thaveashotofoutrunningRolfe’sships.”“Whatofhisfleet?”anothermanasked.“Leave it tome.” Samwas probably already rowing over to theGolden

Wolf.Theyhadtogetbacktoshorenow.“Nomatterifthechainisstillup,no

matterwhatmightbehappeningin town, themoment thesunslipsover thehorizon,youstartrowinglikehell.”AfewvoicesobjectedtoDia’stranslation,andhegaveasharp,shortreply

beforeturningtoher.“Wewillsortoutspecificsonourown.”She lifted her chin. “Discuss it among yourselves. Your fate is yours to

decide.Butnomatterwhatplanyouchoose,Iwillhavethechaindown,andwillbuyyouasmuchtimeasIcanatdawn.”Shebowedherheadinfarewellassheleft thecargohold,beckoningDia

alongwithher.Discussionstartedbehindthem—muffled,atleast.In the hallway, she could see how thin he was, how filthy. She pointed

downthehall.“Thatiswherethebrigis;thereyou’llfindCaptainFairview.Get himout before dawn, and don’t be afraid to bloody himup a bit if herefuses to talk. There are three unconscious guards tied up on the deck, aguardoutsideFairview’squarters, and the twohere.Dowhateveryouwantwiththem;thechoiceisyours.”“I’llhavesomeonetakethemtothebrig,”Diasaidquickly.Herubbedat

thestubbleonhisface.“Howmuchtimewillwehavetogetaway?Howlongbeforethepiratesnotice?”“Idon’tknow.I’lltrytodisabletheirships,whichmightslowthemdown.”

Theyreachedthenarrowstairsthatledtotheupperdecks.“There’sonethingI need you to do,” she continued, and he looked up at her, his eyes bright.“My colleague doesn’t speak Eyllwe. I need you to take a rowboat to theother ship and tell them all that I’ve told you, and unlock their chains.Wehavetoreturntoshorenow,soyou’llhavetogoalone.”Diasuckedinabreath,butnodded.“Iwill.”AfterDiatoldthepeopleinthecargobaytotaketheunconsciousguardsto

thebrig,hecreptwithCelaenaontotheemptydeck.Hecringedatthesightoftheunconsciousguards,butdidn’tobjectwhenshesweptJon’scloakoverhisshouldersandconcealedhisfaceinthefoldsofthecloak.OrwhenshegavehimJon’sswordanddagger.Samwasalreadywaitingatthesideoftheship,hiddenfromthefar-seeing

eyesofthewatchtower.HehelpedDiaintothefirstrowboatbeforeclimbingintothesecondandwaitingforCelaenatogetaboard.BloodgleamedonSam’sdark tunic, but they’dbothpacked a changeof

clothes. Silently, Sam picked up the oars. Celaena cleared her throat. Diaturnedbacktoher.Sheinclinedherheadeast,towardthemouthofthebay.“Remember:you

muststartrowingatsunrise,evenifthechainisup.Everymomentyoudelaymeanslosingthetide.”

Diagraspedtheoars.“Wewillbeready.”“Thengoodluck,”shesaid.Withoutanotherword,Diabeganrowingtothe

other ship, his strokes a bit too loud for her liking, but not enough to bedetected.Sam, too, started rowing, slipping around the curve of the prow and

headingtowardthedocksatacasual,unsuspiciouspace.“Nervous?”heasked,hisvoicebarelyaudibleabovethesteadysliceofhis

oarsthroughthecalmbay.“No,”shelied.“Me,too.”Ahead of themwere the golden lights of Skull’s Bay. Hoots and cheers

echoedacrossthewater.Wordhadcertainlyspreadaboutthefreeale.Shesmiledslightly.“Getreadytounleashhell.”

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Though the chant of the crowd roared around them,Rolfe and Sam hadtheireyesclosedinconcentrationastheirthroatsmovedupanddown,downandup,chuggingtheirmugsofale.AndCelaena,watchingitfrombehindhermask,couldnotstoplaughing.It wasn’t that hard to pretend Samwas drunk and theywere having the

grandesttimeintheworld.Mostlybecauseofhermask,butalsobecauseSamplayedthepartvery,verywell.Rolfe slammed his mug on the table, letting out a satisfied “Ah!” and

wipinghiswetmouthonhissleeveas thegatheredcrowdcheered.Celaenacackled,hermasked faceoozing sweat.Likeeveryplaceelseon this island,the tavernwas suffocatingly hot, and the odor of ale and unwashed bodiespouredfromeverycreviceandstone.Itwaspackedtocapacity.Athree-manensemblemadeupofanaccordion,

a fiddle, and a tambourine played raucously in the corner by the hearth.Pirates swapped stories and called for their favorite songs. Peasants andlowlifes drank themselves into oblivion and gambled on rigged games ofchance.Harlotspatrolledtheroom,millingaroundtablesandsittingonlaps.Acrossfromher,Rolfegrinned,andSamdrainedthelastfromhismug.Or

soRolfethought.Givenhowoftendrinkswerespilledandsplashed,noonereally noticed the constant puddle around Sam’s mug, and the hole he’ddrilledintothebottomofitwastoosmalltodetect.The crowd dispersed, and Celaena laughed as she raised her hand.

“Anotherround,gentlemen?”shecried,signalingforthebarmaid.“Well,” Rolfe said, “I think it’s safe to say that I prefer you like this to

whenwe’rediscussingbusiness.”Sam leaned in, a conspirator’s grin on his face. “Oh, I do, too. She’s

horriblemostofthetime.”Celaenakickedhim—hardenough,becausesheknew itwasn’tentirelya

lie—andSamyelped.Rolfechuckled.SheflippedthebarmaidacopperasthewomanrefilledRolfe’sandSam’s

mugs.“So, will I ever get to see the face behind the legendary Celaena

Sardothien?”Rolfeleanedforwardtoresthisarmsonthesoddentable.The

clockbehind thebarread three thirty in themorning.Theyhad toactsoon.Given how crowded the tavern was, and how many of the pirates werealreadyhalfwayunconscious,itwasamiracletherewasanyaleleftinSkull’sBay. IfArobynnandRolfedidn’tkill her for freeing the slaves, thenRolfemightverywellmurderherforstartingatabwithnotnearlyenoughmoneytopayforitall.She leaned closer to Rolfe. “If you make my master and me as much

moneyasyouclaim,I’llshowyoumyface.”Rolfeglancedatthetattooedmaponhishands.“Didyoureallysellyoursoulforthat?”sheasked.“Whenyoushowmeyourface,I’lltellyouthetruth.”Sheextendedherhand.“Deal.”Heshookit.Samraisedhismug—already

drained half an inch from the small hole in the bottom—and saluted theirpromisebeforebothmendrank.Shefishedoutapackofcardsfromacloakpocket.“CareforagameofKings?”“If you aren’t beggaredby the time this night is over,”Rolfe said, “then

playingagainstmewillguaranteeit.”Sheclickedhertongue.“Oh,Ihighlydoubtthat.”Shebrokeandshuffled

thedeckthreetimesanddealtthecards.Thehourspassedbyinaseriesofclankingglassesandperfectcardsuites,

groupsingingsessionsand talesof landsfarandnear,andas theclockwassilencedbythenever-endingmusic,CelaenafoundherselfleaningintoSam’sshoulder,laughingasRolfefinishedhiscrudeandabsurdstoryofthefarmer’swifeandherstallions.Shebangedherfistonthetable,howling—andthatwasn’tentirelyanact,

either.AsSamslippedahandaroundherwaist,histouchsomehowsendingabright-hotflamethroughher,shehadtowonderifhewasstillpretending,too.In termsof cards, it turnedout to beSamwho took them for everything

theywereworth,andbythetimetheclockhandspointedtofive,Rolfehadshiftedintoafoulmood.Unfortunately for him, that mood wasn’t about to improve. Sam gave

Celaenaanod,andshetrippedapassingpirate,whospilledhisdrinkonanalreadybelligerentman,whointurntriedtopunchhiminthefacebuthitthemannext tohim instead.By luck,at thatmoment,a trickcard felloutofaman’s sleeve, a prostitute slapped a pirate wench, and the tavern explodedintoabrawl.Peoplewrestled one another to the ground, somepirates drawing swords

anddaggerstotrytodueltheirwayacrossthefloor.Othersjumpedfromthemezzanine to join the fight, swinging themselves across the railing, either

attempting to land on tables or aiming for the iron chandelier andmissingbadly.Themusicstillplayed,andthemusiciansroseandbackedfartherintothe

corner.Rolfe,half-standing,putahandonhishilt.Celaenagavehimanodbeforedrawingherswordandchargingintothebrawlingcrowd.Withdeft flicksofherwrist, shecutsomeone’sarmandrippedanother’s

leg open, but didn’t actually kill anyone. She just needed to keep the fightgoing—andescalateitenough—toholdalleyesonthetown.Asshemadetosliptowardtheexit,someonegrabbedheraroundthewaist

andthrewherintoawoodenpillarsohardsheknewshe’dhaveabruise.Shesquirmed in the red-faced pirate’s grasp, nearly gagging as his sour breathseepedthroughhermask.Shegotherarmfreeenoughtothrustthepommelofherswordbetweenhislegs.Hedroppedtothegroundlikeastone.Celaenabarelygot a stepawaybeforeahairy fist slammed intoher jaw.

Pain blinded her like lightning, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Shequicklyfelthermasktoensureitwasn’tcrackedorabouttofalloff.Dodgingthenextblow,shesweptherfootbehindtheman’skneeandsent

himcareeningintoayowlingclusterofharlots.Shedidn’tknowwhereSamhadgone, but if hewas sticking to the plan, then she didn’t need toworryabout him.Weaving through the snarls of fighting pirates, Celaena headedtowardtheexit,clashingherbladeagainstseveralunskilledswords.A piratewith a frayed eye patch raised a clumsy hand to strike her, but

Celaena caught it and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying intoanother man. They both hit a table, flipped over it, and began fightingbetweenthemselves.Animals.Celaenastalkedthroughthecrowdandoutthefrontdoorofthetavern.Toherdelight, thestreetsweren’tmuchbetter.Thefighthadspreadwith

astonishingspeed.Upanddowntheavenue,pouringoutoftheothertaverns,pirateswrestledanddueledandrolledontheground.Apparently,shehadn’tbeentheonlyoneeagerforafight.Revelinginthemayhem,shewashalfwaydownthestreet,headedtoward

themeet-uppointwithSam,whenRolfe’svoiceboomedoutfrombehindher.“ENOUGH!”Everyoneliftedwhatevertheyhadintheirhands—amug,asword,aclump

ofhair—andsaluted.Andthenpromptlyresumedfighting.Laughingtoherself,Celaenahurrieddownanalley.Samwasalreadythere,

bloodseepingfromhisnose,buthiseyeswerebright.“I’dsaythatwentprettywell,”hesaid.

“Ineverknewyouwere suchan expert cardplayer.”She lookedhimupanddown.Hisstancewassteady.“Oranexpertdrunkard.”Hegrinned.“There’salotyoudon’tknowaboutme,CelaenaSardothien.”

Hegrabbedhershoulder,suddenlycloserthanshe’dlike.“Ready?”heasked,andshenodded,lookingtothelighteningsky.“Let’sgo.”Shepulledoutofhisgraspandyankedoffhergloves,stuffing

them in her pocket. “The watch at the tower must have changed by now.We’vegotuntildawntodisablethatchainandthecatapults.”They’ddebatedforawhileaboutwhether itwouldbemoreuseful to justdestroy thechainfromitsunguardedoppositeside.Buteven if theydid, they’dstillhave thecatapultstocontendwith.Itwasbettertorisktheguardsandtakeoutboththechainandthecatapultsatonce.“Ifwelivethroughthis,Celaena,”Samsaid,headingtowardthesidestreet

thatledtothedocks,“remindmetoteachyouhowtoplaycardsproperly.”Shecursedcolorfullyenoughtomakehimlaugh,andlaunchedintoarun.Theyturnedontoaquietstreetjustassomeonesteppedoutoftheshadows.“Goingsomewhere?”ItwasRolfe.

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CHAPTER9

Down the slope of the street, Celaena could perfectly see the two slaveships sitting—still unmoving—in the bay.And themast-snapping chain nottoofarfromthem.Unfortunately,fromhisangle,socouldRolfe.Theskyhadturnedlightgray.Dawn.Celaenabowedherhead to thePirateLord.“I’d rathernotgetmyhands

dirtyinthatmess.”Rolfe’slipsformedathinline.“Funny,giventhatyoutrippedthemanwho

startedthebrawl.”Samglaredather.She’dbeensubtle,damnit!Rolfe drew his sword, the dragon’s eyes gleaming in the growing light.

“And also funny, since you’ve been spoiling for a fight for days, that yousuddenlydecidedtovanishwheneveryone’sattentioniselsewhere.”Samraisedhishands.“Wedon’twantanytrouble.”Rolfe chuckled, a harsh, humorless sound. “Maybe you don’t, Sam

Cortland,butshedoes.”Rolfesteppedtowardher,hissworddanglingathisside. “She’swanted trouble since themoment shegothere.Whatwasyourplan?Stealtreasure?Information?”From the corner of her eye, something shifted in the ships. Like a bird

flexing itswings, a rowofoars shotout from their sides.Theywere ready.Andthechainwasstillup.Don’tlook,don’tlook,don’tlook…ButRolfe looked, andCelaena’s breathing turned shallow as he scanned

theships.Samtensed,hiskneesbendingslightly.“I am going to kill you, Celaena Sardothien,” Rolfe breathed. And he

meantit.Celaena’sfingerstightenedaroundhersword,andRolfeopenedhismouth,

lungsfillingwithairashepreparedtoshoutawarning.Quickasawhip,shedidtheonlythingshecouldthinkoftodistracthim.Hermaskclatteredtotheground,andsheshookoffherhood.Hergolden

hairgleamedinthegrowinglight.Rolfefroze.“You…You’re…Whatsortoftrickeryisthis?”Beyond them, the oars began moving, churning the water as the boats

turnedtowardthechain—andthefreedombeyondit.“Go,”shemurmuredtoSam.“Now.”Samonlynoddedbeforehesprinteddownthestreet.AlonewithRolfe,Celaenaraisedhersword.“CelaenaSardothien,atyour

service.”Thepiratewasstillstaringather,hisfacepalewithrage.“Howdareyou

deceiveme?”Shesketchedabow.“Ididnothingofthesort.ItoldyouIwasbeautiful.”Before she could stop him, Rolfe shouted, “They’re trying to steal our

ships!Toyourboats!Tothewatchtower!”Aroareruptedaroundthem,andCelaenaprayedthatSamcouldreachthe

watchtowerbeforethepiratescaughthim.Celaena began circling the Pirate Lord. He circled her, too. He wasn’t

drunkintheleast.“Howoldareyou?”Eachofhisstepswascarefullyplaced,butshenoticed

thathekeptshiftingtoexposehisleftside.“Sixteen.”Shedidn’tbothertokeephervoicelowandgravelly.Rolfeswore.“Arobynnsentasixteen-year-oldtodealwithme?”“Hesentthebestofthebest.Considerthatanhonor.”Withagrowl,thePirateLordlunged.Shedancedback, swingingupher sword toblock theblowheaimed for

her throat.Shedidn’tneed tokillhimrightaway—just todistracthimlongenoughtopreventhimfromfurtherorganizinghismen.Andkeephimawayfromtheships.ShehadtobuySamenoughtimetodisablethechainandthecatapults.Theshipswerealreadyturningtowardthemouthofthebay.Rolfe launched himself again, and she let him land two strikes on her

swordbeforesheduckedthethirdblowandslammedintohim.Shesweptherfoot,andRolfestaggeredbackastep.Notmissingabeat,shepulledoutherlonghuntingknife,slashingforhischest.Sheletherblowfallshort,rippingthroughthefinebluematerialofhistunicinstead.Rolfe stumbled into the wall of a building behind him, but caught his

footing and dodged the blow that would have taken off his head. Thevibrationsofherswordhittingstonestungherhand,butshekeptholdofthehilt.“Whatwas theplan?”Rolfe panted above the roar of thepirates rushing

towardthedocks.“Stealmyslavesandtakealltheprofit?”Shelaughed,feintingtohisright,butsweepingforhisunprotectedleftwith

her dagger. To her surprise, Rolfe deflected both moves in a swift, suremotion.

“Tofreethem,”shesaid.Beyondthechain,beyondthemouthofthebay,thecloudsonthehorizonbegantocolorwiththelightofthecomingdawn.“Fool,”Rolfespat,andthistimefeintedsowellthatevenCelaenacouldn’t

avoidtherakeofhisswordacrossherarm.Warmbloodseepedthroughherblacktunic.Shehissed,dartingawayafewsteps.Acarelessmistake.“Youthinkfreeingtwohundredslaveswillsolveanything?”Rolfekickeda

fallenbottleofliquorather.Sheknockeditasidewiththeflatofhersword,her right arm screaming in pain. Glass shattered behind her. “There arethousands of slaves out there. Are you going to march into Calaculla andEndovierandfreethem,too?”Behindhim, thesteadystrokesof theoarspropelled theships toward the

chain.Samhadtohurry.Rolfeshookhishead.“Stupidgirl.IfIdon’tkillyou,yourmasterwill.”Not him giving the luxury of a warning, she threw herself at him. She

ducked,twirling,andRolfebarelyturnedbeforesheslammedthepommelofherswordintothebackofhishead.ThePirateLordcrumpledtothedirtstreetjustasacrowdofbloodiedand

filthypiratesappearedaroundthecorner.Celaenaonlyhadtimetothrowherhoodoverherhead,hopingtheshadowsconcealedenoughofherface,beforeshetookoffatarun.

It didn’t takemuch to get away from a group of half-drunk battlecrazedpirates.Sheonlyhad to lead themdownafewtwistedstreets,and thenshelostthem.Butthewoundonherarmstillslowedherconsiderablyassheranforthewatchtower.Samwasalreadyfarahead.Releasingthechainwasnowinhishands.Piratesragedupanddownthedocks,seekinganyboatthatwasinworking

order. That had been the final leg of her journey last night: disabling therudders in all of the ships along the docks, includingRolfe’s own ship, theSea Dragon—which honestly deserved to be tampered with, given thatsecurity on board had been so lax. But, despite the damage, some piratesmanaged to find rowboats and piled into them, brandishing swords orcutlasses or axes and shouting profanities to the high heavens. Theramshackle buildings blurred as she sprinted toward the watchtower. Herbreathwasraggedinherthroat,anightofnosleepalreadytakingitstoll.Sheburst past pirates on the docks, too busy bemoaning their ruined boats tonoticeher.The slaves still rowed for the chain as if demons from every Hellrealm

wereuponthem.Celaenachargeddowntheroad,headingfortheedgeofthetown.Withthe

sloping,wide-open road, she could see Sam racing far ahead—and a largegroupofpiratesnottoofarbehindhim.Thecutonherarmthrobbed,butshepushedherselftorunfaster.Sam hadmere minutes to get that chain down, or else the slaves’ ships

wouldshatteruponit.Eveniftheslaves’shipswereabletostopbeforetheyhit it, there were enough smaller boats heading out that the pirates wouldoverpowerthem.Thepirateshadweapons.Asidefromwhateverwasonboardtheships,theslaveswereunarmed,evenifmanyofthemhadbeenwarriorsandrebels.There was a flash of movement from the half-crumbling tower. Steel

glimmered,and therewasSam,chargingup thestaircase thatwoundup theoutsideofthetower.Two pirates rushed down the steps, swords raised. Sam dodged one,

knockinghimdownwithaswiftstriketothespine.Beforethepiratehadevenfinished falling, Sam’s blade skewered the other man clean through themiddle.But therewas stillShip-Breaker todisable, alongwith the two catapults,

and—Andthedozenpirateswhohadnowreachedthefootofthetower.Celaenacursed.Shewasstilltoofar.Therewasnowayshecouldmakeit

intimetodisablethechain—theshipswouldcrashintoitlongbeforeshegotthere.She swallowed thepain inher arm, focusingonherbreathingas she ran

and ran, not daring to take her eyes off the tower ahead. Sam, still a tinyfigure in thedistance,reachedthe topof the towerandtheexpanseofopenstonewheretheanchortothechainlay.Evenfromhere,shecouldtellitwasgargantuan. And as Sam rushed around it, hacking at whatever he could,throwing himself against the enormous lever, both of them realized thehorrible truth, the one thing she’d overlooked: the chainwas too heavy foronemantomove.Theslaves’shipswereclosenow.Soclosethatstopping…stoppingwas

impossible.Theyweregoingtodie.Buttheslavesdidn’tceaserowing.Thedozenpirateswereclimbingthestairs.Samhadbeentrainedtoengage

multiplemenincombat,butadozenpirates…DamnRolfeandhismenfordelayingher!

Samglancedtowardthestairs.Heknewaboutthepirates,too.Shecouldseeeverythingwithsuchmaddeningclarity.Samremainedatop

thetower.Alevelbelowhim,perchedonaplatformjuttingoutoverthesea,satthetwocatapults.Andinthebay,thetwoshipsthatrowedwithincreasingspeed.Freedomordeath.Samslunghimselfdowntothecatapultlevel,andCelaenastaggeredastep

ashehurledhimselfagainst therotatingplatformonwhich thecatapultsat,pushing,pushing,pushinguntil thecatapultbegantomove—not toward thesea,but toward the tower itself, toward thespot in thestonewallwhere thechainwasanchored.She didn’t dare take her attention from the tower as Sam heaved the

catapultintoposition.Aboulderhadalreadybeenloaded,andintheglareofthe rising sun, shecould justmakeout the rope stretched taut to secure thecatapult.Thepirateswerealmost at thecatapult level.The twoships rowed faster

andfaster,thechainsoclosethatitsshadowloomedoverthem.Celaena sucked in a breath as pirates poured onto the catapult landing,

weaponsheldhigh.Samraisedhissword.Lightfromthesunrisegleamedofftheblade,bright

asastar.Awarningcrybrokefromherlipsasapirate’sdaggerflippedtowardSam.Sam brought his sword down on the catapult rope, doubling over. The

catapult snapped so fast she could hardly follow the motion. The boulderslammed into the tower, shattering stone,wood, andmetal.Rock exploded,dustcloudingtheair.Andwithaboomthatechoedacrossthebay,thechaincollapsed,takingout

achunkofthetower—takingoutthespotwhereshe’dlastseenSam.Celaena,reachingthetoweratlast,pausedtowatchasthewhitesailsofthe

slaves’shipsunfurled,glowinggoldeninthesunrise.Thewind filled their sails and set them cruising, flying swiftly from the

mouthofthebayandintotheoceanbeyondit.Bythetimethepiratesfixedtheirships,theslaveswouldbetoofarawaytocatch.Shemurmuredaprayerforthemtofindasafeharbor,herwordscarrying

onthewingsofthewind,andwishedthemwell.Ablockofstonecrashednearher.Celaena’sheartgavealurch.Sam.Hecouldn’tbedead.Notfromthatdagger,orthosedozenpirates,orfrom

thecatapult.No,Samcouldn’tbesostupidthathe’dgethimselfkilled.She’d…she’d…Well,she’dkillhimifhewasdead.Drawinghersworddespitetheacheinherarm,shemadetorushintothe

half-wrecked tower,butadaggerpressedagainstherneckhaltedher inhertracks.“Idon’tthinkso,”Rolfewhisperedinherear.

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CHAPTER10

“Youmakeamove,andI’llspillyourthroatontheground,”Rolfehissed,hisfreehandrippingCelaena’sdaggerfromitssheathandtossingitintothebrush.Thenhetookhersword,too.“Whynotjustkillmerightnow?”Rolfe’sbreathylaughtickledherear.“BecauseIwanttotakealong,long

whiletoenjoykillingyou.”She stared at the half-ruined tower, at the dust still swirling from the

catapult’sdestruction.HowcouldSamhavesurvivedthat?“Do you know howmuch your attempt at playing hero costme?”Rolfe

pushedhisbladeintoherneck,andherskinsplitopenwithastingingburst.“Twohundredslaves,plustwoships,plusthesevenshipsyoudisabledintheharbor,pluscountlesslives.”Shesnorted.“Don’tforgetthealefromlastnight.”Rolfe shifted his blade, digging in and making Celaena wince despite

herself.“I’lltakethatfromyourflesh,too,don’tworry.”“How’dyoufindme?”Sheneededtime.Neededsomethingtoworkwith.

Ifshemovedthewrongway,she’dfindherselfwithacutthroat.“Iknewyou’dfollowSam.Ifyouweresosetonfreeing theslaves, then

you certainlywouldn’t leave your companion to die alone. Though I thinkyouarrivedabittoolateforthat.”In thedense jungle, thecriesofbirdsandbeastsslowlyreturned.But the

watchtowerremainedsilent,interruptedonlybythehissofcrumblingstone.“You’re going to returnwithme,” Rolfe said. “And after I’m donewith

you,I’llcontactyourmastertocomepickupthepieces.”Rolfe took a step, pivoting them toward the town, butCelaena had been

waiting.Throwing her back into his chest, she hooked her foot behind his.Rolfe

stumbled, trippingoverher leg,andshewedgedherhandbetweenherneckandhisdaggerjustasherememberedtoactonhispromisetoslitherthroat.Blood fromher palm splattered down her tunic, but she shoved the pain

asideandbuttedherelbowintohisstomach.Rolfe’sbreathwhooshedoutofhim,andhedoubledover,only tomeetherkneeslamming intohis face.Afaintcracksoundedasherkneecapconnectedwithhisnose.Whenshehurled

Rolfetothedirt,bloodwasonherpantleg—hisblood.ShegrabbedhisfallendaggerasthePirateLordreachedforhissword.He

scrambledtohisknees,lungingforher,butshestompedherfootdownuponhissword,sendingitcrashingtotheground.Rolferaisedhisheadjustintimeforhertoknockhimontohisback.Crouchingoverhim,sheheldhisdaggertohisneck.“Well,thatdidn’tgothewayyouexpected,didit?”sheasked,listeningfor

amoment toensurenopirateswereabout tocomecrashingdown the road.But the animals still hooted and screeched, the insects still hummed. Theywerealone.Mostofthepirateswereprobablybrawlinginthetown.Herhandthrobbed,bloodpouringoutasshegraspedthecollarofhistunic

tolifthisheadclosertohers.“So,” she said, her smirkwidening at the blood dripping from his nose.

“This iswhat’sgoing tohappen.”Shedroppedhiscollarand fishedout thetwopapersfrominsidehertunic.Comparedtothepaininherhand,theinjuryon her arm had faded to a dull pulsing. “You are going to sign these andstampeachwithyourseal.”“Irefuse,”Rolfeseethed.“Youdon’tevenknowwhattheysay.”Shepushedthetipofthedaggerinto

his heaving throat. “So allowme to clarify: one of these is a letter to mymaster.Itsaysthatthedealisover,thatyouwon’tbesendinghimslaves,andif you catch him entering into another slave-trade agreement with anyoneelse,you’llbringyourwholearmadatopunishhim.”Rolfechoked.“You’reinsane.”“Maybe,”shesaid.“ButI’mnotdoneyet.”Shepickedupthesecondletter.

“Thisone…Iwrotethisoneforyou.Ididmybesttotrytowriteitinyourvoice, but you’ll forgiveme if it’s a tadmore elegant than you’re used tobeing.” Rolfe struggled, but she pushed the blade a little harder, and hestopped.“Basically,”shesaid, sighingdramatically,“thisonesays thatyou,CaptainRolfe, bearer of themagicalmap inked on your hands,will never,eversellaslaveagain.Andifyoucatchanypiratessellingortransportingortrading slaves, you’ll hang, burn, or drown themyourself.And that Skull’sBayisforevermoreasafehavenforanyslavesfleeingAdarlan’sclutches.”Rolfe practically had steamblowing out his ears. “Iwon’t sign either of

them,youstupidgirl.Don’tyouknowwhoIam?”̴Fine,” she said, angling the blade to sink into his flesh more easily. “I

memorizedyoursignaturewhenIwasinyourofficethatfirstday.Itwon’tbehardtoforge.Andasforyoursealring…”Sheremovedsomethingelsefromherpocket.“Ialsotookthatthefirstdayinyouroffice,justincaseIneeded

it.TurnsoutIwasright.”Rolfecroakedasshehelditupinherfreehand,thegarnetflashinginthelight.“IfigureIcanreturntotownandtellyourcroniesthatyoudecidedtosetsailafterthoseslaves,andtoexpectyoubackin…Idon’t know—sixmonths?A year? Long enough that theywon’t notice thegraveI’lldigforyourightofftheroadhere.Frankly,you’veseenwhoIam,andIshouldendyourlifeforit.Butconsideritafavor—andapromisethatifyoudon’tfollowmyorders,I’llchangemydecisiontospareyou.”Rolfe’seyesnarrowedtoslits.“Why?”“You’llhavetoclarifythat.”Hetookabreath.“Whygotosomuchtroubleforslaves?”“Becauseifwedon’tfightforthem,whowill?”Shepulledafountainpen

fromherpocket.“Signthepapers.”Rolferaisedaneyebrow.“AndhowwillyouknowthatI’mholdingtrueto

myword?”She removed thedagger fromhis throat, using theblade tobrushbacka

strandofhisdarkhair.“Ihavemysources.AndifIhearthatyou’retradingslaves,nomatterwhereyougo,nomatterhowfaryourun, Iwillhuntyoudown.That’s twicenowI’vedisabledyou.The third time,youwon’tbesolucky. I swear that on my name. I’m almost seventeen, and I can alreadywallopyou;imaginehowgoodI’llbeinafewyears.”Sheshookherhead.“Idon’tthinkyou’llwanttotrymenow—andcertainlynotthen.”Rolfestaredatherforafewheartbeats.“Ifyoueversetfootinmyterritory

again, your life is forfeit.” He paused, then muttered, “May the gods helpArobynn.”Hetookthepen.“Anyotherrequests?”Sheeasedoffhim,butkeptthedaggerinherhand.“Why,yes,”shesaid.

“Ashipwouldbenice.”Rolfeonlyglaredatherbeforehegrabbedthedocuments.

WhenRolfehad signed, stamped, andhanded thedocuments toCelaena,shetookthelibertyofknockinghimoutagain.Swiftblowstotwopointsinhisneckdidthetrick,andhe’dbeoutlongenoughforhertoaccomplishwhatsheneeded:tofindSam.She raced up the half-crumbling stairs of the tower, leaping over pirate

corpsesandchunksofstone,notstoppinguntilshefoundthecrushedbodiesofthedozenpirateswhowereclosest toSamandtheruinsof thecatapults.Blood,bone,squishedbitsoffleshthatshedidn’tparticularlycaretolookatfortoolong…“Sam!” she shouted, slipping over a bit of debris. She heaved a slab of

woodofftheside,scanningthelandingforanysignofhim.“Sam!”Herhandbeganbleedingagain,leavingsmearsofbloodassheturnedover

stoneandwoodandmetal.Wherewashe?Ithadbeenherplan.Ifoneof themhadtodiefor it, itshouldhavebeen

her.Nothim.She reached the second catapult, its entire frame snapped in half from a

fallenpieceoftower.She’dlastseenhimhere.Aslabofstonejuttedupfromwhereithadhit thelanding.Itwaslargeenoughtohavesquashedsomeonebeneath.She hurled herself against it, her feet sliding against the ground as she

pushedandpushedandpushed.Thestonedidn’tmove.Grunting,gasping,sheshovedharder.Stillthestonewastoolarge.Cursing,shebeatafistagainstthegraysurface,herinjuredhandachingin

protest.Thepainsnappedsomethingopen,andshestruckthestoneagainandagain,clenchingherjawtokeepthebuildingscreaminsideofher.“Forsomereason,Idon’tthinkthat’sgoingtomaketherockmove,”saida

voice,andCelaenawhirled.Emerging from the other side of the landing was Sam. He was covered

headtotoeingraydust,andbloodleakedfromacutinhisforehead,buthewas…Sheliftedherchin.“I’vebeenshoutingforyou.”Sam shrugged, sauntering over to her. “I figured you could wait a few

minutes,giventhatIsavedthedayandall.”Hisbrowsrosehighonhisash-coveredface.“Some hero.” She gestured to the ruin of the tower around them. “I’ve

neverseensuchsloppywork.”Samsmiled,hisbrowneyesturninggoldeninthedawn.ItwassuchaSam

look, the twinkle of mischief, the hint of exasperation, the kindness thatwouldalways,alwaysmakehimabetterpersonthanshewas.Beforesheknewwhatshewasdoing,Celaenathrewherarmsaroundhim

andheldhimclose.Sam stiffened, but after a heartbeat, his arms came around her. She

breathedhim in—the smell of his sweat, the tang of the dust and rock, themetallicodorofhisblood…Samrestedhischeekonherhead.Shecouldn’tremember—honestlycouldn’trecall—thelasttimeanyonehadheldher.No,wait—ithadbeenayearago.WithBen,aftershe’dcomebackfromamissiontwohourslateandwithasprainedankle.He’dbeenworried,andgivenhowcloseshe’dcometobeingcapturedbytheroyalguards,shewasmorethanabitshaken.

ButembracingSamwasdifferent,somehow.Likeshewantedtocurl intohiswarmth,likeforonemoment,shedidn’thavetoworryaboutanythingoranybody.“Sam,”shemurmuredintohischest.“Hmm?”She peeled away from him, stepping out of his arms. “If you ever tell

anyoneaboutmeembracingyou…I’llgutyou.”Samgapedather,thentippedhisheadbackandlaughed.Helaughedand

laughed,untildust lodged inhis throatandhe launched intoacoughingfit.Shelethimsufferthroughit,notfindingitveryfunnyatall.When he could breathe again, Sam cleared his throat. “Come on,

Sardothien,”he said, slinginganarmaroundher shoulders. “Ifyou’redoneliberatingslavesanddestroyingpiratecities,thenlet’sgohome.”Celaenaglancedathimsidelongandgrinned.

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THEASSASSINANDTHEHEALER

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CHAPTER1

Thestrangeyoungwomanhadbeenstayingat theWhitePigInnfor twodaysnowandhadhardly spoken to anyone save forNolan,whohad takenone look at her fine night-dark clothes and bent over backward toaccommodateher.HegaveherthebestroomatthePig—theroomheonlyofferedtopatrons

heintendedtobleeddry—anddidn’tseematallbotheredbytheheavyhoodtheyoungwomanworeortheassortmentofweaponsthatgleamedalongherlong,leanbody.Notwhenshetossedhimagoldcoinwithacasualflickofherglovedfingers.Notwhenshewaswearinganornategoldbroochwitharubythesizeofarobin’segg.Thenagain,Nolanwasnever reallyafraidofanyone,unless theyseemed

likelynot topayhim—andeven then, itwasangerandgreed,not fear, thatwonout.YreneTowershadbeenwatchingtheyoungwomanfromthesafetyofthe

taproom bar. Watching, if only because the stranger was young andunaccompanied and sat at the back table with such stillness that it wasimpossiblenottolook.Nottowonder.Yrenehadn’tseenherfaceyet, thoughshe’dcaughtaglimpseeverynow

andthenofagoldenbraidglintingfromthedepthsofherblackhood.Inanyothercity,theWhitePigInnwouldlikelybeconsideredthelowestofthelowas far as luxury and cleanlinesswere concerned.But here in Innish, a porttownsosmallitwasn’tonmostmaps,itwasconsideredthefinest.Yrene glanced at the mug she was currently cleaning and tried not to

wince.Shedidherbesttokeepthebarandtaproomclean,toservethePig’spatrons—mostofthemsailorsormerchantsormercenarieswhooftenthoughtshewasupforpurchaseaswell—withasmile.ButNolanstillwatereddownthewine,stillwashedthesheetsonlywhentherewasnodenyingthepresenceof lice and fleas, and sometimesusedwhatevermeat couldbe found in thebackalleyfortheirdailystew.Yrenehadbeenworkinghereforayearnow—elevenmonthslongerthan

shehadintended—andtheWhitePigstillsickenedher.Consideringthatshecouldstomachalmostanything(a fact thatallowedbothNolanandJessa todemandshe cleanup themostdisgustingmessesof theirpatrons), thatwasreallysayingsomething.

Thestrangeratthebacktableliftedherhead,signalingwithaglovedfingerfor Yrene to bring another ale. For someone who didn’t seem older thantwenty, the young woman drank an ungodly amount—wine, ale, whateverNolanbadeYrenebringover—butneverseemedtoloseherselftoit.Itwasimpossibletotellwiththatheavyhood,though.Thesepasttwonightsshe’dmerely stalked back to her room with a feline grace, not stumbling overherselflikemostofthepatronsontheirwayoutafterlastcall.Yrenequicklypouredaleintothemugshe’djustbeendryingandsetitona

tray.Sheaddedaglassofwaterandsomemorebread,since thegirl hadn’ttouchedthestewshe’dbeengivenfordinner.Notasinglebite.Smartwoman.Yrenewove through thepacked taproom,dodging thehands that tried to

grabher.Halfwaythroughhertrek,shecaughtNolan’seyefromwherehesatbythefrontdoor.Anencouragingnod,hismostlybaldheadgleaminginthedimlight.Keepherdrinking.Keepherbuying.Yreneavoidedrollinghereyes,ifonlybecauseNolanwasthesolereason

shewasn’twalking the cobblestone streetswith the other youngwomen ofInnish.A year ago, the stoutman had let her convince him that he neededmorehelpinthetavernbelowtheinn.Ofcourse,he’donlyacceptedwhenherealizedhe’dbereceivingthebetterendofthebargain.But she’d been eighteen and desperate, and had gladly taken a job that

offered only a few coppers and a miserable little bed in a broom closetbeneaththestairs.Mostofhermoneycamefromtips,butNolanclaimedhalfof them. And then Jessa, the other barmaid, usually claimed two-thirds ofwhatremained,because,asJessaoftensaid,shewastheprettyfacethatgetsthementopartwiththeirmoney,anyway.One glance into a corner revealed that pretty face and its attendant body

perchedonthelapofabeardedsailor,gigglingandtossingherthickbrowncurls.Yrenesighedthroughhernosebutdidn’tcomplain,becauseJessawasNolan’s favorite, andYrene had nowhere—absolutely nowhere—left to go.Innishwasherhomenow,andtheWhitePigwasherhaven.Outsideofit,theworldwastoobig,toofullofsplintereddreamsandarmiesthathadcrushedandburnedeverythingYrenehelddear.Yrene at last reached the stranger’s table and found the young woman

looking up at her. “I brought you some water and bread, too,” Yrenestammeredbywayofgreeting.Shesetdown theale,buthesitatedwith theothertwoitemsonhertray.Theyoungwomanjustsaid,“Thankyou.”Hervoicewaslowandcool—

cultured.Educated.AndcompletelyuninterestedinYrene.Not that therewasanythingabouther thatwas remotely interesting,with

herhomespunwooldressdoinglittleforhertoo-slimfigure.Likemostwho

hailed from southern Fenharrow,Yrene had golden-tan skin and absolutelyordinarybrownhairandwasofaverageheight.Onlyhereyes,abrightgold-brown,gaveheranysourceofpride.Notthatmostpeoplesawthem.Yrenedidherbesttokeephereyesdownmostofthetime,avoidinganyinvitationforcommunicationorthewrongkindofattention.So, Yrene set down the bread and water and took the empty mug from

wherethegirlhadpushedittothecenterofthetable.Butcuriositywonout,and she peered into the black depths beneath the young woman’s cowl.Nothingbutshadows,agleamofgoldhair,andahintofpaleskin.Shehadsomanyquestions—so,somanyquestions.Whoareyou?Wheredoyoucomefrom?Whereareyougoing?Canyouuseallthosebladesyoucarry?Nolan was watching the entire encounter, so Yrene curtsied and walked

back to the bar through the field of groping hands, eyes downcast as sheplasteredadistantsmileonherface.

Celaena Sardothien sat at her table in the absolutely worthless inn,wonderinghowherlifehadgonetohellsoquickly.ShehatedInnish.Hatedthereekoftrashandfilth,hatedtheheavyblanket

ofmist that shrouded itdayandnight,hated thesecond-ratemerchantsandmercenariesandgenerallymiserablepeoplewhooccupiedit.Noonehereknewwhoshewas,orwhyshe’dcome;nooneknewthatthe

girlbeneaththehoodwasCelaenaSardothien,themostnotoriousassassininAdarlan’sempire.Butthenagain,shedidn’twantthemtoknow.Couldn’tletthemknow,actually.Anddidn’twantthemknowingthatshewasjustoveraweekawayfromturningseventeen,either.She’dbeenherefortwodaysnow—twodaysspenteitherholedupinher

despicable room (a “suite,” the oily innkeeper had the nerve to call it), ordownhereinthetaproomthatstankofsweat,staleale,andunwashedbodies.Shewouldhaveleftifshe’dhadanychoice.Butshewasforcedtobehere,

thanks tohermaster,ArobynnHamel,Kingof theAssassins.She’dalwaysbeenproudofherstatusashischosenheir—alwaysflauntedit.Butnow…This journey was her punishment for destroying his atrocious slave-tradeagreementwith thePirateLordofSkull’sBay.Sounlessshewantedtoriskthe trek through theBogdano Jungle—the feral bit of land that bridged thecontinenttotheDesertedLand—sailingacrosstheGulfofOrowastheonlyway.Whichmeantwaitinghere, in thisdumpofa tavern,foraship to takehertoYurpa.Celaena sighed and took a long drink of her ale. She almost spat it out.

Disgusting.Cheapascheapcouldbe,liketherestofthisplace.Likethestewshe hadn’t touched.Whatever meat was in there wasn’t from any creaturewortheating.Breadandmildcheeseitwas,then.Celaena sat back in her seat, watching the barmaidwith the brown-gold

hair slip through the labyrinthof tables and chairs.Thegirl nimblydodgedthemenwhogropedher,allwithoutdisturbingthetrayshecarriedoverhershoulder.Whatawasteofswiftfeet,goodbalance,andintelligent,stunningeyes.Thegirlwasn’tdumb.Celaenahadnotedthewayshewatchedtheroomanditspatrons—thewayshewatchedCelaenaherself.Whatpersonalhellhaddrivenhertoworkhere?Celaena didn’t particularly care. The questions weremostly to drive the

boredomaway.She’dalreadydevouredthethreebooksshe’dcarriedwithherfromRifthold,andnotoneoftheshopsinInnishhadasinglebookforsale—onlyspices,fish,out-of-fashionclothing,andnauticalgear.Foraporttown,itwaspathetic.ButtheKingdomofMelisandehadfallenonhardtimesinthepast eight and a half years—since the King of Adarlan had conquered thecontinent and redirected trade through Eyllwe instead of Melisande’s feweasternports.Thewholeworldhadfallenonhardtimes,itseemed.Celaenaincluded.She fought the urge to touch her face. The swelling from the beating

Arobynnhadgivenherhadgonedown,butthebruisesremained.Sheavoidedlooking in the sliver ofmirror above her dresser, knowingwhat she’d see:mottled purple and blue and yellow along her cheekbones, a vicious blackeye,andastill-healingsplitlip.ItwasallareminderofwhatArobynnhaddonethedayshereturnedfrom

Skull’sBay—proofofhowshe’dbetrayedhimbysavingtwohundredslavesfromaterriblefate.ShehadmadeapowerfulenemyofthePirateLord,andshewasfairlycertainshe’druinedherrelationshipwithArobynn,butshehadbeenright.Itwasworthit;itwouldalwaysbeworthit,shetoldherself.Evenifshewassometimessoangrythatshecouldn’tthinkstraight.Even

ifshe’dgottenintonotone,nottwo,butthreebarfightsinthetwoweeksthatshe’dbeen traveling fromRifthold to theRedDesert.Oneof thebrawls,atleast,hadbeen rightfullyprovoked: amanhadcheatedat a roundof cards.Buttheothertwo…Therewasnodenyingit:she’dmerelybeenspoilingforafight.Noblades,

noweapons.Justfistsandfeet.Celaenasupposedsheshouldfeelbadaboutit—aboutthebrokennosesandjaws,abouttheheapsofunconsciousbodiesinherwake.Butshedidn’t.She couldn’t bring herself to care, because those moments she spent

brawlingwerethefewmomentsshefeltlikeherselfagain.Whenshefeltlike

Adarlan’sgreatestassassin,ArobynnHamel’schosenheir.Even if her opponents were drunks and untrained fighters; even if she

shouldknowbetter.Thebarmaidreachedthesafetyofthecounter,andCelaenaglancedabout

the room.The innkeeperwas stillwatching her, as he had for the past twodays,wonderinghowhe could squeeze evenmoremoneyoutofherpurse.Therewereseveralothermenobservingher,too.Somesherecognizedfrompreviousnights,whileotherswerenewfacesthatshequicklysizedup.Wasitfearorluckthathadkeptthemawayfromhersofar?She’dmadenosecretofthefactthatshecarriedmoneywithher.Andher

clothesandweaponsspokevolumesaboutherwealth, too.Therubybroochshe wore practically begged for trouble—she wore it to invite trouble,actually. It was a gift from Arobynn on her sixteenth birthday; she hopedsomeonewould try to steal it. If theyweregoodenough, shemight just letthem.Soitwasonlyamatteroftime,really,beforeoneofthemtriedtorobher.Andbeforeshedecidedshewasboredoffightingonlywithfistsandfeet.

Sheglancedattheswordbyherside;itglintedinthetavern’sdanklight.But shewould be leaving at dawn—to sail to theDeserted Land,where

she’d make the journey to the Red Desert to meet the Mute Master ofAssassins,withwhomshewastotrainforamonthasfurtherpunishmentforherbetrayalofArobynn.Ifshewerebeinghonestwithherself,though,she’dstartedentertainingthethoughtofnotgoingtotheRedDesert.Itwas tempting. She could take a ship somewhere else—to the southern

continent,perhaps—andstartanewlife.ShecouldleavebehindArobynn,theAssassins’Guild, thecityofRifthold, andAdarlan’sdamnedempire.Therewaslittlestoppingher,saveforthefeelingthatArobynnwouldhuntherdownnomatterhowfarshewent.AndthefactthatSam…well,shedidn’tknowwhat had happened to her fellow assassin that night theworld had gone tohell.Butthelureoftheunknownremained,thewildragethatbeggedhertocast off the last ofArobynn’s shackles and sail to a placewhere she couldestablishherownAssassins’Guild.Itwouldbeso,soeasy.ButevenifshedecidednottotaketheshiptoYurpatomorrowandinstead

tookoneboundforthesoutherncontinent,shewasstillleftwithanothernightinthisawfulinn.Anothersleeplessnightwhereshecouldonlyheartheroarofangerinherbloodasitthrashedinsideher.If she were smart, if she were levelheaded, she would avoid any

confrontationtonightandleaveInnishinpeace,nomatterwhereshewent.But she wasn’t feeling particularly smart, or levelheaded—certainly not

oncethehourspassedandtheairintheinnshiftedintoahungry,wildthingthathowledforblood.

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CHAPTER2

Yrene didn’t know how orwhen it happened, but the atmosphere in theWhite Pig changed. It was as if all the gathered men were waiting forsomething.Thegirlat thebackwasstillather table,stillbrooding.Buthergloved fingerswere tappingon the scarredwooden surface, and everynowandthen,sheshiftedherhoodedheadtolookaroundtheroom.Yrenecouldn’thaveleftevenifshewantedto.Lastcallwasn’tforanother

fortyminutes,andshe’dhavetostayanhourafterthattocleanupandusherintoxicatedpatronsout thedoor.Shedidn’tcarewhere theywentonce theypassed the threshold—didn’t care if they wound up facedown in a wateryditch—justaslongastheygotoutofthetaproom.Andstayedgone.Nolan had vanished moments ago, either to save his own hide or to do

somedarkdealings in thebackalley,andJessawasstill in thatsailor’s lap,flirtingaway,unawareoftheshiftintheair.Yrenekeptlookingatthehoodedgirl.Sodidmanyofthetavern’spatrons.

Were they waiting for her to get up? There were some thieves that sherecognized—thieves who had been circling like vultures for the past twodays,tryingtofigureoutwhetherthestrangegirlcouldusetheweaponsshecarried.Itwascommonknowledgethatshewasleavingtomorrowatdawn.Iftheywanted hermoney, jewelry,weapons, or something far darker, tonightwouldbetheirlastchance.Yrenechewedonherlipasshepouredaroundofalesforthetableoffour

mercenariesplayingKings.Sheshouldwarnthegirl—tellherthatshemightbebetteroffsneakingtohershiprightnow,beforeshewoundupwithaslitthroat.But Nolan would throw Yrene out into the streets if he knew she had

warned her. Especially when many of the cutthroats were beloved patronswhooftensharedtheirill-gainedprofitswithhim.Andshehadnodoubtthathe’dsendthoseverymenafterherifshebetrayedhim.Howhadshebecomeso adjusted to these people?WhenhadNolan and theWhitePig become aplaceandpositionshewantedsodesperatelytokeep?Yreneswallowedhard,pouringanothermugofale.Hermotherwouldn’t

havehesitatedtowarnthegirl.But hermotherhadbeen agoodwoman—awomanwhoneverwavered,

whoneverturnedawayasickorwoundedperson,nomatterhowpoor,fromthedooroftheircottageinsouthernFenharrow.Never.Asaprodigiouslygiftedhealerblessedwithnosmallamountofmagic,her

motherhadalwayssaiditwasn’trighttochargepeopleforwhatshe’dbeengivenforfreebySilba,theGoddessofHealing.Andtheonlytimeshe’dseenher mother falter was the day the soldiers from Adarlan surrounded theirhouse,armedtotheteethandbearingtorchesandwood.Theyhadn’tbotheredtolistenwhenhermotherexplainedthatherpower,

likeYrene’s, hadalreadydisappearedmonthsbefore, alongwith the restofthemagicintheland—abandonedbythegods,hermotherhadclaimed.No, the soldiers hadn’t listened at all. And neither had any of those

vanishedgodstowhomhermotherandYrenehadpleadedforsalvation.Itwasthefirst—andonly—timehermothertookalife.Yrenecouldstill see theglintof thehiddendagger inhermother’shand,

stillfeelthebloodofthatsoldieronherbarefeet,hearhermotherscreamather torun, smell thesmokeof thebonfireas theyburnedhergiftedmotheralivewhileYreneweptfromthenearbysafetyofOakwaldForest.It was from her mother that Yrene had inherited her iron stomach—but

she’d never thought those solid nerves would wind up keeping her here,claimingthishovelasherhome.Yrenewas so lost in thought andmemory that shedidn’tnotice theman

untilabroadhandwaswrappedaroundherwaist.“Wecoulduseaprettyfaceatthistable,”hesaid,grinningupatherwitha

wolf’ssmile.Yrenesteppedback,butheheldfirm,tryingtoyankherintohislap.“I’veworktodo,”shesaidasblandlyaspossible.She’ddetangledherself

fromsituationslikethisbefore—countlesstimesnow.Ithadstoppedscaringherlongago.“Youcango toworkonme,”saidanotherof themercenaries,a tallman

with aworn-looking blade strapped to his back.Calmly, she pried the firstmercenary’sfingersoffherwaist.“Lastcallisinfortyminutes,”shesaidpleasantly,steppingback—asfaras

shecouldwithoutirritatingthemengrinningatherlikewilddogs.“CanIgetyouanythingelse?”“Whatareyoudoingafter?”saidanother.“Goinghometomyhusband,”shelied.Buttheylookedattheringonher

finger—theringthatnowpassedforaweddingband.Ithadbelongedtohermother,andhermother’smother,andallthegreatwomenbeforeher,allsuchbrillianthealers,allwipedfromlivingmemory.

Themenscowled,andtakingthatasacuetoleave,Yrenehurriedbacktothe bar. She didn’t warn the girl—didn’t make the trek across the too-bigtaproom,withallthosemenwaitinglikewolves.Fortyminutes.Justanotherfortyminutesuntilshecouldkickthemallout.Andthenshecouldcleanupandtumbleintobed,onemoredayfinishedin

thislivinghellthathadsomehowbecomeherfuture.

Honestly, Celaena was a little insulted when none of the men in thetaproommadeagrabforher,hermoney,herrubybrooch,orherweaponsasshestalkedbetweenthetables.Thebellhadjustfinishedringingforlastcall,andeventhoughshewasn’ttiredintheslightest,she’dhadenoughofwaitingforafightoraconversationoranythingtooccupyhertime.Shesupposedshecouldgobacktoherroomandrereadoneofthebooks

she’dbrought.Assheprowledpastthebar,flippingasilvercointothedark-hairedservinggirl,shedebatedthemeritsofinsteadgoingoutontothestreetsandseeingwhatadventurefoundher.Recklessandstupid,Samwouldsay.ButSamwasn’there,andshedidn’t

knowifhewasdeadoraliveorbeatensenselessbyArobynn.ItwasasafebetSam had been punished for the role he’d played in liberating the slaves inSkull’sBay.She didn’t want to think about it. Sam had become her friend, she

supposed. She’d never had the luxury of friends, and never particularlywantedany.ButSamhadbeenagoodcontender,evenifhedidn’thesitatetosayexactlywhathethoughtabouther,orherplans,orherabilities.Whatwouldhethinkifshejustsailedoffintotheunknownandneverwent

totheRedDesert,orneverevenreturnedtoRifthold?Hemightcelebrate—especially if Arobynn appointed him as his heir. Or she could poach him,maybe.He’dsuggested that they try to runawaywhen theywere inSkull’sBay,actually.Soonceshewassettledsomeplace,onceshehadestablishedanewlifeasatopassassininwhateverlandshemadeherhome,shecouldaskhimtojoinher.Andthey’dneverputupwithbeatingsandhumiliationsagain.Suchaneasy,invitingidea—suchatemptation.Celaenatrudgedupthenarrowstairs,listeningforanythievesorcutthroats

thatmightbewaiting.Toherdisappointment,theupstairshallwasdarkandquiet—andempty.Sighing, she slipped into her roomandbolted the door.After amoment,

she shoved theancient chestofdrawers in frontof it, too.Not forherownsafety.Oh,no. Itwas for thesafetyofwhatever fool tried tobreak in—and

would then find himself split open from navel to nose just to satisfy awanderingassassin’sboredom.Butafterpacingforfifteenminutes,shepushedasidethefurnitureandleft.

Lookingforafight.Foranadventure.Foranythingtotakehermindoffthebruises on her face and the punishment Arobynn had given her and thetemptationtoshirkherobligationsandinsteadsailtoalandfar,faraway.

Yrene lugged the lastof the rubbishpails into themistyalleybehind theWhitePig,herbackandarmsaching.Todayhadbeenlongerthanmost.Therehadn’tbeenafight,thankthegods,butYrenestillcouldn’tshakeher

nervesandthatsenseofsomethingbeingoff.Butshewasglad—so,soglad—there hadn’t been a brawl at the Pig. The last thing shewanted to dowasspendtherestofthenightmoppingbloodandvomitoffthefloorandhaulingbrokenfurnitureintothealley.Aftershe’drungthelast-callbell,themenhadfinishedtheirdrinks,grumblingandlaughing,anddispersedwithlittletonoharassment.Unsurprisingly,Jessahadvanishedwithhersailor,andgiventhatthealley

wasempty,Yrenecouldonlyassumetheyoungwomanhadgoneelsewherewithhim.Leavingher,yetagain,tocleanup.Yrene paused as she dumped the less-disgusting rubbish into a neat pile

alongthefarwall.Itwasn’tmuch:stalebreadandstewthatwouldbegonebymorning,snatchedupbythehalf-feralurchinsroamingthestreets.Whatwouldhermothersayifsheknewwhathadbecomeofherdaughter?Yrenehadbeenonlyelevenwhenthosesoldiersburnedhermotherforher

magic.For the first six and a half years after the horrors of that day, she’dlivedwithhermother’scousininanothervillageinFenharrow,pretendingtobe an absolutely ungifted distant relative. It wasn’t a hard disguise tomaintain: her powers truly had vanished. But in those days fear had runrampant, and neighbor had turned on neighbor, often selling out anyoneformerlyblessedwiththegods’powerstowhateverarmylegionwasclosest.Thankfully,noonehadquestionedYrene’ssmallpresence;andinthoselongyears,noonelookedherwayasshehelpedthefamilyfarmstruggletoreturntonormalinthewakeofAdarlan’sforces.Butshe’dwantedtobeahealer—likehermotherandgrandmother.She’d

startedshadowinghermotherassoonasshecouldtalk,learningslowly,asallthetraditionalhealersdid.Andthoseyearsonthatfarm,howeverpeaceful(iftedious and dull), hadn’t been enough to make her forget eleven years oftraining,ortheurgetofollowinhermother’sfootsteps.Shehadn’tbeenclose

tohercousins,despitetheircharity,andneitherpartyhadreallytriedtobridgethegapcausedbydistanceand fear andwar.Sonooneobjectedwhen shetookwhatevermoneyshe’dsavedupandwalkedoffthefarmafewmonthsbeforehereighteenthbirthday.She’d set out forAntica, a city of learning on the southern continent—a

realm untouched by Adarlan and war, where rumor claimed magic stillexisted. She’d traveled on foot from Fenharrow, across the mountains intoMelisande,throughOakwald,eventuallywindingupatInnish—whererumoralsoclaimedonecouldfindaboattothesoutherncontinent,toAntica.Anditwaspreciselyherethatshe’drunoutofmoney.Itwaswhyshe’dtakenthejobatthePig.First,ithadjustbeentemporary,

to earn enough to afford the passage toAntica.But then she’dworried shewouldn’thaveanymoneywhenshearrived,andthenthatshewouldn’thaveanymoneytopayforhertrainingattheTorreCesme,thegreatacademyofhealersandphysicians.Soshe’dstayed,andweekshad turned intomonths.Somehow the dream of sailing away, of attending the Torre, had been setaside.EspeciallyasNolanincreasedtherentonherroomandthecostofherfoodandfoundwaystolowerhersalary.Especiallyasthathealer’sstomachofhersallowedhertoenduretheindignitiesanddarknessofthisplace.Yrenesighedthroughhernose.Sohereshewas.Abarmaidinabackwater

townwithhardlytwocopperstohernameandnofutureinsight.Therewasacrunchofbootsonstone,andYreneglareddownthealley.If

Nolan caught the urchins eating his food—however stale and disgusting—he’d blame her. He’d say he wasn’t a charity and take the cost out of herpaycheck.He’ddoneitoncebefore,andshe’dhadtohuntdowntheurchinsandscoldthem,makethemunderstandthattheyhadtowaituntilthemiddleofthenighttogetthefoodshesocarefullylaidout.“Itoldyoutowaituntilit’spast—”shestarted,butpausedasfourfigures

steppedfromthemist.Men.Themercenariesfrombefore.Yrenewasmovingfortheopendoorwayinaheartbeat,buttheywerefast

—faster.Oneblockedthedoorwhileanothercameupbehindher,grabbinghertight

andpullingheragainsthismassivebody.“ScreamandI’llslityourthroat,”hewhispered in her ear, his breath hot and reeking of ale. “Saw youmakingsomeheftytipstonight,girl.Wherearethey?”Yrene didn’t know what she would have done next: fought or cried or

beggedoractuallytriedtoscream.Butshedidn’thavetodecide.Themanfarthestfromthemwasyankedintothemistwithastrangledcry.

The mercenary holding her whirled toward him, dragging Yrene along.Therewasaruffleofclothing,thenathump.Thensilence.“Ven?”themanblockingthedoorcalled.Nothing.The third mercenary—standing between Yrene and the mist—drew his

short sword.Yrene didn’t have time to cry out in surprise orwarning as adarkfigureslippedfromthemistandgrabbedhim.Notinfront,butfromtheside,asifthey’djustappearedoutofthinair.ThemercenarythrewYrenetothegroundanddrewtheswordfromacross

his back, a broad, wicked-looking blade. But his companion didn’t evenshout.Moresilence.“Comeout,youbleedin’coward,”theringleadergrowled.“Faceuslikea

properman.”Alow,softlaugh.Yrene’sbloodwentcold.Silba,protecther.Sheknewthatlaugh—knewthecool,culturedvoicethatwentwithit.“Justlikehowyoupropermensurroundedadefenselessgirlinanalley?”Withthat,thestrangersteppedfromthemist.Shehadtwolongdaggersin

herhands.Andbothbladesweredarkwithdrippingblood.

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CHAPTER3

Gods.Oh,gods.Yrene’sbreathcamequicklyasthegirlsteppedclosertothetworemaining

attackers.The firstmercenary barked a laugh, but the one by the doorwaswide-eyed.Yrenecarefully,socarefully,backedaway.“Youkilledmymen?”themercenarysaid,bladeheldaloft.Theyoungwomanflippedoneofherdaggersintoanewposition.Thekind

ofpositionthatYrenethoughtwouldeasilyallowthebladetogostraightupthrough the ribs and into the heart. “Let’s just say yourmen gotwhatwascomingtothem.”Themercenary lunged, but the girlwaswaiting.Yrene knew she should

run—runandrunandnot lookback—but thegirlwasonlyarmedwith twodaggers,andthemercenarywasenormous,and—Itwasoverbeforeitreallystarted.Themercenarygotintwohits,bothmet

withthosewicked-lookingdaggers.Andthensheknockedhimoutcoldwitha swift blow to the head. So fast—unspeakably fast and graceful.Awraithmovingthroughthemist.Hecrumpledintothefogandoutofsight,andYrenedidn’tlistentoohard

asthegirlfollowedwherehe’dfallen.Yrene whipped her head to the mercenary in the doorway, preparing to

shout awarning toher savior.But themanwas already sprintingdown thealleyasfastashisfeetcouldcarryhim.Yrenehadhalfamindtodothatherselfwhenthestrangeremergedfrom

themist,bladescleanbutstillout.Stillready.“Please don’t killme,”Yrenewhispered. Shewas ready to beg, to offer

everythinginexchangeforheruseless,wastedlife.Buttheyoungwomanjustlaughedunderherbreathandsaid,“Whatwould

havebeenthepointinsavingyou,then?”

Celaenahadn’tmeanttosavethebarmaid.It had been sheer luck that she’d spotted the four mercenaries creeping

aboutthestreets,sheerluckthattheyseemedaseagerfortroubleasshewas.Shehadhuntedthemintothatalley,whereshefoundthemreadytohurtthat

girlinunforgivableways.Thefightwasovertooquicklytoreallybeenjoyable,orbeabalmtoher

temper.Ifyoucouldevencallitafight.Thefourthonehadgottenaway,butshedidn’tfeellikechasinghim,notas

theservantgirlstoodinfrontofher,shakingfromheadtotoe.Celaenahadafeelingthathurlingadaggerafterthesprintingmanwouldonlymakethegirlstartscreaming.Orfaint.Whichwould…complicatethings.But thegirl didn’t screamor faint.She just pointed a trembling finger at

Celaena’sarm.“You—you’rebleeding.”Celaenafrowneddownatthelittleshiningspotonherbicep.“IsupposeI

am.”Acarelessmistake.Thethicknessofhertunichadstoppeditfrombeinga

troublesomewound,butshe’dhavetocleanit.Itwouldbehealedinaweekorless.Shemadetoturnbacktothestreet,toseewhatelseshecouldfindtoamuseher,butthegirlspokeagain.“I—Icouldbinditupforyou.”Shewantedtoshakethegirl.Shakeherforabouttendifferentreasons.The

first, and biggest,was because shewas trembling and scared and had beenutterlyuseless.Thesecondwasforbeingstupidenoughtostandinthatalleyin themiddle of the night. She didn’t feel like thinking about all the otherreasons—notwhenshewasalreadyangryenough.“Icanbindmyselfupjustfine,”Celaenasaid,headingforthedoorthatled

into theWhite Pig’s kitchens. Days ago, she’d scoped out the inn and itssurroundingbuildings,andnowcouldnavigatethemblindfolded.“Silbaknowswhatwason thatblade,” thegirlsaid,andCelaenapaused.

InvokingtheGoddessofHealing.Veryfewdidthatthesedays—unlesstheywere…“I—mymother was a healer, and she taught me a few things,” the girl

stammered.“Icould—Icould…PleaseletmerepaythedebtIoweyou.”“Youwouldn’towemeanythingifyou’dusedsomecommonsense.”The girl flinched as thoughCelaena had struck her. It only annoyed her

even more. Everything annoyed her—this town, this kingdom, this cursedworld.“I’msorry,”thegirlsaidsoftly.“What are you apologizing to me for?Why are you apologizing at all?

Thosemenhaditcoming.Butyoushouldhavebeensmarteronanightlikethis—whenI’dbetallmymoneythatyoucould taste theaggression in thatfilthydamnedtaproom.”Itwasn’tthegirl’sfault,shehadtoremindherself.Notherfaultatallthat

shedidn’tknowhowtofightback.Thegirlputherfaceinherhands,hershoulderscurvinginward.Celaena

counteddownthesecondsuntilthegirlburstintosobs,untilshefellapart.But the tears didn’t come. The girl just took a few deep breaths, then

loweredherhands.“Letmecleanyourarm,”shesaidinavoicethatwas…different,somehow.Stronger,clearer.“Oryou’llwinduplosingit.”And the slight change in the girl was interesting enough that Celaena

followedherinside.Shedidn’tbotheraboutthethreebodiesinthealley.Shehadafeelingno

onebuttheratsandcarrion-feederswouldcareabouttheminthistown.

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CHAPTER4

Yrenebroughtthegirltoherroomunderthestairs,becauseshewashalf-afraid that the mercenary who’d gotten away would be waiting for themupstairs. And Yrene didn’t want to see any more fighting or killing orbleeding,strongstomachorno.Not tomentionshewasalsohalf-afraid tobe lockedin thesuitewith the

stranger.Sheleftthegirlsittingonhersaggingbedandwenttofetchtwobowlsof

water and some clean bandages—supplies that would be taken out of herpaycheckwhenNolanrealizedtheyweregone.Itdidn’tmatter,though.Thestrangerhadsavedherlife.Thiswastheleastshecoulddo.WhenYrenereturned,shealmostdroppedthesteamingbowls.Thegirlhad

removedherhoodandcloakandtunic.Yrenedidn’tknowwhattoremarkonfirst:Thatthegirlwasyoung—perhapstwoorthreeyearsyoungerthanYrene—

butfeltold.Thatthegirlwasbeautiful,withgoldenhairandblueeyesthatshoneinthe

candlelight.Orthatthegirl’sfacewouldhavebeenevenmorebeautifulhaditnotbeen

covered in a patchwork of bruises. Such horrible bruises, including a blackeyethathadundoubtedlybeenswollenshutatsomepoint.Thegirlwasstaringather,quietandstillasacat.Itwasn’tYrene’splacetoaskquestions.Especiallynotwhenthisgirlhad

dispatched threemercenaries in amatter ofmoments.Even if thegodshadabandonedher,Yrenestillbelievedinthem;theywerestillsomewhere,stillwatching.Shebelieved,becausehowelsecouldsheexplainbeingsavedjustnow?Andthethoughtofbeingalone—trulyalone—wasalmosttoomuchtobear,evenwhensomuchofherlifehadgoneastray.Thewatersloshed in thebowlsasYreneset themdownon the tiny table

besideherbed,tryingtokeepherhandsfromtremblingtoomuch.ThegirlsaidnothingwhileYreneinspectedthecutonherbicep.Herarm

was slender, but rock-hard with muscle. The girl had scars everywhere—smallones,bigones.Sheofferednoexplanationfor them,and itseemedtoYrene that the girl wore her scars the way some women wore their finest

jewelry.The strangercouldn’thavebeenolder than seventeenor eighteen,but…

butAdarlanhadmadethemallgrowupfast.Toofast.Yrene set about washing the wound, and the girl hissed softly. “Sorry,”

Yrenesaidquickly.“Iputsomeherbsinthereasanantiseptic.Ishouldhavewarned you.”Yrene kept a stash of themwith her at all times, alongwithotherherbshermotherhad taughtherabout. Just incase.Evennow,Yrenecouldn’tturnawayfromasickbeggarinthestreet,andoftenwalkedtowardthesoundofcoughing.“Believeme,I’vebeenthroughworse.”“I do,”Yrene said. “Believeyou, Imean.”Those scars andhermangled

face spoke volumes. And explained the hood. But was it vanity or self-preservationthatmadeherwearit?“What’syourname?”“It’snoneofyourconcern,anditdoesn’tmatter.”Yrenebithertongue.Ofcourseitwasnoneofherbusiness.Thegirlhadn’t

givenanametoNolan,either.Soshewastravelingonsomesecretbusiness,then.“MynameisYrene,”sheoffered.“YreneTowers.”Adistantnod.Ofcourse,thegirldidn’tcare,either.Thenthestrangersaid,“What’sthedaughterofahealerdoinginthispiece

ofshittown?”Nokindness,nopity.Justblunt,ifnotalmostbored,curiosity.“IwasonmywaytoAnticatojointheirhealers’academyandranoutof

money.” She dipped the rag into the water, wrung it out, and resumedcleaningtheshallowwound.“Igotworkheretopayforthepassageovertheocean, and … Well, I never left. I guess staying here became … easier.Simpler.”A snort. “This place? It’s certainly simple, but easy? I think I’d rather

starveinthestreetsofAnticathanlivehere.”Yrene’sfacewarmed.“It—I…”Shedidn’thaveanexcuse.The girl’s eyes flashed to hers. They were ringed with gold—stunning.

Evenwiththebruises,thegirlwasalluring.Likewildfire,orasummerstormsweptinofftheGulfofOro.“Letmegiveyouabitofadvice,”thegirlsaidbitterly,“fromoneworking

girltoanother:Lifeisn’teasy,nomatterwhereyouare.You’llmakechoicesyou think are right, and then suffer for them.” Those remarkable eyesflickered.“Soifyou’regoingtobemiserable,youmightaswellgotoAnticaandbemiserableintheshadowoftheTorreCesme.”Educated andpossibly extremelywell-traveled, then, if thegirl knew the

healers’academybyname—andshepronounceditperfectly.

Yreneshrugged,notdaring tovoiceherdozensofquestions. Instead,shesaid,“Idon’thavethemoneytogonow,anyway.”Itcameoutsharperthansheintended—sharperthanwassmart,considering

how lethal thisgirlwas.Yrenedidn’t try toguesswhatmannerofworkinggirlshemightbe—mercenarywasaboutasdarkasshe’dletherselfimagine.“Then steal the money and go. Your boss deserves to have his purse

lightened.”Yrenepulledback.“I’mnothief.”Aroguishgrin.“Ifyouwantsomething,thengotakeit.”Thisgirlwasn’tlikewildfire—shewaswildfire.Deadlyanduncontrollable.

Andslightlyoutofherwits.“Morethanenoughpeoplebelievethatthesedays,”Yreneventuredtosay.

LikeAdarlan.Likethosemercenaries.“Idon’tneedtobeoneofthem.”The girl’s grin faded. “So you’d rather rot away here with a clean

conscience?”Yrenedidn’thaveareply,soshedidn’tsayanythingasshesetdownthe

ragandbowlandpulledoutasmalltinofsalve.Shekeptitforherself,forthenicksandscrapesshegotwhileworking,butthiscutwassmallenoughthatshecouldspareabit.Asgentlyasshecould,shesmeareditontothewound.Thegirldidn’tflinchthistime.Afteramoment,thegirlasked,“Whendidyouloseyourmother?”“Overeightyearsago.”Yrenekeptherfocusonthewound.“Thatwasahardtimetobeagiftedhealeronthiscontinent,especiallyin

Fenharrow.TheKing ofAdarlan didn’t leavemuch of its people—or royalfamily—alive.”Yrenelookedup.Thewildfireinthegirl’seyeshadturnedintoascorching

blueflame.Suchrage,shethoughtwithashiver.Suchsimmeringrage.Whathadshebeenthroughtomakeherlooklikethat?Shedidn’task,ofcourse.Andshedidn’taskhowtheyoungwomanknew

whereshewasfrom.Yreneunderstood thathergoldenskinandbrownhairwere probably enough to mark her as being from Fenharrow, if her slightaccentdidn’tgiveheraway.“If you managed to attend the Torre Cesme,” the girl said, her anger

shifting as if she had shoved it downdeep inside her, “whatwould youdoafterward?”Yrenepickeduponeofthefreshbandagesandbeganwrappingitaround

the girl’s arm. She’d dreamed about it for years, contemplated a thousanddifferentfutureswhileshewasheddirtymugsandsweptthefloors.“I’dcomeback.Nottohere,Imean,buttothecontinent.GobacktoFenharrow.There

area…alotofpeoplewhoneedgoodhealersthesedays.”Shesaid the lastpartquietly.Forallsheknew, thegirlmightsupport the

KingofAdarlan—mightreporthertothesmalltownguardforjustspeakingilloftheking.Yrenehadseenithappenbefore,fartoomanytimes.ButthegirllookedtowardthedoorwithitsmakeshiftboltthatYrenehad

constructed,attheclosetthatshecalledherbedroom,atthethreadbarecloakdrapedoverthehalf-rottedchairagainsttheoppositewall,thenfinallybackather. It gave Yrene a chance to study her face. Seeing how easily she’dtrounced those mercenaries, whoever had harmed her must be fearsomeindeed.“You’dreallycomebacktothiscontinent—totheempire?”TherewassuchquietsurpriseinhervoicethatYrenemethereyes.“It’stherightthingtodo,”wasallYrenecouldthinkoftosay.The girl didn’t reply, andYrene continuedwrapping her arm.When she

was finished, the girl shrugged on her shirt and tunic, tested her arm, andstood.Inthecrampedbedroom,Yrenefeltsomuchsmallerthanthestranger,eveniftherewereonlyafewinches’differencebetweenthem.Thegirlpickeduphercloakbutdidn’tdonitasshetookasteptowardthe

closeddoor.“Icouldfindsomethingforyourface,”Yreneblurted.Thegirlpausedwithahandonthedoorknobandlookedoverhershoulder.

“Thesearemeanttobeareminder.”“Forwhat?Or—towhom?”Sheshouldn’tpry,shouldn’thaveevenasked.Shesmiledbitterly.“Forme.”Yrenethoughtof thescarsshe’dseenonherbodyandwonderedif those

wereallreminders,too.Theyoungwoman turnedback to the door, but stopped again. “Whether

youstay,orgotoAnticaandattendtheTorreCesmeandreturn tosavetheworld,” she mused, “you should probably learn a thing or two aboutdefendingyourself.”Yrene eyed the daggers at the girl’s waist, the sword she hadn’t even

needed to draw. Jewels embedded in the hilt—real jewels—glinted in thecandlelight. The girl had to be fabulouslywealthy, richer thanYrene couldeverconceiveofbeing.“Ican’taffordweapons.”The girl huffed a laugh. “If you learn thesemaneuvers, youwon’t need

them.”

Celaenatookthebarmaidintothealley,ifonlybecauseshedidn’twantto

wake the other inn guests and get into yet another fight. She didn’t reallyknowwhy she’doffered to teachher todefendherself.The last time she’dhelpedanybody,ithadjustturnedaroundtobeatthehelloutofher.Literally.But the barmaid—Yrene—had looked so earnest when she talked about

helpingpeople.Aboutbeingahealer.TheTorreCesme—anyhealersworththeirsaltknewabouttheacademyin

Antica where the best and brightest, no matter their station, could study.Celaenahadoncedreamedofdwellinginthefabledcream-coloredtowersoftheTorre,ofwalkingthenarrow,slopingstreetsofAnticaandseeingwondersbrought in from lands she’dnever heardof.But thatwas a lifetime ago.Adifferentpersonago.Notnow,certainly.AndifYrenestayedinthisgods-forsakentown,other

peoplewerebound to try to attackher again.SohereCelaenawas, cursingherownconscienceforafoolastheystoodinthemistyalleybehindtheinn.Thebodiesofthethreemercenarieswerestilloutthere,andCelaenacaught

Yrene cringing at the sound of scurrying feet and soft squeaking. The ratshadn’twastedanytime.Celaena gripped the girl’s wrist and held up her hand. “People—men—

usuallydon’thuntforthewomenwholooklikethey’llputupafight.They’llpick you because you look off-guard or vulnerable or like you’d besympathetic.They’llusuallytrytomoveyoutoanotherlocationwheretheywon’tneedtoworryaboutbeinginterrupted.”Yrene’seyeswerewide,herfacepaleinthelightofthetorchCelaenahad

droppedjustoutsidethebackdoor.Helpless.Whatwasitliketobehelplesstodefendyourself?Ashudderthathadnothingtodowiththeratsgnawingonthedeadmercenarieswentthroughher.“Do not let them move you to another location,” Celaena continued,

reciting from the lessons thatBen,Arobynn’sSecond, hadonce taught her.She’dlearnedself-defensebeforeshe’deverlearnedtoattackanyone,andtofirstfightwithoutweapons,too.“Fightbackenoughtoconvincethemthatyou’renotworthit.Andmakeas

much noise as you can. In a shit-hole like this, though, I bet no one willbothercomingtohelpyou.Butyoushouldstillstartscreamingyourheadoffabout a fire—not rape, not theft, not something that cowards would ratherhide from. And if shouting doesn’t discourage them, then there are a fewtrickstooutsmartthem.“Somemight make them drop like a stone, some might get them down

temporarily,butassoonastheyletgoofyou,yourbiggestpriorityisgettingthehellaway.Youunderstand?Theyletyougo,yourun.”

Yrenenodded,stillwide-eyed.SheremainedthatwayasCelaenatookthehandshe’dliftedandwalkedherthroughtheeye-gouge,showingherhowtoshoveherthumbsintothecornerofsomeone’seyes,crookherthumbsbackbehind the eyeballs, and—well, Celaena couldn’t actually finish that part,sinceshelikedherowneyeballsverymuch.ButYrenegraspeditafterafewtimes,anddiditperfectlywhenCelaenagrabbedherfrombehindagainandagain.Shethenshowedhertheearclap,thenhowtopinchtheinsideofaman’s

upper thighhard enough tomakehim scream,where to stompon themostdelicatepartof thefoot,whatsoftspotswere thebest tohitwithherelbow(Yreneactuallyhithersohard in the throat thatCelaenagaggedforagoodminute).Andthentoldhertogoforthegroin—alwaystrytogoforastriketothegroin.Andwhenthemoonwassetting,whenCelaenawasconvincedthatYrene

mightstandachanceagainstanassailant,theyfinallystopped.Yreneseemedtobeholdingherselfabittaller,herfaceflushed.“Iftheycomeafteryouformoney,”Celaenasaid,jerkingherchintoward

where the mercenaries lay in a heap, “throw whatever coins you have faraway from you and run in the opposite direction. Usually they’ll be sooccupied by chasing after your money that you’ll have a good chance ofescape.”Yrenenodded.“Ishould—IshouldteachallthistoJessa.”Celaenadidn’tknoworcarewhoJessawas,butshesaid,“Ifyouget the

chance,teachittoanyfemalewhowilltakethetimetolisten.”Silencefellbetweenthem.Therewassomuchmoretolearn,somuchelse

toteachher.Butdawnwasabouttwohoursaway,andsheshouldprobablygoback to her room now, if only to pack and go. Go, not because she wasordered toorbecause she foundherpunishmentacceptable,but…becausesheneededto.SheneededtogototheRedDesert.Even if itwas only to seewhere theWyrd planned to lead her. Staying,

runningawaytoanotherland,avoidingherfate…shewouldn’tdothat.Shecouldn’t be likeYrene, a living reminder of loss and shoved-aside dreams.No, she’d continue to theRedDesert and follow thispath,wherever it led,howevermuchitstungherpride.Yrene cleared her throat. “Did you—did you ever have to use these

maneuvers?Nottopry.Imean,youdon’thavetoanswerif—”“I’veusedthem,yes—butnotbecauseIwasinthatkindofsituation.I…”

Sheknewsheshouldn’tsayit,butshedid.“I’musuallytheonewhodoesthehunting.”

Yrene,tohersurprise,justnodded,ifabitsadly.Therewassuchirony,sherealized,inthemworkingtogether—theassassinandthehealer.Twooppositesidesofthecoin.Yrenewrappedherarmsaroundherself.“HowcanIeverrepayyoufor—”ButCelaenaheldupahand.Thealleywasempty,butshecouldfeelthem,

couldheartheshiftinthefog,inthescurryingoftherats.Pocketsofquiet.ShemetYrene’sstareandflickedhereyes toward thebackdoor,asilent

command.Yrenehadgonewhiteandstiff.Itwasonethingtopractice,buttoputlessonsintoaction,tousethem…Yrenewasmoreofaliability.Celaenajerkedherchinatthedoor,anordernow.Therewere at least fivemen—twoon either end of the alley converging

uponthem,andonemorestandingguardbythebusierendofthestreet.YrenewasthroughthebackdoorbythetimeCelaenadrewhersword.

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CHAPTER5

Inthedarkenedkitchen,Yreneleanedagainstthebackdoor,ahandonherhammeringheartasshelistenedtothemeleeoutside.Earlier,thegirlhadtheelementofsurprise—buthowcouldshefacethemagain?Her hands trembled as the sound of clashing blades and shouts filtered

through the crack beneath the door. Thumps, grunts, growls. What washappening?Shecouldn’tstandit,notknowingwhatwashappeningtothegirl.Itwentagainsteveryinstincttoopenupthebackdoorandpeerout.Herbreathcaughtinherthroatatthesight:Themercenarywhohadescapedearlierhadreturnedwithmorefriends—

moreskilledfriends.Twowerefacedownonthecobblestones,poolsofbloodaroundthem.Buttheremainingthreewereengagedwiththegirl,whowas—was—Gods,shemovedlikeablackwind,suchlethalgrace,and—Ahand closedoverYrene’smouth as someonegrabbedher frombehind

and pressed something cold and sharp against her throat. There had beenanotherman;hecameinthroughtheinn.“Walk,”hebreathed inherear,hisvoiceroughandforeign.Shecouldn’t

seehim,couldn’ttellanythingabouthimbeyondthehardnessofhisbody,thereekofhisclothes,thescratchofaheavybeardagainsthercheek.Heflungopen the door and, still holding the dagger toYrene’s neck, strode into thealley.The youngwoman stopped fighting.Anothermercenary had gone down,

andthetwobeforeherhadtheirbladespointedather.“Dropyourweapons,” themansaid.Yrenewouldhave shakenherhead,

butthedaggerwaspressedsoclosethatanymovementshemadewouldhaveslitherownthroat.Theyoungwomaneyedthemen,thenYrene’scaptor,thenYreneherself.

Calm—utterlycalmandcoldasshebaredherteethinaferalgrin.“Comeandgetthem.”Yrene’s stomach dropped. Theman had only to shift his wrist and he’d

spillherlife’sblood.Shewasn’treadytodie—notnow,notinInnish.Hercaptorchuckled.“Boldandfoolishwords,girl.”Hepushedtheblade

harder, and Yrene winced. She felt the dampness of her blood before sherealizedhe’dcutathinlineacrossherneck.Silbasaveher.Butthegirl’seyeswereonYrene,andtheynarrowedslightly.Inchallenge,

inacommand.Fightback,sheseemedtosay.Fightforyourmiserablelife.Thetwomenwiththeswordscircledcloser,butshedidn’tlowerherblade.“DropyourweaponsbeforeIcutheropen,”Yrene’scaptorgrowled.“Once

we’redonemakingyoupayforourcomrades,forallthemoneyyoucostuswith theirdeaths,maybewe’ll lether live.”HesqueezedYrene tighter,butthe young woman just watched him. The mercenary hissed. “Drop yourweapons.”Shedidn’t.Gods,shewasgoingtolethimkillher,wasn’tshe?Yrene couldn’t die like this—not here, not as a no-name barmaid in this

horribleplace.Wouldn’tdielikethis.Hermotherhadgonedownswinging—hermotherhad fought forher,hadkilledthatsoldiersoYrenecouldhaveachancetoflee,tomakesomethingofherlife.Todosomegoodfortheworld.Shewouldn’tdielikethis.The rage hit, so staggering thatYrene could hardly see through it, could

hardlyseeanythingexceptayearinInnish,afuturebeyondhergrasp,andalifeshewasnotreadytopartwith.Shegavenowarningbeforeshestompeddownashardasshecouldonthe

bridgeoftheman’sfoot.Hejerked,howling,butYrenebroughtupherarms,shovingthedaggerfromherthroatwithonehandasshedroveherelbowintohisgut.Droveitwitheverybitofrageshehadburninginher.Hegroanedashedoubledover,andsheslammedherelbowintohistemple,justasthegirlhadshownher.Theman collapsed to his knees, and Yrene bolted. To run, to help, she

didn’tknow.Butthegirlwasalreadystandinginfrontofher,grinningbroadly.Behind

her,thetwomenlayunmoving.Andthemanonhisknees—Yrene dodged aside as the young woman grabbed the gasping man and

draggedhimintothedarkmistbeyond.Therewasamuffledscream,thenathump.Anddespiteherhealer’sblood,despitethestomachshe’dinherited,Yrene

barelymadeittwostepsbeforeshevomited.When she was done, she found the young woman watching her again,

smiling faintly. “Fast learner,” she said. Her fine clothes, even her darklyglittering rubybrooch,werecoveredwithblood.Notherown,Yrenenotedwithsomerelief.“Yousureyouwanttobeahealer?”

Yrene wiped her mouth on the corner of her apron. She didn’t want toknowwhat thealternativewas—what thisgirlmightbe.No,all shewantedwastosmackher.Hard.“Youcouldhavedispatchedthemwithoutme!Butyouletthatmanholda

knifetomythroat—youlethim!Areyouinsane?”Thegirlsmiledinsuchawaythatsaidyes,shewasmostcertainlyinsane.

But she said, “Those men were a joke. I wanted you to get some realexperienceinacontrolledenvironment.”“Youcallthatcontrolled?”Yrenecouldn’thelpshouting.Sheputahandto

the already clotted slice in her neck. Itwould heal quickly, butmight scar.She’dhavetoinspectitimmediately.“Lookatitthisway,YreneTowers:nowyouknowyoucandoit.Thatman

wastwiceyourweightandhadalmostafootonyou,andyoudownedhiminafewheartbeats.”“Yousaidthosemenwereajoke.”Afiendishgrin.“Tome,theyare.”Yrene’sbloodchilled.“I—I’vehadenoughoftoday.IthinkIneedtogoto

bed.”Thegirlsketchedabow.“AndIshouldprobablybeonmyway.Wordof

advice:wash the blood out of your clothes and don’t tell anyonewhat yousaw tonight. Those men might have more friends, and as far as I’mconcerned,theyweretheunfortunatevictimsofahorriblerobbery.”SheheldupaleatherpouchheavywithcoinsandstalkedpastYreneintotheinn.Yrene spared a glance at the bodies, felt a heavy weight drop into her

stomach, and followed the girl inside. She was still furious with her, stillshakingwiththeremnantsofterroranddesperation.Soshedidn’tsaygood-byetothedeadlygirlasshevanished.

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CHAPTER6

Yrenedidasthegirlsaidandchangedintoanothergownandapronbeforegoing to the kitchens to wash the blood from her clothes. Her handswereshakingsobadly that it took longer thanusual towash theclothing,andbythetimeshefinished,thepalelightofdawnwascreepingthroughthekitchenwindow.Shehadtobeupin…well,now.Groaning,shetrudgedbacktoherroom

tohangthewetclothes todry.Ifsomeonesawher laundrydrying, itwouldonlyraisesuspicion.Shesupposedshe’dhavetobetheonetopretendtofindthebodies,too.Gods,whatamess.Wincingatthethoughtofthelong,longdayaheadofher,tryingtomake

senseofthenightshe’djusthad,Yreneenteredherroomandsoftlyshutthedoor.Evenifshetoldsomeone,theyprobablywouldn’tbelieveher.Itwasn’tuntilshewasdonehangingherclothesonthehooksembeddedin

thewall that shenoticed the leatherpouchon thebed, and thenotepinnedbeneathit.She knew what was inside, could easily guess based on the lumps and

edges.Herbreathcaughtinherthroatasshepulledoutthenote.There,inelegant,femininehandwriting,thegirlhadwritten:

Noname,nodate.Staringatthepaper,shecouldalmostpicturethegirl’sferal smile and the defiance in her eyes. This note, if anything, was achallenge—adare.Handsshakinganew,Yrenedumpedoutthecontentsofthepouch.The pile of gold coins shimmered, andYrene staggered back, collapsing

intothericketychairacrossfromthebed.Sheblinked,andblinkedagain.Not just gold, but also the brooch the girl hadbeenwearing, itsmassive

rubysmolderinginthecandlelight.Ahandtohermouth,Yrenestaredatthedoor,attheceiling,thenbackat

thesmallfortunesittingonherbed.Staredandstaredandstared.Thegodshadvanished,hermotherhadonceclaimed.Buthadthey?Hadit

been some god who had visited tonight, clothed in the skin of a batteredyoungwoman?Orhaditmerelybeentheirdistantwhispersthatpromptedthestrangertowalkdownthatalley?Shewouldneverknow,shesupposed.Andmaybethatwasthewholepoint.Whereveryouneedtogo…Godsorfateorjustpurecoincidenceandkindness,itwasagift.Thiswasa

gift. The world was wide-open—wide-open and hers for the taking, if shedared. She could go to Antica, attend the Torre Cesme, go anywhere shewished.Ifshedared.Yrenesmiled.Anhourlater,noonestoppedYreneTowersasshewalkedoutoftheWhite

Pigandneverlookedback.

Washed and dressed in a new tunic, Celaena boarded the ship an hourbeforedawn.Itwasherowndamnfaultthatshefelthollowandlight-headedafteranightwithoutrest.Butshecouldsleeptoday—sleepthewholejourneyacrosstheGulfofOrototheDesertedLand.Sheshouldsleep,becauseonceshelandedinYurpa,shehadatrekacrossblistering,deadlysands—aweek,at least, through the desert before the reached the Mute Master and hisfortressofSilentAssassins.Thecaptaindidn’taskquestionswhenshepressedapieceofsilverintohis

palm andwent belowdecks, following his directions to find her stateroom.Withthehoodandblades,sheknewnoneofthesailorswouldbotherher.Andwhileshenowhadtobecarefulwiththemoneyshehadleft,sheknewshe’dhandoveranothersilverpieceortwobeforethevoyagewasdone.Sighing,Celaenaenteredhercabin—smallbutclean,withalittlewindow

thatlookedoutontothedawn-graybay.Shelockedthedoorbehindherandslumpedonto the tinybed.She’dseenenoughof Innish; shedidn’tneed tobotherwatchingthedeparture.She’dbeenonherwayoutof the innwhenshe’dpassed thathorrifically

small closet Yrene called a bedroom.While Yrene had tended to her arm,Celaenahadbeenastoundedbythecrampedconditions,thericketyfurniture,thetoo-thinblankets.She’dplannedtoleavesomecoinsforYreneanyway—if only because she was certain the innkeeper would make Yrene pay forthosebandages.But Celaena had stood in front of that wooden door to the bedroom,

listeningtoYrenewashherclothesinthenearbykitchen.Shefoundherself

unableto turnaway,unable tostopthinkingabout thewould-behealerwiththe brown-gold hair and caramel eyes, of what Yrene had lost and howhelplessshe’dbecome.Thereweresomanyofthemnow—thechildrenwhohadlosteverything toAdarlan.Childrenwhohadnowgrownintoassassinsandbarmaids,withoutatrueplacetocallhome,theirnativekingdomsleftinruinandash.Magichadbeengoneall theseyears.And thegodsweredead,orsimply

didn’tcareanymore.Yetthere,deepinhergut,wasasmallbutinsistenttug.Atugonastrandofsomeinvisibleweb.SoCelaenadecidedtotugback,justtoseehowfarandwidethereverberationswouldgo.Itwasamatterofmomentstowritethenoteandthenstuffmostofhergold

piecesintothepouch.Aheartbeatlater,she’dsetitonYrene’ssaggingcot.She’daddedArobynn’srubybroochasapartingthought.Shewonderedif

a girl from ravaged Fenharrowwouldn’tmind a brooch inAdarlan’s royalcolors.ButCelaenawasgladtoberidofit,andhopedYrenewouldpawnthepieceforthesmallfortuneitwasworth.Hopedthatanassassin’sjewelwouldpayforahealer’seducation.Somaybeitwasthegodsatwork.Maybeitwassomeforcebeyondthem,

beyond mortal comprehension. Or maybe it was just for what and whoCelaenawouldneverbe.YrenewasstillwashingherbloodiedclothesinthekitchenwhenCelaena

slippedoutofherroom,thendownthehall,andlefttheWhitePigbehind.As she stalked through the foggy streets toward the ramshackle docks,

Celaena had prayed Yrene Towers wasn’t foolish enough to tell anyone—especiallytheinnkeeper—aboutthemoney.PrayedYreneTowersseizedherlifewithbothhandsandsetoutforthepale-stonedcityofAntica.Prayedthatsomehow,yearsfromnow,YreneTowerswouldreturntothiscontinent,andmaybe,justmaybe,healtheirshatteredworldalittlebit.Smilingtoherselfintheconfinesofhercabin,Celaenanestledintothebed,

pulledherhood lowoverhereyes, andcrossedherankles.By the time theshipsetsailacrossthejade-greengulf,theassassinwasfastasleep.

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THEASSASSINANDTHEDESERT

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CHAPTER1

Therewasnothingleftintheworldexceptsandandwind.Atleast,that’showitseemedtoCelaenaSardothienasshestoodatopthe

crimsonduneandgazedacrossthedesert.Evenwiththewind,theheatwasstifling, and sweatmade hermany layers of clothes cling to her body. Butsweating,hernomadguidehadtoldher,wasagoodthing—itwaswhenyoudidn’tsweatthattheRedDesertbecamedeadly.Sweatremindedyoutodrink.When the heat evaporated your perspiration before you could realize youweresweating,that’swhenyoucouldcrossintodehydrationandnotknowit.Oh,themiserableheat.Itinvadedeveryporeofher,madeherheadthrob

and her bones ache. The muggy warmth of Skull’s Bay had been nothingcomparedtothis.Whatshewouldn’tgiveforjustthebriefestofcoolbreezes!Besideher,thenomadguidepointedaglovedfingertowardthesouthwest.

“The sessiz suikast are there.” Sessiz suikast. The Silent Assassins—thelegendaryorderthatshe’dbeensentheretotrainwith.“To learn obedience and discipline,” Arobynn Hamel had said. In the

height of summer in the RedDesert waswhat he’d failed to add. It was apunishment. Twomonths ago,whenArobynn had sent Celaena alongwithSamCortland toSkull’sBayonanunknownerrand, they’ddiscovered thathe’dactuallydispatchedthemtotradeinslaves.Needlesstosay,thathadn’tsatwellwithCelaenaorSam,despite their occupation.So they’d freed theslaves, deciding to damn the consequences. But now … As punishmentswent, thiswasprobablytheworst.Giventhebruisesandcutsthatwerestillhealing on her face a month after Arobynn had bestowed them, that wassayingsomething.Celaenascowled.Shepulledthescarfabithigheroverhermouthandnose

asshetookastepdownthedune.Herlegsstrainedagainsttheslidingsand,but itwasawelcome freedomafter theharrowing trek through theSingingSands,whereeachgrainhadhummedandwhinedandmoaned.They’dspenta whole day monitoring each step, careful to keep the sand beneath themringinginharmony.Orelse,thenomadhadtoldher,thesandscoulddissolveintoquicksand.Celaenadescendedthedune,butpausedwhenshedidn’thearherguide’s

footsteps.“Aren’tyoucoming?”

Themanremainedatopthedune,andpointedagainto thehorizon.“Twomiles thatway.”Hisuseof thecommontonguewasabitunwieldy,butsheunderstoodhimwellenough.Shepulleddownthescarffromhermouth,wincingasagustofsandstung

hersweatyface.“Ipaidyoutotakemethere.”“Two miles,” he said, adjusting the large pack on his back. The scarf

aroundhisheadobscuredhistannedfeatures,butshecouldstillseethefearinhiseyes.Yes,yes,thesessizsuikastwerefearedandrespected in thedesert. Ithad

beenamiraclethatshe’dfoundaguidewillingtotakeherthisclosetotheirfortress. Of course, offering gold had helped. But the nomads viewed thesessizsuikastaslittlelessthanshadowsofdeath—andapparently,herguidewouldgonofarther.Shestudiedthewestwardhorizon.Shecouldseenothingbeyonddunesand

sandthatrippledlikethesurfaceofawindblownsea.“Twomiles,”thenomadsaidbehindher.“Theywillfindyou.”Celaenaturnedtoaskhimanotherquestion,buthehadalreadydisappeared

overtheothersideofthedune.Cursinghim,shetriedtoswallow,butfailed.Hermouthwastoodry.Shehadtostartnow,orelseshe’dneedtosetuphertenttosleepouttheunforgivingmiddayandafternoonheat.Twomiles.Howlongcouldthattake?Takingasipfromherunnervinglylightwaterskin,Celaenapulledherscarf

backoverhermouthandnoseandbeganwalking.Theonlysoundwasthewindhissingthroughthesand.

Hours later,Celaena found herself using all of her self-restraint to avoidleapingintothecourtyardpoolsorkneelingtodrinkatoneofthelittleriversrunningalong the floor.Noonehadofferedherwateruponherarrival,andshedidn’t thinkhercurrentescortwasinclinedtodosoeitherasheledherthroughthewindinghallsoftheredsandstonefortress.The twomileshad feltmore like twenty.Shehadbeen justabout tostop

and set upher tentwhen she’d crested aduneand the lushgreen trees andadobefortresshadspreadbeforeher,hiddeninanoasisnestledbetweentwomonstroussanddunes.Afterallthat,shewasparched.ButshewasCelaenaSardothien.Shehada

reputationtouphold.Shekepthersensesalertastheywalkedfartherintothefortress—takingin

exitsandwindows,notingwheresentrieswerestationed.Theypassedarow

ofopen-airtrainingroomsinwhichshecouldseepeoplefromallkingdomsandofallagessparringorexercisingorjustsittingquietly,lostinmeditation.They climbed a narrow flight of steps that went up and up into a largebuilding. The shade of the stairwell was wonderfully cool. But then theyenteredalong,enclosedhall,andtheheatwrappedaroundherlikeablanket.For a fortress of supposedly silent assassins, the place was fairly noisy,

withtheclatterofweaponsfromthetrainingrooms,thebuzzingofinsectsinthemanytreesandbushes,thechatterofbirds,thegurgleofallthatcrystal-clearwaterrunningthrougheveryroomandhall.Theyapproachedanopensetofdoorsattheendofthehallway.Herescort

—amiddle-agedmanfleckedwithscarsthatstoodoutlikechalkagainsthistanskin—saidnothingtoher.Beyondthedoors,theinteriorwasamixtureofshadow and light. They entered a giant chamber flanked by blue-paintedwoodenpillars that supportedamezzanineoneither side.Aglance into thedarknessofthebalconyinformedherthattherewerefigureslurkingthere—watching,waiting.Thereweremoreintheshadowsofthecolumns.Whoevertheythoughtshewas,theycertainlyweren’tunderestimatingher.Good.A narrow mosaic of green and blue glass tiles wove through the floor

toward the dais, echoing the little rivers on the lower level. Atop the dais,seatedamongcushionsandpottedpalms,wasawhiterobedman.TheMuteMaster.Shehadexpectedhimtobeancient,butheseemedtobe

aroundfifty.Shekeptherchinheldhighastheyapproachedhim,followingthetilepathinthefloor.Shecouldn’ttelliftheMaster’sskinhadalwaysbeenthat tan or if it was from the sun.He smiled slightly—he’d probably beenhandsome in his youth. Sweat oozed down Celaena’s spine. Though theMaster had no visible weapons, the two servants fanning him with palmleaveswerearmed to the teeth.Herescort stoppeda safedistance from theMasterandbowed.Celaenadidthesame,andwhensheraisedherself,sheremovedthehood

fromoverherhair.Shewassureitwasamessanddisgustinglygreasyaftertwoweeks in the desert with no water to bathe in, but she wasn’t here toimpresshimwithherbeauty.TheMuteMaster looked her up and down, and then nodded.Her escort

nudgedherwithanelbow,andCelaenaclearedherdrythroatasshesteppedforward.SheknewtheMuteMasterwouldn’tsayanything;hisself-imposedsilence

was well-known. It was incumbent upon her to make the introduction.Arobynn had told her exactly what to say—ordered her was more like it.Therewouldbenodisguises,nomasks,nofakenames.SinceshehadshownsuchdisregardforArobynn’sbestinterests,henolongerhadanyinclination

toprotecthers.She’ddebatedforweekshowshemightfindawaytoprotecther identity—to keep these strangers from knowing who she was—butArobynn’s orders had been simple: she had one month to win the MuteMaster’srespect.Andifshedidn’treturnhomewithhisletterofapproval—aletter about Celaena Sardothien—she’d better find a new city to live in.Possiblyanewcontinent.“Thankyouforgrantingmeanaudience,MasteroftheSilentAssassins,”

shesaid,silentlycursingthestiffnessofherwords.Sheput ahandoverherheart anddropped tobothknees. “I amCelaena

Sardothien, protégée of Arobynn Hamel, King of the Northern Assassins.”Adding “Northern” seemed appropriate; she didn’t think the Mute MasterwouldbemuchpleasedtolearnthatArobynncalledhimselfKingofall theAssassins. But whether or not it surprised him, his face revealed nothing,thoughshesensedsomeofthepeopleintheshadowsshiftingontheirfeet.“Mymastersentmeheretobeseechyoutotrainme,”shesaid,chafingat

thewords.Trainher!SheloweredherheadsotheMasterwouldn’tseetheireon her face. “I am yours.” She tilted her palms faceup in a gesture ofsupplication.Nothing.Warmthworsethantheheatofthedesertsingedhercheeks.Shekepther

headdown,herarmsstillupheld.Clothrustled,thennear-silentstepsechoedthroughthechamber.Atlast,twobare,brownfeetstoppedbeforeher.Adryfinger tiltedherchinup,andCelaenafoundherselfstaringinto the

sea-greeneyesoftheMaster.Shedidn’tdaremove.Withonemovement,theMastercouldsnapherneck.Thiswasatest—atestoftrust,sherealized.Shewilledherselfintostillness,focusingonthedetailsofhisfacetoavoid

thinkingabouthowvulnerableshewas.Sweatbeadedalongtheborderofhisdarkhair,whichwascroppedclosetohishead.Itwasimpossibletotellwhatkingdomhehailedfrom;hishazelnutskinsuggestedEyllwe.Buthiselegant,almond-shaped eyes suggested one of the countries in the distant southerncontinent.Regardless,howhadhewounduphere?Shebracedherselfashislongfingerspushedbacktheloosestrandsofher

braided hair, revealing the yellowing bruises still lingering around her eyesand cheeks, and the narrow arc of the scab along her cheekbone. HadArobynn sent word that she would be coming? Had he told him thecircumstancesunderwhichshe’dbeenpackedoff?TheMasterdidn’tseematallsurprisedbyherarrival.ButtheMaster’seyesnarrowed,hislipsformingatightlineashelookedat

theremnantsofthebruisesontheothersideofherface.Shewasluckythat

Arobynnwasskilledenoughtokeephisblowsfrompermanentlymarringher.A twinge of guiltwent through her as shewondered if Sam had healed aswell.Inthethreedaysfollowingherbeating,shehadn’tseenhimaroundtheKeep.She’dblackedoutbeforeArobynncoulddealwithhercompanion.Andsincethatnight,evenduringhertripouthere,everythinghadbeenahazeofrage and sorrow and bone-deep weariness, as if she were dreaming whileawake.Shecalmedher thunderingheart just as theMaster releasedher faceand

steppedback.Hemotionedwithahandforhertorise,whichshedid,tothereliefofherachingknees.The Master gave her a crooked smile. She would have echoed the

expression—butaninstantlaterhesnappedhisfingers,triggeringfourmentochargeather.

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CHAPTER2

Theydidn’thaveweapons,buttheirintentwasclearenough.Thefirstman,cladintheloose,layeredclothingthateveryoneherewore,reachedher,andshedodgedthesweepingblowaimedatherface.Hisarmshotpasther,andshe grabbed it by the wrist and bicep, locking and twisting his arm so hegruntedwith pain. Shewhirled him around, careening him into the secondattackerhardenoughthatthetwomenwenttumblingtotheground.Celaena leapt back, landing where her escort had been standing only

secondsbefore, careful to avoid crashing into theMaster.Thiswas anothertest—atesttoseeatwhatlevelshemightbeginhertraining.Andifshewasworthy.Ofcourseshewasworthy.ShewasCelaenaSardothien,godsbedamned.Thethirdmanpulledouttwocrescent-shapeddaggersfromthefoldsofhis

beigetunicandslashedather.Herlayeredclothingwastoocumbersomeforhertodartawayfastenough,soasheswipedforherface,shebentback.Herspinestrained,butthetwobladespassedoverhead,slicingthroughanerrantstrand of her hair. She dropped to the ground and lashed out with a leg,sweepingthemanoffhisfeet.Thefourthman,though,hadcomeupbehindher,acurvedbladeflashing

in his hand as hemade to plunge it through her head. She rolled, and theswordstruckstone,sparking.Bythetimeshegottoherfeet,he’draisedtheswordagain.Shecaughthis

feinttotheleftbeforehestruckatherright.Shedancedaside.Themanwasstillswingingwhenshedrovethebaseofherpalmstraightintohisnoseandslammed her other fist into his gut. The man dropped to the floor, bloodgushing from his nose. She panted, the air ragged in her already-burningthroat.Shereally,reallyneededwater.Noneofthefourmenonthegroundmoved.TheMasterbegansmiling,and

itwasthenthattheothersgatheredaroundthechambersteppedclosertothelight. Men and women, all tan, though their hair showed the range of thevariouskingdomsonthecontinent.Celaenainclinedherhead.Noneofthemnoddedback.Celaenakeptoneeyeonthefourmenbeforeherastheygottotheirfeet,sheathedtheirweapons,andstalkedbacktotheshadows.Hopefullytheywouldn’ttakeitpersonally.

She scanned the shadows again, bracing herself for more assailants.Nearby,ayoungwomanwatchedher,andsheflashedCelaenaaconspirator’sgrin.Celaenatriednot tolooktoointerested, thoughthegirlwasoneof themoststunningpeopleshe’deverbeheld.Itwasn’tjustherwine-redhairorthecolorofhereyes,ared-brownCelaenahadneverseenbefore.No,itwasthegirl’sarmor that initiallycaughther interest:ornate to thepointofprobablybeinguseless,butstillaworkofart.The right shoulder was fashioned into a snarling wolf’s head, and her

helmet, tucked into the crookofher arm, featured awolfhunchedover thenoseguard. Another wolf’s head had been molded into the pommel of herbroadsword.On anyone else, the armormight have looked flamboyant andridiculous,butonthegirl…Therewasastrange,boyishsortofcarelessnesstoher.Still,Celaenawonderedhowitwaspossiblenottobeswelteringtodeath

insideallthatarmor.TheMaster clappedCelaena on the shoulder andbeckoned to the girl to

comeforward.Not toattack—afriendly invitation.Thegirl’sarmorclinkedasitmoved,butherbootswerenear-silent.TheMasterusedhishandstoformaseriesofmotionsbetweenthegirland

Celaena. The girl bowed low, then gave her that wicked grin again. “I’mAnsel,”shesaid,hervoicebright,amused.Shehadabarelyperceptiblelilttoher accent that Celaena couldn’t place. “Looks like we’re sharing a roomwhileyou’rehere.”TheMastergesturedagain,hiscalloused,scarredfingerscreatingrudimentarygesturesthatAnselcouldsomehowdecipher.“Say,howlongwillthatbe,actually?”Celaena fought her frown. “One month.” She inclined her head to the

Master.“Ifyouallowmetostaythatlong.”Withthemonththatittooktogethere,andthemonthitwouldtaketoget

home,she’dbeawayfromRiftholdthreemonthsbeforeshereturned.TheMastermerelynoddedandwalkedbacktothecushionsatopthedais.

“That means you can stay,” Ansel whispered, and then touched Celaena’sshoulderwithanarmor-cladhand.Apparentlynotalltheassassinsherewereunder a vow of silence—or had a sense of personal space. “You’ll starttrainingtomorrow,”Anselwenton.“Atdawn.”TheMastersankontothecushions,andCelaenaalmostsaggedwithrelief.

Arobynnhadmadeherthinkthatconvincinghimtotrainherwouldbenearlyimpossible.Fool.Packherofftothedeserttosuffer,wouldhe!“Thank you,” Celaena said to the Master, keenly aware of the eyes

watchingherinthehallasshebowedagain.Hewavedheraway.

“Come,”Anselsaid,herhairshimmering ina rayofsunlight.“Isupposeyou’llwantabathbeforeyoudoanythingelse. I certainlywould, if Iwereyou.”Anselgaveherasmilethatstretchedthesplatteringoffrecklesacrossthebridgeofhernoseandcheeks.Celaenaglancedsidelongatthegirlandherornatearmor,andfollowedher

fromtheroom.“That’sthebestthingI’veheardinweeks,”shesaid.

AlonewithAnselastheystrodethroughthehalls,Celaenakeenlyfelttheabsence of the long daggers usually sheathed in her belt. But they’d beentaken fromher at the gate, alongwith her sword and her pack. She let herhandsdangleathersides,readytoreacttotheslightestmovementfromherguide. Whether or not Ansel noticed Celaena’s readiness to fight, the girlswungherarmscasually,herarmorclankingwiththemovement.Herroommate.Thatwasanunfortunatesurprise.SharingaroomwithSam

for a few nights was one thing. But a month with a complete stranger?CelaenastudiedAnseloutofthecornerofhereye.Shewasslightlytaller,butCelaenacouldn’t seemuchelseabouther, thanks to thearmor.She’dneverspentmuchtimearoundothergirls,savethecourtesansthatArobynninvitedtotheKeepforpartiesortooktothetheater,andmostofthemwerenotthesort of person that Celaena cared to know. There were no other femaleassassinsinArobynn’sguild.Buthere…inadditiontoAnsel,therehadbeenjust asmanywomenasmen. In theKeep, therewasnomistakingwho shewas.Here,shewasonlyanotherfaceinthecrowd.For all she knew,Anselmight be better than her. The thought didn’t sit

well.“So,”Anselsaid,herbrowsrising.“CelaenaSardothien.”“Yes?”Anselshrugged—oratleastshruggedaswellasshecould,giventhearmor.

“Ithoughtyou’dbe…moredramatic.”“Sorry todisappoint,”Celaenasaid,notsoundingverysorryatall.Ansel

steeredthemupashortstaircase,thendownalonghall.Childrenpoppedinand out of the rooms along the passage, buckets and brooms andmops inhand.Theyoungestlookedabouteight,theeldestabouttwelve.“Acolytes,”AnselsaidinresponsetoCelaena’ssilentquestion.“Cleaning

the rooms of the older assassins is part of their training. Teaches themresponsibilityandhumility.Orsomethinglikethat.”Anselwinkedatachildwhogapedupatherasshepassed.Indeed,severalofthechildrenstaredafterAnsel,theireyeswidewithwonderandrespect;Anselmustbewellregarded,

then.NoneofthembotheredtolookatCelaena.Sheraisedherchin.“And howoldwere youwhen you came here?”Themore she knew the

better.“Ihadbarelyturnedthirteen,”Anselsaid.“SoInarrowlymissedhavingto

dothedrudgerywork.”“Andhowoldareyounow?”“Tryingtogetareadonme,areyou?”Celaenakeptherfaceblank.“Ijustturnedeighteen.Youlookaboutmyage,too.”Celaenanodded.Shecertainlydidn’thave toyieldany informationabout

herself.EventhoughArobynnhadorderedhernot tohideher identityhere,that didn’t mean she had to give away details. And at least Celaena hadstartedhertrainingateight;shehadseveralyearsonAnsel.Thathadtocountforsomething.“HastrainingwiththeMasterbeeneffective?”Ansel gaveher a rueful smile. “Iwouldn’t know. I’vebeenhere for five

years,andhe’sstillrefusedtotrainmepersonally.NotthatIcare.I’dsayI’mprettydamngoodwithorwithouthisexpertise.”Well,thatwascertainlyodd.Howhadshegoneso longwithoutworking

withtheMaster?Though,manyofArobynn’sassassinsneverreceivedprivatelessonswithhim,either.“Whereareyoufrom,originally?”Celaenaasked.“TheFlatlands.”TheFlatlands…WhereinhellweretheFlatlands?Ansel

answeredforher.“AlongthecoastoftheWesternWastes—formerlyknownastheWitchKingdom.”TheWasteswerecertainlyfamiliar.Butshe’dneverheardoftheFlatlands.“My father,”Anselwent on, “is Lord of Briarcliff. He sentme here for

training,soImight‘makemyselfuseful.’ButIdon’tthinkfivehundredyearswouldbeenoughtoteachmethat.”Despite herself, Celaena chuckled. She stole another glance at Ansel’s

armor.“Don’tyougethotinallthatarmor?”“Ofcourse,”Anselsaid,tossinghershoulder-lengthhair.“Butyouhaveto

admit it’s rather striking.Andverywell suited for strutting about a fortressfullofassassins.HowelseamItodistinguishmyself?”“Wheredidyougetitfrom?”Notthatshemightwantsomeforherself;she

hadnouseforarmorlikethat.“Oh,Ihaditmadeforme.”So—Anselhadmoney,then.Plentyofit,ifshe

could throw it away on armor. “But the sword”—Ansel patted the wolf-shapedhiltatherside—“belongs tomyfather.Hisgift tomewhenI left. IfiguredI’dhavethearmormatchit—wolvesareafamilysymbol.”Theyenteredanopenwalkway,theheatofthemidafternoonsunslamming

intothemwithfullforce.YetAnsel’sfaceremainedjovial,andif thearmordidindeedmakeheruncomfortable,shedidn’tshowit.Ansellookedherupanddown.“Howmanypeoplehaveyoukilled?”Celaenaalmostchoked,butkeptherchinhigh.“Idon’tseehowthatisany

ofyourconcern.”Anselchuckled.“Isupposeit’dbeeasyenoughtofindout;youmustleave

someindicationifyou’resonotorious.”Actually,itwasArobynnwhousuallysaw to it thatwordgotout through theproper channels.She left very littlebehind once her jobwas finished. Leaving a sign felt somewhat… cheap.“I’dwanteveryonetoknowthatI’ddoneit,”Anseladded.Well, Celaena did want everyone to know that she was the best, but

something about the way Ansel said it seemed different from her ownreasoning.“So, which of you looks worse?” Ansel asked suddenly. “You, or the

person who gave those to you?” Celaena knew that she meant the fadingbruisesandcutsonherface.Herstomachtightened.Itwasgettingtobeafamiliarfeeling.“Me,”Celaenasaidquietly.Shedidn’tknowwhysheadmittedit.Bravadomighthavebeenthebetter

option. But she was tired, and suddenly so heavy with the weight of thatmemory.“Didyourmasterdothattoyou?”Anselasked.Thistime,Celaenastayed

silent,andAnseldidn’tpushher.At theother endof thewalkway, they tooka spiral stone staircasedown

intoanemptycourtyardwherebenchesandlittletablesstoodintheshadeofthe towering date trees. Someone had left a book lying atop one of thewoodentables,andas theypassedby,Celaenaglimpsedthecover.Thetitlewasinascrawling,strangescriptthatshedidn’trecognize.Ifshe’dbeenalone,shemighthavepausedtoflipthroughthebook,justto

see words printed in a language so different from anything she knew, butAnselcontinuedontowardapairofcarvedwoodendoors.“Thebaths.It’soneoftheplacesherewheresilenceisactuallyenforced,so

trytokeepquiet.Don’tsplashtoomuch,either.Someoftheolderassassinscangetcrankyabouteventhat.”Anselpushedoneofthedoorsopen.“Takeyourtime.I’llseetoitthatyourthingsarebroughttoourroom.Whenyou’redone,askanacolytetotakeyouthere.Dinnerisn’tforafewhours;I’llcomebytheroomthen.”Celaenagaveheralonglook.TheideaofAnsel—oranyone—handlingthe

weapons and gear she’d left at the gatewasn’t appealing.Not that she had

anythingtohide—thoughshedidcringeinwardlyatthethoughtoftheguardspawing at her undergarments as they searched her bag. Her taste for veryexpensiveandverydelicateunderwearwouldn’tdomuchforherreputation.Butshewashereattheirmercy,andherletterofapprovaldependedonher

goodbehavior.Andgoodattitude.SoCelaenamerelysaid“Thankyou,”before stridingpastAnseland into

theherb-scentedairbeyondthedoors.

While the fortress had communal baths, they were thankfully separatedbetweenmen andwomen, and at that point in the day, the women’s bathswereempty.Hiddenbytoweringpalmsanddatetreessaggingwiththeweightoftheir

fruit, thebathsweremadefromthesameseagreenandcobalt tilesthathadformed the mosaic in the Master’s chamber, kept cool by white awningsjuttingoutfromthewallsofthebuilding.Thereweremultiplelargepools—some steamed, some bubbled, some steamed and bubbled—but the oneCelaenaslippedintowasutterlycalmandclearandcold.Celaenastifledagroanasshesubmergedherselfandstayedunderuntilher

lungsached.Whilemodestywasatraitshe’dlearnedtolivewithout,shestillkeptherselflowinthewater.Ofcourse,ithadnothingtodowiththefactthather ribs and armswere pepperedwith fading bruises, and that the sight ofthemmadehersick.Sometimesitwassickwithanger;othertimesitwaswithsorrow.Often, itwasboth.Shewanted togoback toRifthold—toseewhathadhappenedtoSam,toresumethelifethathadsplinteredinafewagonizingminutes.Butshealsodreadedit.Atleast,hereattheedgeoftheworld,thatnight—andallofRiftholdand

thepeopleitcontained—seemedveryfaraway.Shestayedinthepooluntilherhandsturneduncomfortablypruny.

Anselwasn’tintheirtiny,rectangularroomwhenCelaenaarrived,thoughsomeone had unpacked Celaena’s belongings. Aside from her sword anddaggers,someundergarments,andafewtunics,shehadn’tbroughtmuch—andhadn’tbothered tobringher finerclothing.Whichshewasgrateful for,nowthatshe’dseenhowquicklythesandhadwornthroughthebulkyclothesthenomadhadmadeherwear.Thereweretwonarrowbeds,andittookheramomenttofigureoutwhich

wasAnsel’s.Theredstonewallbehinditwasbare.Asidefromthesmalliron

wolf figurine on the bedside table, and a humansized dummy thatmust beused to storeAnsel’s extraordinary armor,Celaenawouldhavehadno ideathatshewassharingaroomwithanyone.Peeking through Ansel’s chest of drawers was equally futile. Burgundy

tunics and black pants, all neatly folded. The only things that offset themonotonywereseveralwhitetunics—garbthatmanyofthemenandwomenhad been wearing. Even the undergarments were plain—and folded. Whofolded their undergarments? Celaena thought of her enormous closet backhome, exploding with color and different fabrics and patterns, all tossedtogether.Herundergarments,whileexpensive,usuallywoundupinaheapintheirdrawer.Samprobablyfoldedhisundergarments.Though,dependingonhowmuch

ofhimArobynnhad left intact,hemightnotevenbeable tonow.Arobynnwouldneverpermanentlymaimher, butSammighthave faredworse.Samhadalwaysbeentheexpendableone.Sheshovedthethoughtawayandnestledfartherintothebed.Throughthe

smallwindow,thesilenceofthefortresslulledhertosleep.

She’dneverseenArobynnsoangry,anditwasscaringthehelloutofher.Hedidn’tyell,andhedidn’tcurse—hejustwentverystillandveryquiet.Theonlysignsofhisragewerehissilvereyes,glitteringwithadeadlycalm.Shetriednottoflinchinherchairashestoodfromthegiantwoodendesk.

Sam,seatedbesideher,suckedinabreath.Shecouldn’tspeak;ifshestartedtalking,hertremblingvoicewouldbetrayher.Shecouldn’tendurethatkindofhumiliation.“Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?” Arobynn asked her

softly.Celaena’spalmsbegansweating. Itwasworth it,she toldherself.Freeing

thosetwohundredslaveswasworthit.Nomatterwhatwasabouttohappen,she’dneverregretdoingit.“It’snotherfault,”Samcutin,andsheflashedhimawarningglare.“We

boththoughtitwas—”“Don’t lie tome, SamCortland,” Arobynn growled. “The only way you

becameinvolvedinthiswasbecauseshedecidedtodoit—anditwaseitherletherdietrying,orhelpher.”Samopened hismouth to object, butArobynn silenced himwith a sharp

whistle through his teeth. His office doors opened. Wesley, Arobynn’sbodyguard, peered in. Arobynn kept his eyes on Celaena as he said, “Get

Tern,Mullin,andHarding.”This wasn’t a good sign. She kept her face neutral, though, as Arobynn

continuedwatchingher.NeithershenorSamdaredspeakinthelongminutesthatpassed.Shetriednottoshake.Atlast,thethreeassassins—allmen,allcutfrommuscleandarmedtothe

teeth,filedin.“Shutthedoor,”ArobynnsaidtoHarding,thelastonetoenter.Thenhetoldtheothers,“Holdhim.”Instantly,Samwasdraggedoutofhischair,hisarmspinnedbackbyTern

andMullin.Hardingtookastepinfrontofthem,hisfistflexing.“No,” Celaena breathed as she met Sam’s wide-eyed stare. Arobynn

wouldn’t be that cruel—he wouldn’t make her watch as he hurt Sam.Somethingtightandachingbuiltinherthroat.ButCelaenakeptherheadhigh,evenasArobynnsaidquietlytoher,“You

arenotgoingtoenjoythis.Youwillnotforgetthis.AndIdon’twantyouto.”ShewhippedherheadbacktoSam,apleaforHardingnottohurthimon

herlips.ShesensedtheblowonlyaheartbeatbeforeArobynnstruckher.Shetoppledoutofherchairanddidn’thavetimetoraiseherselfproperly

before Arobynn grabbed her by the collar and swung again, his fistconnecting with her cheek. Light and darkness reeled. Another blow, hardenoughthatshe felt thewarmthofherbloodonher facebeforeshe felt thepain.Sam began screaming something. But Arobynn hit her again. She tasted

blood, yet she didn’t fight back, didn’t dare to. Sam struggled against TernandMullin.Theyheldhim firm,Hardingputtingawarningarm in frontofSamtoblockhispath.Arobynnhither—herribs,herjaw,hergut.Andherface.Againandagain

and again.Careful blows—blowsmeant to inflict asmuch pain as possiblewithoutdoingpermanentdamage.AndSamkeptroaring,shoutingwordsshecouldn’tquitehearovertheagony.Thelastthingsherememberedwasapangofguiltatthesightofherblood

stainingArobynn’sexquisiteredcarpet.Andthendarkness,blissfuldarkness,fullofreliefthatshehadn’tseenhimhurtSam.

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER3

Celaena dressed in the nicest tunic she’d brought—which wasn’t reallyanythingtoadmire,butthemidnightblueandgolddidbringouttheturquoisehuesinhereyes.Shewentsofarastoapplysomecosmeticstohereyes,butoptedtoavoidputtinganythingontherestofherface.Eventhoughthesunhadset, theheat remained.Anythingsheputonher skinwould likelysliderightoff.Anselmadegoodonherpromisetoretrieveherbeforedinnerandpestered

Celaenawithquestionsaboutherjourneyduringthewalktothedininghall.As theywalked, thereweresomeareaswhereAnsel talkednormally,otherswhereshekepthervoiceatawhisper,andotherswhereshesignalednot tospeakatall.Celaenacouldn’ttellwhycertainroomsdemandeduttersilenceandothersdidnot—theyallseemedthesame.Stillexhausteddespitehernap,and unsure when she could speak, Celaena kept her answers brief. Shewouldn’thavemindedmissingdinnerandjustsleepingallnight.Stayingalertas theyentered thehallwasaneffortofwill.Yetevenwith

herexhaustion,sheinstinctivelyscannedtheroom.Therewerethreeexits—thegiantdoorsthroughwhichtheyentered,andtwoservants’doorsoneitherend.Thehallwaspackedwall-to-wallwithlongwoodentablesandbenchesfull of people. At least seventy of them in total. None of them looked atCelaenaasAnsel ambled towarda tablenear the frontof the room. If theyknewwhoshewas,theycertainlydidn’tcare.Shetriednottoscowl.Ansel slid into place at a table and patted the empty spot on the bench

besideher.Thenearestassassinslookedupfromtheirmeal—somehadbeentalkingquietlyandothersweresilent—asCelaenastoodbeforethem.Ansel waved a hand in Celaena’s direction. “Celaena, this is everyone.

Everyone, this is Celaena. Though I’m sure you gossips know everythingaboutheralready.”Shespokesoftly,andeven thoughsomeassassins in thehallwere talking, theyseemed tohearher just fine.Even theclankof theirutensilsseemedhushed.Celaena scanned the faces of those around her; they all seemed to be

watching herwith benign, if not amused, curiosity.Carefully, too aware ofeach of her movements, Celaena sat on the bench and surveyed the table.Plattersofgrilled,fragrantmeats;bowlsfullofspherical,spicedgrains;fruitsanddates;andpitcherafterpitcherofwater.

Ansel helped herself, her armor glinting in the light of the ornate glasslanternsdanglingfromtheceiling,andthenpiledthesamefoodonCelaena’splate.“Juststarteating,”shewhispered.“Italltastesgood,andnoneofitispoisoned.”Toemphasizeherpoint,Anselpoppedacubeofcharredlambintohermouth and chewed. “See?” she said between bites. “LordBerickmightwant to kill us, but he knows better than to try to get rid of us throughpoisons.We’re far tooskilled to fall for that sortof thing.Aren’twe?”Theassassinsaroundhergrinned.“LordBerick?”Celaenaasked,nowstaringatherplateandallthefoodon

it.Anselmadeaface,gobblingdownsomesaffron-coloredgrains.“Ourlocal

villain.OrIsupposewe’rehislocalvillains,dependingonwhoistellingthestory.”“He’s thevillain,” saida curly-haired,dark-eyedmanacross fromAnsel.

Hewashandsomeinaway,buthadasmilefartoomuchlikeCaptainRolfe’sfor Celaena’s liking. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. “Nomatterwhoistellingthestory.”“Well,youareruiningmystory,Mikhail,”Anselsaid,butgrinnedathim.

HetossedagrapeatAnsel,andshecaughtitinhermouthwithease.Celaenastilldidn’t touchher food. “Anyway,”Ansel said,dumpingmore foodontoCelaena’splate,“LordBerickrulesoverthecityofXandria,andclaimsthatherulesthispartofthedesert,too.Ofcourse,wedon’tquiteagreewiththat,but…Toshortenalongandfrightfullydullstory,LordBerickhaswantedusalldeadforyearsandyears.TheKingofAdarlansetanembargoontheRedDesert after Lord Berick failed to send troops into Eyllwe to crush somerebellion, andBerick has been dying to get back in the king’s good graceseversince.Hesomehowgotitintohisthickskullthatkillingallofus—andsendingtheheadoftheMuteMastertoAdarlanonasilverplatter—woulddothetrick.”Anseltookanotherbiteofmeatandwenton.“So,everynowandthen,he

triessometacticorother:sendingaspsinbaskets,sendingsoldiersposingasourbelovedforeigndignitaries”—shepointedtoatableattheendofthehall,where the people were dressed in exotic clothing—“sending troops in thedeadofnighttofireflamingarrowsatus…Why,twodaysago,wecaughtsome of his soldiers trying to dig a tunnel beneath ourwalls. Ill-conceivedplanfromthestart.”Across the table, Mikhail chuckled. “Nothing’s worked yet,” he said.

Hearingthenoiseoftheirconversation,anassassinatanearbytablepivotedtoraiseafingertoherlips,shushingthem.Mikhailgavethemanapologeticshrug.Thedininghall,Celaenagleaned,mustbeasilence-is-requested-but-

not-requiredsortofplace.AnselpouredaglassofwaterforCelaena,thenoneforherself,andspoke

more quietly. “I suppose that’s the problemwith attacking an impenetrablefortress fullof skilledwarriors:youhave tobe smarter thanus.Though…Berick is almost brutal enough to make up for it. The assassins that havefallen intohishandscameback inpieces.”Sheshookherhead.“Heenjoysbeingcruel.”“And Ansel knows that firsthand,”Mikhail chimed in, though his voice

waslittlemorethanamurmur.“She’shadthepleasureofmeetinghim.”Celaenaraisedabrow,andAnselmadeaface.“OnlybecauseI’mthemost

charmingofyoulot.TheMastersometimessendsmetoXandriatomeetwithBerick—to try to negotiate some sort of accord between us.Thankfully, hestillwon’tdareviolatethetermsofparlay,but…oneofthesedays,I’llpayformycourierdutieswithmyhide.”MikhailrolledhiseyesatCelaena.“Shelikestobedramatic.”“ThatIdo.”Celaena gave them both a weak smile. It had been a few minutes, and

Anselcertainlywasn’tdead.Shebit intoapieceofmeat,nearlymoanedatthe array of tangy-smoky spices, and set about eating. Ansel and Mikhailbegan chattering to each other, andCelaena took the opportunity to glancedownthetable.OutsideofthemarketsinRiftholdandtheslaveshipsatSkull’sBay,she’d

neverseensuchamixofdifferentkingdomsandcontinents.Andthoughmostof the people here were trained killers, there was an air of peace andcontentment—of joy, even. She flicked her eyes to the table of foreigndignitaries thatAnselhadpointedout.Menandwomen,hunchedover theirfood,whisperedwithoneanotherandoccasionallywatched theassassins intheroom.“Ah,”Ansel saidquietly.“They’re just squabblingoverwhichofus they

wanttomakeabidfor.”“Bid?”Mikhail leanedforwardtosee theambassadors throughthecrowd.“They

comeherefromforeigncourtstoofferuspositions.Theymakeoffersfortheassassinsthatmostimpressthem—sometimesforonemission,othertimesforalifelongcontract.Anyofusarefreetogo,ifwewish.Butnotallofuswanttoleave.”“Andyoutwo…?”“Ach,no,”Anselsaid.“Myfatherwouldwallopmefromheretotheends

of the earth if I bound myself to a foreign court. He’d say it’s a form of

prostitution.”Mikhaillaughedunderhisbreath.“Personally,Ilikeithere.WhenIwant

toleave,I’lllettheMasterknowI’mavailable.Butuntilthen…”HeglancedatAnsel,andCelaenacouldhaveswornthegirl’sfaceflushedslightly.“Untilthen,I’vegotmyreasonstostay.”Celaenaasked,“Whatcourtsdothedignitarieshailfrom?”“None inAdarlan’sgrip, if that’swhatyou’reasking.”Mikhail scratched

theday’sworthofstubbleonhisface.“OurMasterknowswellenoughthateverythingfromEyllwetoTerrasenisyourMaster’sterritory.”“Itcertainlyis.”Shedidn’tknowwhyshesaidit.GivenwhatArobynnhad

donetoher,shehardlyfeltdefensiveoftheassassinsinAdarlan’sempire.But…buttoseealltheseassassinsgatheredhere,somuchcollectivepowerandknowledge, and toknow that theywouldn’tdare intrudeonArobynn’s—onher—territory…Celaenawentoneating insilenceasAnselandMikhailanda fewothers

around them talked quietly. Vows of silence, Ansel had explained earlier,weretakenforaslongaseachpersonsawfit.Somespentweeksinsilence;others,years.Anselclaimedshe’doncesworn tobesilent foramonth,andhad only lasted two days before she gave up. She liked talking toomuch.Celaenadidn’thaveanytroublebelievingthat.Afewofthepeoplearoundthemwerepantomiming.Thoughitoftentook

them a few tries to discern the vague gestures, it seemed like Ansel andMikhailcouldinterpretthemovementsoftheirhands.Celaena felt someone’s attention on her, and tried not to blinkwhen she

noticedadark-haired,handsomeyoungmanwatchingher froma fewseatsdown.Stealingglancesatherwasmorelikeit,sincehissea-greeneyeskeptdarting toher face, thenback tohiscompanions.Hedidn’topenhismouthonce,butpantomimedtohisfriends.Anothersilentone.Theireyesmet,andhis tan facespread intoasmile, revealingdazzlingly

whiteteeth.Well,hewascertainlydesirable—asdesirableasSam,maybe.Sam—whenhadsheeverthoughtofhimasdesirable?He’dlaughuntilhe

diedifheeverknewshethoughtofhimlikethat.Theyoungmaninclinedhisheadslightlyingreeting, thenturnedbackto

hisfriends.“That’s Ilias,” Ansel whispered, leaning closer than Celaena would like.

Didn’tshehaveanysenseofpersonalspace?“TheMaster’sson.”That explained the sea-green eyes. Though the Master had an air of

holiness,hemustnotbecelibate.“I’msurprisedyoucaughtIlias’seye,”Anselteased,keepinghervoicelow

enough foronlyCelaenaandMikhail tohear. “He’susually too focusedonhistrainingandmeditatingtonoticeanyone—evenprettygirls.”Celaenaraisedherbrows,bitingbackareplythatshedidn’twanttoknow

anyofthis.“I’ve known him for years, and he’s never been anything but aloofwith

me,” Ansel continued. “But maybe he has a thing for blondes.” Mikhailsnorted.“I’mnothereforanythinglikethat,”Celaenasaid.“AndIbetyouhaveaflockofsuitorsbackhome,anyway.”“Icertainlydonot.”Ansel’smouthpoppedopen.“You’relying.”Celaenatookalong,longsipofwater.Itwasflavoredwithslicesoflemon

—andwasunbelievablydelicious.“No,I’mnot.”Ansel gave her a quizzical look, then fell back into conversation with

Mikhail. Celaena pushed around the food on her plate. It wasn’t that shewasn’tromantic.She’dbeeninfatuatedwithafewmenbefore—fromArcher,theyoungmale courtesanwho’d trainedwith them for a fewmonthswhenshewas thirteen, to Ben, Arobynn’s now-deceased Second, backwhen shewastooyoungtoreallyunderstandtheimpossibilityofsuchathing.ShedaredanotherlookatIlias,whowaslaughingsilentlyatsomethingone

of his companions had said. It was flattering that he even considered herworthyofsecondthought;she’davoidedlookinginthemirrorinthemonthsincethatnightwithArobynn,onlycheckingtoensurenothingwasbrokenoroutofplace.“So,” Mikhail said, shattering her thoughts as he pointed a fork at her,

“when your master beat the living daylights out of you, did you actuallydeserveit?”Anselshothimadarklook,andCelaenastraightened.EvenIliaswasnow

listening, his lovely eyes fixed on her face. But Celaena stared right atMikhail.“Isupposeitdependsonwhoistellingthestory.”Anselchuckled.“IfArobynnHamelistellingthestory,thenyes,IsupposeIdiddeserveit.

Icosthimagooddealofmoney—akingdom’sworthof riches,probably. Iwasdisobedientanddisrespectful, andcompletely remorselessaboutwhat Idid.”Shedidn’tbreakherstare,andMikhail’ssmilefaltered.“ButifthetwohundredslavesthatIfreedaretellingthestory,thenno,I

supposeIdidn’tdeserveit.”Noneofthemweresmilinganymore.“Holygods,”Anselwhispered.True

silencefellovertheirtableforafewheartbeats.Celaenaresumedeating.Shedidn’tfeelliketalkingtothemafterthat.

Under the shade of the date trees that separated the oasis from the sand,Celaenastaredoutattheexpanseofdesertstretchingbeforethem.“Saythatagain,” she said flatly toAnsel. After the hushed dinner last night and theutterly silent fortress walkways that had brought them here, speakingnormallygratedonherears.ButAnsel,whowaswearingawhitetunicandpants,andbootswrappedin

camelpelts,justgrinnedandfastenedherwhitescarfaroundherredhair.“It’sa three-mile run to the next oasis.”Ansel handedCelaena the twowoodenbucketsshe’dbroughtwithher.“Theseareforyou.”Celaena raised her brows. “I thought Iwas going to be trainingwith the

Master.”“Oh, no. Not today,” Ansel said, picking up two buckets of her own.

“Whenhesaid‘training’hemeantthis.Youmightbeabletowallopfourofourmen, but you still smell like the northernwind.Onceyou start reekingliketheRedDesert,thenhe’llbothertotrainyou.”“That’sridiculous.Whereishe?”Shelookedtowardthefortresstowering

behindthem.“Oh,youwon’t findhim.Notuntilyouproveyourself.Showthatyou’re

willing to leavebehind all that youknowandall that youwere.Makehimthinkyou’reworthhis time.Thenhe’ll trainyou.At least, that’swhat I’vebeentold.”Ansel’smahoganyeyesgleamedwithamusement.“Doyouknowhowmanyofushavebeggedandgroveledtojusthaveonelessonwithhim?He picks and chooses as he sees fit. One morning, he might approach anacolyte.Thenext,itmightbesomeonelikeMikhail.I’mstillwaitingformyturn.Idon’tthinkevenIliasknowsthemethodbehindhisfather’sdecisions.”Thiswasn’tatallwhatCelaenahadplanned.“ButIneedhimtowritemea

letterofapproval.Ineedhimtotrainme.I’mheresohecantrainme—”Anselshrugged.“Soareweall.IfIwereyou,though,I’dsuggesttraining

withmeuntilhedecidesthatyou’reworthit.Ifanything,Icangetyouintotherhythmofthings.Makeitseemmorelikeyoucareaboutus,andlesslikeyou’reherejustforthatletterofapproval.Notthatwealldon’thaveourownsecretagenda.”Anselwinked,andCelaenafrowned.Panickingnowwouldn’tdoheranygood.Sheneededtimetocomeupwitha logicalplanofaction.She’d try to speak to the Master later. Perhaps he hadn’t understood heryesterday.Butfornow…she’dtagalongafterAnselfortheday.TheMaster

hadbeenatdinnerthenightbefore;ifsheneededto,shecouldcornerhiminthedininghalltonight.When Celaena didn’t object further, Ansel held up a bucket. “So this

bucket is for your journey back from the oasis—you’ll need it. And thisone”—shehelduptheother—“isjusttomakethetriphell.”“Why?”Anselhookedthebuckets into theyokeacrosshershoulders.“Because if

youcanrunthreemilesacrossthedunesoftheRedDesert,thenthreemilesback,youcandoalmostanything.”“Run?” Celaena’s throat dried up at the thought of it. All around them,

assassins—mostlythechildren,plusafewothersabitolderthanher—beganrunningforthedunes,theirbucketsclackingalong.“Don’ttellmetheinfamousCelaenaSardothiencan’trunthreemiles!”“Ifyou’vebeenhereforsomanyyears,doesn’tthethreemilesseemlike

nothingnow?”Anselrolledhernecklikeacatstretchingoutinthesun.“Ofcourseitdoes.

But the running keeps me in shape. You think I was just born with theselegs?” Celaena ground her teeth as Ansel gave her a fiendish grin. She’dnevermetanyonewhosmiledandwinkedsomuch.Anselbeganjogging,leavingtheshadeofthedatetreesoverhead,kicking

up a wave of red sand behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. “If youwalk, it’ll take all day! And then you’ll certainly never impress anyone!”Anselpulledherscarfoverhernoseandmouthandtookoffatagallop.Takingadeepbreath,cursingArobynntoHell,Celaenahookedthebuckets

ontotheyokeandran.Ifithadbeenthreeflatmiles,eventhreemilesupgrassyknolls,shemight

havemadeit.Buttheduneswereenormousandunwieldy,andCelaenamadeit one measly mile before she had to slow to a walk, her lungs near tocombusting. It was easy enough to find the way—the dozens of footprintsfromthepeopleracingaheadshowedherwheresheneededtogo.She ranwhen she could andwalkedwhen she couldn’t, but the sun rose

higherandhigher, toward thatdangerousnoontimepeak.Uponehill,downtheother.Onefootinfrontofthenext.Brightflashesflittedacrosshervision,andherheadpounded.Theredsandshimmered,andshedrapedherarmsovertheyoke.Herlips

becamefilmy,crackinginplaces,andhertongueturnedleadeninhermouth.Eachstepmadeherheadthrob,andthesunrosehigherandhigher…Onemoredune.Justonemoredune.But many more dunes later, she was still trudging along, following the

smattering of footprints in the sand. Had she somehow tracked thewronggroup?Evenasshethoughtit,assassinsappearedatopthedunebeforeher,already

runningbacktothefortress,theirbucketsheavywithwater.Shekeptherheadhighastheypassedanddidn’t lookanyof theminthe

face.Most of themdidn’t bother looking at her, though a few spared her amortifyinglypityingglance.Theirclothesweresodden.Shecrestedadunesosteepshehadtouseonehandtobraceherself,and

justwhenshewasabouttosinktoherkneesatopit,sheheardsplashing.Asmalloasis,mostlyaringoftreesandagiantpoolfedbyashimmering

stream,wasbarelyaneighthofamileaway.ShewasAdarlan’sAssassin—atleastshe’dmadeithere.In the shallows of the pool, many disciples splashed or bathed or sat,

coolingthemselves.Noonespoke—andhardlyanyonegestured.Anotheroftheabsolutelysilentplaces,then.ShespottedAnselwithherfeetinthewater,tossingdatesintohermouth.NoneoftheotherspaidCelaenaanyheed.Andfor once, she was glad. Perhaps she should have found a way to defyArobynn’sorderandcomehereunderanalias.Anselwavedherover.Ifshegaveheronelookthathintedatherbeingso

slow…ButAnselmerelyheldupadate,offeringittoher.Celaena,tryingtocontrolherpanting,didn’tbothertakingthedateasshe

strodeintothecoolwateruntilshewascompletelysubmerged.

Celaenadrank an entire bucket before shewas evenhalfwayback to thefortress,andbythetimeshereachedthesandstonecomplexanditsgloriousshade,she’dconsumedallofthesecond.Atdinner,Anseldidn’tmentionthatit’dtakenCelaenaalong,longwhile

toreturn.Celaenahadhadtowaitintheshadeofthepalmsuntillaterintheafternoon to leave—and wound up walking the whole way back. She’dreachedthefortressneardusk.Awholedayspent“running.”“Don’tlooksoglum,”Anselwhispered,takingaforkfulofthosedelightful

spicedgrains.Shewaswearingherarmoragain.“Youknowwhathappenedmyfirstdayoutthere?”Someoftheassassinsseatedatthelongtablegaveknowinggrins.Anselswallowedandbracedherarmson the table.Even thegauntletsof

her armor were delicately engraved with a wolf motif. “My first run, Icollapsed.Miletwo.Completelyunconscious.Iliasfoundmeonhiswayback

and carried me here. In his arms and everything.” Ilias’s eyes met withCelaena’s,andhesmiledather.“IfIhadn’tbeenabouttodie,Iwouldhavebeen swooning,” Ansel finished and the others grinned, some of themlaughingsilently.Celaena blushed, suddenly too aware of Ilias’s attention, and took a sip

fromher cup of lemonwater.As themealwore on, her blush remained asIliascontinuedflickinghiseyestowardher.Shetriednottopreentoomuch.Butthensherememberedhowmiserably

she’dperformed today—howshehadn’tevengottenachance to train—andtheswaggerdiedabit.ShekeptaneyeontheMaster,whodinedatthecenteroftheroom,safely

ensconcedwithinrowsofhisdeadlyassassins.Hesatata tableofacolytes,whoseeyesweresowidethatCelaenacouldonlyassumehispresenceattheirtablewasanunexpectedsurprise.Shewaitedandwaited forhim to stand, andwhenhedid,Celaenamade

herbestattempttolookcasualasshe,too,stoodandbideveryonegoodnight.Assheturnedaway,shenoticedthatMikhailtookAnsel’shandandhelditintheshadowsbeneaththetable.TheMaster was just leaving the hall when she caught up to him.With

everyone still eating, the torch-lit halls were empty. She took a loud step,unsureifhe’dappreciateifshetriedbeingmute,andhow,exactly,toaddresshim.TheMasterpaused,hiswhiteclothesrustlingaroundhim.Heofferedhera

little smile. Up close, she could certainly see his resemblance to his son.Therewasapale linearoundoneofhis fingers—perhapswhereaweddingringhadoncebeen.WhowasIlias’smother?Ofcourse, itwasn’tatall the timeforquestions like that.Anselhad told

hertotrytoimpresshim—tomakehimthinkshewantedtobehere.Perhapssilencewouldwork.Buthow tocommunicatewhatneeded tobe said?Shegave himher best smile, even thoughher heart raced, and beganmaking aseriesofmotions,mostly justherbest impressionofrunningwith theyoke,andalotofshakingherheadandfrowningthatshehopedhe’dtaketomean“Icameheretotrainwithyou,notwiththeothers.”TheMasternodded,asifhealreadyknew.Celaenaswallowed,hermouth

still tasting of those spices they used to season their meat. She gesturedbetween the two of them several times, taking a step closer to indicate herwanting toworkonlywithhim.Shemighthavebeenmoreaggressivewithhermotions,mighthavereallylethertemperandexhaustiongetthebetterofher,but…thatconfoundedletter!

TheMastershookhishead.Celaenagroundherteeth,andtriedthegesturingbetweenthetwoofthem

again.Heshookhisheadoncemore,andbobbedhishandsintheair,asifhewere

tellinghertoslowdown—towait.Towaitforhimtotrainher.Shereflectedthegesture,raisinganeyebrowasiftosay,“Waitforyou?”

Henodded.Howonearthtoaskhim“Untilwhen?”Sheexposedherpalms,beseeching, doing her best to look confused. Still, she couldn’t keep theirritationfromherface.Shewasonlyhereforamonth.Howlongwouldshehavetowait?The Master understood her well enough. He shrugged, an infuriatingly

casualgesture,andCelaenaclenchedherjaw.SoAnselhadbeenright—shewastowaitforhimtosendforher.TheMastergaveherthatkindsmileandturnedonhisheel,resuminghiswalk.Shetookasteptowardhim,tobeg,toshout,todowhateverherbodyseizeduptodo,butsomeonegrabbedherarm.Shewhirled, already reaching for her daggers, but found herself looking

intoIlias’ssea-greeneyes.Heshookhishead,hisgazedartingfromtheMastertoherandbackagain.

Shewasnottofollowhim.SoperhapsIliashadn’tpaidattentiontoheroutofadmiration,butbecause

he didn’t trust her.Andwhy should he?Her reputation didn’t exactly lenditselftotrust.Hemusthavefollowedheroutofthehallthemomenthesawhertrailinghisfather.Hadtheirpositionsbeenreversed—hadhebeenvisitingRifthold—shewouldn’thavedaredleavehimalonewithArobynn.“I have no plans to hurt him,” she said softly. But Ilias gave her a half

smile,hisbrowsrisingasiftoaskifshecouldblamehimforbeingprotectiveofhisfather.Heslowlyreleasedherarm.Heworenoweaponsathisside,butshehada

feelinghedidn’tneedthem.Hewastall—tallerthanSam,even—andbroad-shouldered.Powerfullybuilt,yetnotbulky.Hissmilespreadabitmoreasheextendedhishandtowardher.Agreeting.“Yes,” she said, fighting her own smile. “I don’t suppose we’ve been

properlyintroduced.”Henodded,andputhisotherhandonhisheart.Scarspepperedhishand—

small,slenderscarsthatsuggestedyearsoftrainingwithblades.“You’reIlias,andI’mCelaena.”Sheputahandonherownchest.Thenshe

tookhisextendedhandandshookit.“It’snicetomeetyou.”Hiseyeswerevividinthetorchlight,hishandfirmandwarmaroundhers.

Sheletgoofhisfingers.ThesonoftheMuteMasterandtheprotégéeofthe

KingoftheAssassins.Iftherewasanyoneherewhowasatallsimilartoher,sherealized,itwasIlias.Riftholdmightbeherrealm,butthiswashis.Andfrom the easy way he carried himself, from the way she’d seen hiscompanionsgazingathimwithadmirationandrespect,shecouldtellthathewas utterly at home here—as if this place had beenmade for him, and heneverneededtoquestionhisspotinit.Astrangesortofenvywendeditswaythroughherheart.Iliassuddenlybeganmakingaseriesofmotionswithhislong,tanfingers,

butCelaenalaughedsoftly.“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retryingtosay.”Ilias lookedskywardandsighed throughhisnose.Throwinghishands in

theairinmockdefeat,hemerelypattedherontheshoulderbeforepassingby—followinghisfather,whohaddisappeareddownthehall.Though she walked back toward her room—in the other direction—she

didn’toncebelievethatthesonoftheMuteMasterwasn’tstillwatchingher,makingsureshewasn’tgoingtofollowhisfather.Not thatyouhaveanything toworryabout, shewanted to shoutoverher

shoulder.Shecouldn’trunsixmeaslymilesinthedesert.Asshewalkedbacktoherroom,Celaenahadahorriblefeelingthathere,

beingAdarlan’sAssassinmightnotcountformuch.Later that night, when she and Ansel were both in their beds, Ansel

whisperedintothedarkness:“Tomorrowwillbebetter.Itmightbeonlyafootmorethantoday,butitwillbeafootlongerthatyoucanrun.”That was easy enough for Ansel to say. She didn’t have a reputation to

uphold—areputation thatmightbecrumblingaroundher.Celaenastaredattheceiling,suddenlyhomesick,strangelywishingSamwaswithher.Atleastifsheweretofail,she’dfailwithhim.“So,” Celaena said suddenly, needing to get her mind off everything—

especiallySam.“YouandMikhail…”Anselgroaned.“It’sthatobvious?ThoughIsupposewedon’treallymake

thatmuch of an effort to hide it.Well, I try, but he doesn’t.Hewas ratherirritatedwhenhefoundoutIsuddenlyhadaroommate.”“Howlonghaveyoubeenseeinghim?”Ansel was silent for a long moment before answering. “Since I was

fifteen.”Fifteen!Mikhailwasinhismidtwenties,soevenifthishadstartedalmost

threeyearsago,hestillwouldhavebeenfarolderthanAnsel.Itmadeheralittlequeasy.“GirlsintheFlatlandsaremarriedasearlyasfourteen,”Anselsaid.Celaena choked.The idea of being anyone’swife at fourteen, let alone a

mothersoonafter…“Oh,”wasallshemanagedtogetout.When Celaena didn’t say anything else, Ansel drifted into sleep. With

nothing else to distract her, Celaena eventually returned to thinking aboutSam.Evenweekslater,shehadnoideahowshe’dsomehowgottenattachedtohim,whathe’dbeenshoutingwhenArobynnbeather,andwhyArobynnhadthoughthe’dneedthreeseasonedassassinstorestrainhimthatday.

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CHAPTER4

Though Celaena didn’t want to admit it, Ansel was right. She did runfartherthenextday.Andthedayafterthat,andtheonefollowingthat.Butitstill took her so long to get back that she didn’t have time to seek out theMaster.Notthatshecould.He’dsendforher.Likealackey.Shedidmanagetofindsometimelateintheafternoontoattenddrillswith

Ansel. The only guidance she received therewas from a few older-lookingassassinswhopositionedherhandsandfeet,tappedherstomach,andslappedher spine into the correct posture.Occasionally, Iliaswould train alongsideher,nevertooclose,butcloseenoughforhertoknowhispresencewasmorethancoincidental.LiketheassassinsinAdarlan,theSilentAssassinsweren’tknownforany

skillinparticular—savetheuncannilyquietwaytheymoved.Theirweaponsweremostlythesame,thoughtheirbowsandbladeswereslightlydifferentinlengthandshape.But justwatching them—itseemed that therewasagooddealless…viciousnesshere.Arobynn encouraged cutthroat behavior. Even when they were children,

he’d set her and Sam against each other, use their victories and failuresagainst them. He’d made her see everyone but Arobynn and Ben as apotential enemy. As allies, yes, but also as foes to be closely watched.Weaknesswasnever tobe shownat anycost.Brutalitywas rewarded.Andeducationandculturewereequallyimportant—wordscouldbejustasdeadlyassteel.ButtheSilentAssassins…Thoughthey,too,mightbekillers,theylooked

to one another for learning. Embraced collective wisdom. Older warriorssmiled as they taught the acolytes; seasoned assassins swapped techniques.Andwhiletheywereallcompetitors,itappearedthataninvisiblelinkboundthem together.Somethinghadbrought them to thisplace at the endsof theearth.Morethanafew,shediscovered,wereactuallymutefrombirth.Butallofthemseemedfullofsecrets.Asifthefortressandwhatitofferedsomehowheld the answers they sought. As if they could find whatever they werelookingforinthesilence.Still, even as they corrected her posture and showed her new ways to

controlherbreathing,shetriedherbestnottosnarlatthem.Sheknewplenty—shewasn’t Adarlan’s Assassin for nothing. But she needed that letter of

goodbehaviorasproofofhertraining.Thesepeoplemightallbecalleduponby theMuteMaster to give an opinionof her. Perhaps if she demonstratedthatshewasskilledenoughinthesepractices,theMastermighttakenoticeofher.She’dgetthatletter.Evenifshehadtoholdadaggertohisthroatwhilehe

wroteit.

TheattackbyLordBerickhappenedonherfifthnight.Therewasnomoon,and Celaena had no idea how the Silent Assassins spotted the thirty or sosoldierscreepingacrossthedarkdunes.Mikhailhadburstintotheirroomandwhisperedtocometothefortressbattlements.Hopefully,thiswouldturnouttobeanotheropportunitytoproveherself.Withjustoverthreeweeksleft,shewas running out of options. But theMasterwasn’t at the battlements.Andneither were many of the assassins. She heard a woman question another,asking how Berick’s men had known that a good number of the assassinswouldbeawaythatnight,busyescortingsomeforeigndignitariesbacktothenearestport.Itwastooconvenienttobecoincidental.Crouchedatoptheparapet,anarrownockedintoherbow,Celaenapeered

through one of the crenels in the wall. Ansel, squatting beside her, alsotwistedtolook.Upanddownthebattlements,assassinshidintheshadowofthewall,clothed inblackandwithbows inhand.At thecenterof thewall,Iliasknelt,hishandsmovingquicklyasheconveyedordersdowntheline.Itseemedmorelikethesilentlanguageofsoldiersthanthebasicgesturesusedtorepresentthecommontongue.“Getyourarrowready,”Anselmurmured,dippinghercloth-coveredarrow

tipintothesmallbowlofoilbetweenthem.“WhenIliasgivesthesignal,lightitonthetorchasfastasyoucanandfire.Aimfortheridgeinthesandjustbelowthesoldiers.”Celaena glanced into the darkness beyond the wall. Rather than give

themselvesawaybyextinguishingthelightsofthefortress,thedefendershadkept themon—whichmade focusing in thedarknearly impossible.Butshecould stillmake out the shapes against the starlit sky—thirtymen on theirstomachs, poised to do whatever they had planned. Attack the assassinsoutright,murderthemintheirsleep,burntheplacetotheground…“We’renotgoingtokillthem?”Celaenawhisperedback.Sheweighedthe

weaponinherhands.ThebowoftheSilentAssassinswasdifferent—shorter,thicker,hardertobend.Anselshookherhead,watchingIliasdowntheline.“No,thoughIwishwe

could.” Celaena didn’t particularly care for the casual way she said it, butAnselwenton.“Wedon’twanttostartanall-outbattlewithLordBerick.Wejustneedtoscarethemoff.MikhailandIliasriggedthatridgelastweek;thelineinthesandisaropesoakinginatroughofoil.”Celaenawasbeginningtoseewherethiswasgoing.Shedippedherarrow

intothedishofoil,drenchingtheclotharounditthoroughly.“That’sgoingtobealongwalloffire,”shesaid,followingthecourseoftheridge.“You have no idea. It stretches around the whole fortress.” Ansel

straightened,andCelaenaglancedoverhershouldertoseeIlias’sarmmakeaneat,slicingmotion.Instantly, they were on their feet. Ansel reached the torch in the nearby

bracketbeforeCelaenadid,andwasatthebattlementsaheartbeatlater.Swiftaslightning.Celaenanearlydroppedherbowassheswipedherarrowthroughtheflame

andheatbitatherfingers.LordBerick’smenstartedshouting,andoverthecrackleoftheignitedarrows,Celaenaheardtwangsasthesoldiersfiredtheirownammunition.But Celaena was already at the wall, wincing as she drew the burning

arrowbackfarenoughforittosingeherfingers.Shefired.Likeawaveofshootingstars, their flamingarrowswentup,up,up, then

dropped.ButCelaenadidn’thave time tosee the ringof fireeruptbetweenthesoldiersandthefortress.Sheduckedagainstthewall,throwingherhandsoverherhead.Besideher,Anseldidthesame.Lightburstallaroundthem,andtheroarofthewallofflamedrownedout

the hollering of Lord Berick’s men. Black arrows rained from the sky,ricochetingoffthestonesofthebattlements.Twoorthreeassassinsgrunted,swallowingtheirscreams,butCelaenakeptherheadlow,holdingherbreathuntilthelastoftheenemy’sarrowshadfallen.Whentherewasnothingbutthemuffledmoaningoftheinjuredassassins

andthecracklingofthewalloffire,CelaenadaredtolookatAnsel.Thegirl’seyeswerebright.“Well,”Anselbreathed,“wasn’tthatfun?”Celaenagrinned,herheartracing.“Yes.”Pivoting,shespiedLordBerick’s

menfleeingbackacrossthedunes.“Yes,itwas.”

Neardawn,whenCelaenaandAnselwerebackintheirroom,asoftknocksounded. Ansel was instantly on her feet, and opened the door only wideenough for Celaena to spy Mikhail on the other side. He handed Ansel asealedscroll.“You’retogotoXandriatodayandgivehimthis.”Celaenasaw

Ansel’sshoulderstense.“Master’sorders,”headded.Shecouldn’tseeAnsel’sfaceasshenodded,butCelaenacouldhavesworn

Mikhailbrushedhercheekbeforeheturnedaway.Anselletoutalongbreathandshutthedoor.Inthegrowinglightofpredawn,CelaenasawAnselwipethesleepfromhereyes.“Caretojoinme?”Celaena hoisted herself up onto her elbows. “Isn’t that two days from

here?”“Yes. Two days through the desert, with only yours truly to keep you

company.Unlessyou’dratherstayhere,runningeverydayandwaitinglikeadogfortheMastertonoticeyou.Infact,comingwithmemighthelpgethimto consider training you. He’d certainly see your dedication to keeping ussafe.”AnselwriggledhereyebrowsatCelaena,whorolledhereyes.Itwasactuallysoundreasoning.Whatbetterway toproveherdedication

than to sacrifice four days of her precious time in order to help the SilentAssassins? It was risky, yes, but… it might be bold enough to catch hisattention.“AndwhatwillwebedoinginXandria?”“That’sforyoutofindout.”FromthemischieftwinklinginAnsel’sred-browneyes,Celaenacouldonly

wonderwhatmightawaitthem.

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CHAPTER5

Celaena lay on her cloak, trying to imagine that the sandwas her downmattressinRifthold,andthatshewasn’tcompletelyexposedtotheelementsinthemiddleofthedesert.Thelastthingsheneededwastowakeupwithascorpioninherhair.Orworse.Sheflippedontoherside,cradlingherheadinthenookofherarm.“Can’t sleep?” Ansel asked from a few feet away. Celaena tried not to

growl.They’dspenttheentiredaytrudgingacrossthesand,stoppingonlyatmidday to sleepunder theircloaksandavoid themind-crispingglareof thesun.And a dinner of dates and bread hadn’t been exactly filling, either. But

Anselhadwantedtotravellight,andsaidthattheycouldpickupmorefoodonce they got to Xandria tomorrow afternoon. When Celaena complainedaboutthat,Anseljusttoldherthatsheshouldbegratefulitwasn’tsandstormseason.“I’vegotsandineverycreviceofmybody,”Celaenamuttered,squirming

as she felt it grindagainsther skin.How inhellhad sandgotten insideherclothes? Her white tunic and pants were layered enough that she couldn’tevenfindherskinbeneath.“Are you sure you’re Celaena Sardothien? Because I don’t think she’d

actuallybethisfussy.Ibetshe’susedtoroughingit.”“I’mplentyusedtoroughingit,”Celaenasaid,herwordssuckedinto the

dunes rising around them. “Thatdoesn’tmean Ihave toenjoy it. I supposethatsomeonefromtheWesternWasteswouldfindthisluxurious.”Anselchuckled.“Youhavenoidea.”Celaenaquithertauntingascuriosityseizedher.“Areyourlandsascursed

astheyclaim?”“Well, the Flatlands used to be part of theWitch Kingdom. And yes, I

suppose you could say they’re somewhat cursed.” Ansel sighed loudly.“When the Crochan Queens ruled five hundred years ago, it was verybeautiful.Atleast,theruinsallovertheplaceseemliketheywouldhavebeenbeautiful. But then the three Ironteeth Clans destroyed it all when theyoverthrewtheCrochanDynasty.”“Ironteeth?”

Ansel let out a low hiss. “Somewitches, like the Crochans, were giftedwithetherealbeauty.ButtheIronteethClanshaveironteeth,sharpasafish’s.Actually,theirironfingernailsaremoredangerous;thosecangutyouinoneswipe.”AchillwentdownCelaena’sspine.“But when the Ironteeth Clans destroyed the kingdom, they say the last

CrochanQueencastaspell that turned the landagainstany that flewunderthe banners of the Ironteeth—so that no crops would grow, the animalswithered up and died, and thewaters turnedmuddy. It’s not like that now,though.ThelandhasbeenfertileeversincetheIronteethClansjourneyedeast…towardyourlands.”“So…sohaveyoueverseenoneofthewitches?”Anselwasquietforamomentbeforeshesaid,“Yes.”Celaena turned towardher,proppingherheadonahand.Ansel remained

lookingatthesky.“WhenIwaseightandmysisterwaseleven,sheandIandMaddy,oneof

herfriends,snuckoutofBriarcliffHall.Afewmilesaway,therewasagianttorwithalonewatchtowerontop.Theupperbitswereallruinedbecauseofthewitch-wars,buttherestofitwasstillintact.See,therewasthisarchwaythatwentthroughthebottomofthewatchtower—soyoucouldseethroughittotheothersideofthehill.Andoneofthestableboystoldmysisterthatifyoulookedthroughthearchwayonthenightofthesummersolstice,thenyoumightseeintoanotherworld.”ThehaironCelaena’sneckstood.“Soyouwentinside?”“No,”Anselsaid.“Igotnearthetopofthetorandbecamesoterrifiedthat

Iwouldn’tsetfootonit.Ihidbehindarock,andmysisterandMaddyleftmetherewhiletheywenttherestoftheway.Ican’trememberhowlongIwaited,butthenIheardscreaming.“Mysister came running.She justgrabbedmyarmandwe ran. It didn’t

comeoutatfirst,butwhenwegottomyfather’shall,shetoldthemwhathadhappened.Theyhadgoneunder thearchwayof the towerandseenanopendoorleadingtoitsinterior.Butanoldwomanwithmetalteethwasstandingintheshadows,andshegrabbedMaddyanddraggedherintothestairwell.”Celaenachokedonabreath.“Maddybeganscreaming,andmysisterran.Andwhenshetoldmyfather

andhismen, they racedfor the tor.Theyarrivedatdawn,but therewasnotraceofMaddy,ortheoldwoman.”“Gone?”Celaenawhispered.“Theyfoundonething,”Anselsaidsoftly.“Theyclimbedthetower,andon

one of the landings, they found the bones of a child. White as ivory andpickedclean.”“Godsabove,”Celaenasaid.“Afterthat,myfatherwallopeduswithinaninchofourlives,andwewere

on kitchen duty for six months, but he knew my sister’s guilt would bepunishmentenough.Sheneverreallylostthathauntedgleaminhereyes.”Celaenashuddered.“Well,nowIcertainlywon’tbeabletosleeptonight.”Ansel laughed.“Don’tworry,”shesaid,nestlingdownonhercloak.“I’ll

tellyouavaluablesecret:theonlywaytokillawitchistocutoffherhead.Besides,Idon’tthinkanIronteethwitchstandsmuchofachanceagainstus.”“Ihopeyou’reright,”Celaenamuttered.“Iamright,”Anselsaid.“Theymightbevicious,butthey’renotinvincible.

And if I had an army of my own … if I had even twenty of the SilentAssassins at my command, I’d hunt down all the witches. They wouldn’tstandachance.”Herhandthumpedagainstthesand;shemusthavestrucktheground.“Youknow,theseassassinshavebeenhereforages,butwhatdotheydo?TheFlatlandswouldprosper if theyhadanarmyofassassinstodefendthem. But no, they just sit in their oasis, silent and thoughtful, and whorethemselvesouttoforeigncourts.IfIweretheMaster,I’duseournumbersforgreatness—forglory.We’ddefendeveryunprotectedrealmoutthere.”“So noble of you,” Celaena said. “Ansel of Briarcliff, Defender of the

Realm.”Anselonlylaughed,andsoonwasasleep.Celaena, though, stayed awake a while longer, unable to stop imagining

what thatwitchhaddonewhenshedraggedMaddyinto theshadowsof thetower.

ItwasMarketDayinXandria,andthoughthecityhadlongsufferedfromAdarlan’s embargo, it still seemed that there were vendors from all thekingdoms on the continent—and beyond. They were crammed into everypossiblespaceinthesmall,walledportcity.AllaroundCelaenawerespicesand jewels and clothes and food, some sold right out of brightly paintedwagons,othersspreadonblanketsinshadowyalcoves.Therewasnosignthatanyoneknewanything about the ill-fated attackon theSilentAssassins theothernight.ShekeptclosetoAnselastheywalkedalong,thered-hairedgirlweaving

through thecrowdwithakindofcasualgrace thatCelaena,despiteherself,envied. No matter howmany people shoved into Ansel, or stepped in her

path,orcursedherforsteppingintheirs,shedidn’tfalter,andherboyishgrinonlygrew.Manypeoplestopped tostareather redhairandmatchingeyes,butAnseltookitinstride.Evenwithoutherarmor,shewasstunning.Celaenatriednottothinkabouthowfewpeoplebotheredtonoticeher.Withthebodiesandtheheat,CelaenawasoozingsweatbythetimeAnsel

stoppednear theedgeof thesouk.“I’mgoing tobeacouplehours,”Anselsaid,andwavedalong,eleganthandtothesandstonepalacehoveringabovethesmallcity.“Theoldbeastlikestotalkandtalkandtalk.Whydon’tyoudosomeshopping?”Celaenastraightened.“I’mnotgoingwithyou?”“IntoBerick’spalace?Ofcoursenot.It’stheMaster’sbusiness.”Celaenafelthernostrilsflare.Anselclappedherontheshoulder.“Believe

me,you’dmuchratherspendthenextfewhoursinthesoukthanwaitinginthestableswithBerick’smenleeringatyou.Unlikeus”—Anselflashedthatgrin—“theydon’thaveaccesstobathswhenevertheyplease.”Ansel kept glancing at the palace, still a few blocks away.Nervous that

she’dbelate?OrnervousthatshewasgoingtoconfrontBerickonbehalfoftheMaster?Ansel brushed the remnants of red sand from the layers of herwhiteclothes.“I’llmeetyouatthatfountainatthree.Trynottogetintotoomuchtrouble.”And with that, Ansel vanished into the press of bodies, her red hair

gleaminglikeahotbrand.Celaenacontemplatedtrailingher.Evenifshewasanoutsider,whyletheraccompanyAnselonthejourneyifshewasjustgoingto have to sit around? What could be so important and secret that Anselwouldn’tallowhertopartakeinthemeeting?Celaenatookasteptowardthepalace, but passing people jostled her to and fro, and then a vendor begancookingsomethingthatsmelleddivine,andCelaenafoundherselffollowinghernoseinstead.She spent the two hours wandering from vendor to vendor. She cursed

herselffornotbringingmoremoneywithher.InRifthold,shehada lineofcreditatallherfavoritestores,andneverhadtobothercarryingmoney,asidefromsmallcoppersandtheoccasionalsilvercoinfortipsandbribes.Buthere…well,thepouchofsilvershe’dbroughtfeltratherlight.The souk wound through every street, great and small, down narrow

stairways and onto half-buried alleys that had to have been there for athousand years. Ancient doors opened onto courtyards jammed with spicevendorsorahundredlanterns,glitteringlikestarsintheshadowyinterior.Forsucharemotecity,Xandriawasteemingwithlife.Shewasstandingunderthestripedawningofavendorfromthesouthern

continent, debating if she had enough to buy the pair of curled-toe shoesbeforeherand thelilacperfumeshe’dsmelledatawagonownedbywhite-hairedmaidens.Themaidensclaimed theywere thepriestessesofLani, thegoddessofdreams—andperfume,apparently.Celaena ran a finger down the emerald silk thread embroidered on the

delicate shoes, tracing thecurveof thepoint as it sweptupwardandcurledovertheshoeitself.They’dcertainlybeeye-catchinginRifthold.Andnooneelse in thecapitalwouldhave them.Though, in the filthycitystreets, thesewouldeasilygetruined.Shereluctantlyput theshoesdown,andthevendorraisedhisbrows.She

shookherhead,aruefulsmileonherface.Themanheldupsevenfingers—one less than the original asking price, and she chewed on her lip, signingback,“Sixcoppers?”Themanspatontheground.Sevencoppers.Sevencopperswaslaughably

cheap.She lookedat the soukaroundher, thenbackat thebeautiful shoes. “I’ll

comebacklater,”shelied,andwithonefinal,mournfulglance,shecontinuedalong. The man began shouting after her in a language she’d never heardbefore,undoubtedlyofferingtheshoesforsixcoppers,butsheforcedherselfto keep walking. Besides, her pack was heavy enough; lugging the shoesaroundwouldbeanadditionalburden.Eveniftheywerelovelyanddifferentandnot that heavy.And the threaddetailing along the sideswas as preciseandbeautifulascalligraphy.Andreally,shecould justwear them inside, soshe—She was about to turn around and walk right back to the vendor when

somethingglistening in the shadowsbeneathanarchwaybetweenbuildingscaughthereye.Therewerea fewhiredguardsstandingaround thecoveredwagon,andatall,leanmanstoodbehindthetabledisplayedinfrontofit.Butitwasn’ttheguardsorthemanorhiswagonthatgrabbedherattention.No, it was what was on his table that knocked the breath from her and

madehercursehertoo-lightmoneypurse.Spidersilk.Therewerelegendsaboutthehorse-sizedstygianspidersthatlurkedinthe

woodsof theRuhnnMountainsof thenorth, spinning their thread forheftycosts.Somesaidtheyoffereditinexchangeforhumanflesh;othersclaimedthe spiders dealt in years and dreams, and could take either as payment.Regardless, it was as delicate as gossamer, lovelier than silk, and strongerthansteel.Andshe’dneverseensomuchofitbefore.Itwassorarethatifyouwantedit,oddswereyouhadtogoandgetitfor

yourself.Buthereitwas,yardsofrawmaterialwaitingtobeshaped.Itwasakingdom’sransom.“Youknow,”themerchantsaidinthecommontongue,takinginCelaena’s

wide-eyedstare,“you’rethefirstpersontodaytorecognizeitforwhatitis.”“I’dknowwhatthatisevenifIwereblind.”Sheapproachedthetable,but

didn’tdare to touchthesheetsof iridescentfabric.“Butwhatareyoudoinghere?Surelyyoucan’tgetmuchbusinessinXandria.”Theman chuckled. He wasmiddle-aged, with close-cropped brown hair

andmidnight-blueeyesthatseemedhaunted,thoughtheynowsparkledwithamusement.“ImightalsoaskwhatagirlfromtheNorthisdoinginXandria.”Hisgaze flicked to thedaggers tucked into thebrownbelt slungacrossherwhiteclothes.“Andwithsuchbeautifulweapons.”Shegavehimahalfsmile.“Atleastyoureyeisworthyofyourwares.”“Itry.”Hesketchedabow,thenbeckonedhercloser.“So,tellme,girlfrom

theNorth,whenhaveyouseenSpidersilk?”She clenched her fingers into fists to keep from touching the priceless

material.“Iknowacourtesan inRiftholdwhosemadamhadahandkerchiefmadefromit—giventoherbyanextraordinarilywealthyclient.”Andthathandkerchiefhadprobablycostmorethanmostpeasantsmadein

alifetime.“Thatwasakinglygift.Shemusthavebeenskilled.”“She didn’t become madam of the finest courtesans in Rifthold for

nothing.”The merchant let out a low laugh. “So if you associate with the finest

courtesansinRifthold,thenwhatbringsyoutothisbitofdesertscrub?”She shrugged. “This and that.” In the dim light beneath the canopy, the

Spidersilkstillglitteredlikesurfaceofthesea.“ButIwouldliketoknowhowyoucameacrosssomuchofthis.Didyoubuyit,orfindthestygianspidersonyourown?”He traced a finger down the plane of fabric. “Iwent theremyself.What

else is there to know?”Hismidnight eyes darkened. “In the depths of theRuhnnMountains,everythingisalabyrinthofmistandtreesandshadows.Soyoudon’tfindthestygianspiders—theyfindyou.”Celaena stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep from touching the

Spidersilk.Thoughherfingerswereclean,therewerestillgrainsofredsandunderhernails.“Sowhyareyouhere,then?”“Myshiptothesoutherncontinentdoesn’tleavefortwodays;whynotset

up shop? Xandria might not be Rifthold, but you never know who mightapproachyourstall.”Hewinkedather.“Howoldareyou,anyway?”

She raised her chin. “I turned seventeen two weeks ago.” And what amiserablebirthday thathadbeen.Trudgingacross thedesertwithnoone tocelebrate with except her recalcitrant guide, who just patted her shoulderwhensheannounceditwasherbirthday.Horrible.“Notmuchyoungerthanme,”hesaid.Shechuckled,butpausedwhenshe

didn’tfindhimsmiling.“Andhowoldareyou?”sheasked.Therewasnomistakingit—hehad to

be at least forty.Even if his hairwasn’t sprinkledwith silver, his skinwasweathered.“Twenty-five,”hesaid.Shegaveastart.“Iknow.Shocking.”TheyardsofSpidersilkliftedinabreezefromthenearbysea.“Everything has a price,” he said. “Twenty years for a hundred yards of

Spidersilk.Ithoughttheymeanttotakethemofftheendofmylife.Butevenif they’dwarnedme, Iwould have said yes.”She eyed the caravan behindhim.ThismuchSpidersilkwasenough toenablehim to livewhatyearshehadleftasavery,verywealthyman.“WhynottakeittoRifthold?”“BecauseI’veseenRifthold,andOrynth,andBanjali.I’dliketoseewhata

hundredyardsofSpidersilkmightfetchmeoutsideofAdarlan’sempire.”“Isthereanythingtobedoneabouttheyearsyoulost?”Hewavedahand.“Ifollowedthewesternsideofthemountainsonmyway

here,andmetanoldwitchalongtheway.Iaskedifshecouldfixme,butshesaid what was taken was taken, and only the death of the spider whoconsumedmytwentyyearscouldreturnthemtome.”Heexaminedhishands,already lined with age. “For a copper more, she told me that only a greatwarrior could slay a stygian spider. The greatest warrior in the land …ThoughperhapsanassassinfromtheNorthmightdo.”“Howdidyou—”“Youcan’thonestlythinknooneknowsaboutthesessizsuikast?Whyelse

wouldaseventeen-year-oldgirlbearingexquisitedaggersbehereunescorted?AndonewhoholdssuchfinecompanyinRifthold,noless.AreyouheretospyforLordBerick?”Celaenadidherbesttoquellhersurprise.“Pardonme?”The merchant shrugged, glancing toward the towering palace. “I heard

fromacityguardthatstrangedealingsgoonbetweenBerickandsomeoftheSilentAssassins.”“Perhaps,” was all Celaena said. The merchant nodded, not all that

interested in itanymore.ButCelaena tucked the informationawayfor later.WeresomeoftheSilentAssassinsactuallyworkingforBerick?Perhapsthat

waswhyAnsel had insisted on keeping themeeting so secret—maybe theMasterdidn’twantthenamesofthesuspectedtraitorsgettingout.“So?”themerchantasked.“Willyouretrievemylostyearsforme?”Shebitherlip,thoughtsofspiesinstantlyfadingaway.Tojourneyintothe

depthsoftheRuhnnMountains,toslayastygianspider.Shecouldcertainlyseeherselfbattlingtheeight-leggedmonstrosities.Andwitches.ThoughafterAnsel’s story, meeting a witch—especially one belonging to the IronteethClans—wasthelastthingsheeverwantedtodo.Foraheartbeat,shewishedSamwere with her. Even if she told him about this encounter, he’d neverbelieveher.Butwouldanyoneeverbelieveher?Asifhecouldreadherdaydreams,hesaid:“Icouldmakeyourichbeyond

yourwildestimaginings.”“I’malreadyrich.AndI’munavailableuntiltheendofthesummer.”“Iwon’tbebackfromthesoutherncontinentforatleastayear,anyway,”

hecountered.Sheexaminedhisface, thegleaminhiseyes.Adventureandgloryaside,

anyonewho’dsell twentyyearsofhis life fora fortunecouldn’tbe trusted.But…“The next time you’re in Rifthold,” she said slowly, “seek out Arobynn

Hamel.”Theman’seyeswidened.Shewonderedhowhe’dreactifheknewwhoshewas.“He’llknowwheretofindme.”Sheturnedfromthetable.“Butwhat’syourname?”Shelookedoverhershoulder.“He’llknowwheretofindme,”sherepeated,

andbeganwalkingbacktowardthestallwiththepointedshoes.“Wait!”Shepausedintimetoseehimfumblingwiththefoldsofhistunic.

“Here.”Hesetdownaplainwoodenboxonthetable.“Areminder.”Celaenaflippedopenthelidandherbreathcaught.Afoldedbitofwoven

Spidersilk lay inside, no larger than six square inches. She could buy tenhorses with it. Not that she’d ever sell it. No, this was an heirloom to bepasseddownfromgenerationtogeneration.Ifsheeverhadchildren.Whichseemedhighlyunlikely.“Areminderofwhat?”Sheshut thelidandtuckedthesmallboxintothe

innerpocketofherwhitetunic.Themerchantsmiledsadly.“Thateverythinghasaprice.”Aphantompainflashedthroughherface.“Iknow,”shesaid,andleft.

Shewoundupbuying the shoes, though itwasnearly impossible topassoverthelilacperfume,whichsmelledevenmorelovelythesecondtimeshe

approachedthepriestesses’stall.Whenthecitybellspealedthreeo’clock,shewas sitting on the lip of the fountain, munching on what she hoped wasmashedbeansinsideawarmbreadpocket.Anselwas fifteenminutes late,anddidn’tapologize.Shemerelygrabbed

Celaena’s arm and began leading her through the still-packed streets, herfreckledfacegleamingwithsweat.“Whatisit?”Celaenaasked.“Whathappenedinyourmeeting?”“That’snoneofyourbusiness,”Anselsaidabitsharply.Thensheadded,

“Justfollowme.”Theywound up sneaking inside the Lord ofXandria’s palacewalls, and

Celaenaknewbetter than toaskquestionsas theycreptacross thegrounds.But theydidn’thead to the toweringcentralbuilding.No—theyapproachedthe stables, where they slipped around the guards and entered the pungentshadowswithin.“There had better be a good reason for this,” Celaena warned as Ansel

crepttowardapen.“Oh, there is,” she hissed back, and stopped at a gate, waving Celaena

forward.Celaenafrowned.“It’sahorse.”Butevenasthewordslefthermouth,she

knewitwasn’t.“It’sanAsterionhorse,”Anselbreathed,herred-browneyesgrowinghuge.Thehorsewasblackaspitch,withdarkeyesthatboredintoCelaena’sown.

She’dheardofAsterionhorses,ofcourse.ThemostancientbreedofhorseinErilea.Legend claimed that theFae hadmade them from the fourwinds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, andwisdomfromthewest,allrolledintotheslender-snouted,high-tailed,lovelycreaturethatstoodbeforeher.“Haveyoueverseenanythingsobeautiful?”Anselwhispered.“Hername

is Hisli.” Mares, Celaena remembered, were more prized, as Asterionpedigreeswere traced through the female line. “And that one,”Ansel said,pointingtothenextstall,“isnamedKasida—itmeans‘drinkerofthewind’inthedesertdialect.”Kasida’snamewasfitting.Theslendermarewasadapplegray,withasea-

foam white mane and thundercloud coat. She huffed and stomped herforelegs,staringatCelaenawitheyesthatseemedolderthantheearthitself.Celaena suddenly understood why the Asterion horses were worth theirweightingold.“LordBerickgotthemtoday.Boughtthemfromamerchantonhiswayto

Banjali.”Ansel slipped intoHisli’spen.Shecooedandmurmured, stroking

thehorse’smuzzle.“He’splanningontestingthemoutinhalfanhour.”Thatexplainedwhytheywerealreadysaddled.“And?”Celaenawhispered, holding out a hand forKasida to smell. The

mare’snostrilsflared,hervelvetynoseticklingCelaena’sfingertips.“Andthenhe’seithergoingtogivethemawayasabribe,orloseinterest

andletthemlanguishherefortherestoftheirlives.LordBericktendstotireofhisplaythingsratherquickly.”“Whatawaste.”“Indeed it is,”Anselmuttered from inside the stall.Celaena lowered her

fingersfromKasida’smuzzleandpeeredintoHisli’spen.AnselwasrunningahanddownHisli’sblackflank,herfacestillfullofwonder.Thensheturned.“Areyouastrongrider?”“Ofcourse,”Celaenasaidslowly.“Good.”CelaenabitdownonhercryofalarmasAnselunlockedthestalldoorand

guidedHislioutofherpen.Inasmooth,quickmotion,thegirlwasatopthehorse,clutchingthereinsinonehand.“Becauseyou’regoingtohavetoridelikehell.”With that, Ansel sent Hisli into a gallop, heading straight for the stable

doors.Celaenadidn’t have time togapeor really even toprocesswhat shewas

abouttodoassheunlockedKasida’spen,yankedherout,andheavedherselfintothesaddle.Withamuffledcurse,shedugherheelsintothemare’ssidesandtookoff.

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CHAPTER6

Theguardsdidn’tknowwhatwashappeninguntil thehorseshadalreadyrushedpasttheminablurofblackandgray,andtheywerethroughthemainpalacegatebeforetheguards’criesfinishedechoing.Ansel’sredhairshonelikeabeaconasshebrokeforthesideexitfromthecity,peopleleapingasidetoletthempass.Celaenalookedbackthroughthecrowdedstreetsonlyonce—andthatwas

enoughtoseethethreemountedguardschargingafterthem,shouting.But the girls were already through the city gate and into the sea of red

dunesthatspreadbeyond,AnselridingasifthedenizensofHellwerebehindher.Celaenacouldonlyraceafterher,doingherbesttokeepinthesaddle.Kasidamovedlikethunderandturnedwiththeswiftnessoflightning.The

marewassofast thatCelaena’seyeswateredinthewind.Thethreeguards,astride ordinary horses, were still far off, but not nearly far enough forcomfort. In the vastness of the Red Desert, Celaena had no choice but tofollowAnsel.CelaenaclungtoKasida’smaneastheytookduneafterdune,upanddown,

downandup,untiltherewasonlytheredsandandthecloudlessskyandtherumbleofhooves,hooves,hoovesrollingthroughtheworld.AnselslowedenoughforCelaenatocatchup,andtheygallopedalongthe

broad,flattopofadune.“Areyououtofyourdamnedmind?”Celaenashouted.“Idon’twanttowalkhome!We’retakingashortcut!”Anselshoutedback.

Behindthem,thethreeguardsstillchargedonward.CelaenadebatedslammingKasida intoHisli tosendAnsel tumblingonto

the dunes—leaving her for the guards to take care of—but the girl pointedoverHisli’sdarkhead.“Livealittle,Sardothien!”Andjust like that, thedunespartedtoreveal the turquoiseexpanseof the

GulfofOro.Thecoolseabreezekissedherface,andCelaenaleanedintoit,almostmoaningwithpleasure.Anselletoutawhoop,careeningdownthefinalduneandheadingstraight

towardthebeachandthebreakingwaves.Despiteherself,Celaenasmiledandheldontighter.Kasidahitthehard-packedredsandandgainedspeed,fasterandfaster.

Celaenahadasuddenmomentofclaritythen,asherhairrippedfromherbraidandthewindtoreatherclothes.Ofallthegirlsinalltheworld,hereshewas on a spit of beach in theRedDesert, astride anAsterion horse, racingfaster than the wind. Most would never experience this—she would neverexperience anything like this again.And for that one heartbeat,when therewasnothingmoretoitthanthat,shetastedblisssocompletethatshetippedherheadbacktotheskyandlaughed.Theguardsreachedthebeach,theirfiercecriesnearlyswallowedupbythe

boomingsurf.Anselcutaway, surging toward thedunesand thegiantwallof rock that

arosenearby.TheDesertCleaver,ifCelaenaknewhergeographycorrectly—whichshedid,asshe’dstudiedmapsoftheDesertedLandforweeksnow.Agiantwallthatarosefromtheearthandstretchedfromtheeasterncoastalltheway to the black dunes of the south—split clean down the middle by anenormousfissure.They’dcomearounditonthewayfromthefortress,whichwas on the other side of the Cleaver, and that was what had made theirjourneysoinsufferablylong.Buttoday…“Faster, Kasida,” she whispered in the horse’s ear. As if the mare

understood her, she took off, and soon Celaena was again beside Ansel,cuttingupdune after dune as theyheaded straight for the redwall of rock.“Whatareyoudoing?”shecalledtoAnsel.Anselgaveherafiendishgrin.“We’regoing throughit.Whatgoodisan

Asterionhorseifitcan’tjump?”Celaena’sstomachdropped.“Youcan’tbeserious.”Ansel glanced over her shoulder, her red hair streaming past her face.

“They’llchaseustothedoorsofthefortressifwegothelongway!”Buttheguardscouldn’tmakethejump,notwithordinaryhorses.A narrow opening in thewall of red rock appeared, twisting away from

sight.Anselheaded straight toward it.Howdare shemake sucha reckless,stupiddecisionwithoutconsultingCelaenafirst?“Youplanned this thewhole time,”Celaena snapped.Though the guards

still remainedagooddistanceaway, theywerecloseenoughforCelaena toseetheweapons,includinglongbows,strappedtothem.Anseldidn’treply.ShejustsentHisliflyingforward.Celaenahad to choose between the unforgivingwalls of theCleaver and

thethreeguardsbehindthem.Shecouldtaketheguardsinafewseconds—ifsheslowedenoughtodrawherdaggers.Buttheyweremounted,andaimingmight be impossible.Which meant she’d have to get close enough to killthem,as longas theydidn’tstart firingather first.Theyprobablywouldn’t

shoot at Kasida, not when she was worth more than all of their lives puttogether,butCelaenacouldn’tbringherselftoriskthemagnificentbeast.Andifshekilledtheguards,thatstillleftheraloneinthedesert,sinceAnselsurelywouldn’tstopuntilshewasontheothersideoftheCleaver.Sinceshehadnodesiretodieofthirst…Cursing colorfully,Celaena plunged afterAnsel into the passage through

thecanyon.The passage was so narrow that Celaena’s legs nearly grazed the rain-

smoothed orange walls. The beating hooves echoed like firecrackers, thesoundonlyworseningasthethreeguardsenteredthecanyon.Itwouldhavebeennice,sherealized,tohaveSamwithher.Hemightbeapaininherass,but he’d proven himself to be more than handy in a fight. Extraordinarilyskilled,ifshefeltlikeadmittingit.Ansel wove and turned with the passage, fast as a stream down a

mountainside,and itwasallCelaenacoulddo toholdon toKasidaas theyfollowed.Atwangsnappedthroughthecanyon,andCelaenaduckedlowtoKasida’s

surginghead—just as an arrow ricochetedoff the rocka few feet away.Somuchfornotfiringatthehorses.Anothersharpturnsetherintheclear,butthe reliefwas short-lived as she beheld the long, straight passage—and theravinebeyondit.Celaena’sbreathlodgedinherthroat.Thejumphadtobethirtyfeetatleast

—andshedidn’twanttoknowhowlongafallitwasifshemissed.Anselbarreledahead; thenherbodytensed,andHisli leapt fromthecliff

edge.Thesunlightcaught inAnsel’shair as they flewover the ravine, andshe

loosedajoyouscrythatsetthewholecanyonhumming.Amomentlater,shelandedontheotherside,withonlyinchestospare.There wasn’t enough room for Celaena to stop—even if she tried, they

wouldn’thaveenoughspacetoslowdown,andthey’dgorightovertheedge.So she began praying to anyone, anything. Kasida gave a sudden burst ofspeed, as if she, too, understood that only the godswould see them safelyover.Andthentheywereatthelipoftheravine,whichwentdown,down,down

to a jade river hundreds of feet below. And Kasida was soaring, only airbeneath them,nothing tokeepher fromthedeath thatnowwrappedaroundhercompletely.Celaenacouldonlyholdonandwaittofall,todie,toscreamasshemether

horribleend…

Butthentherewasrockunderthem,solidrock.ShegrippedKasidatighterastheylandedinthenarrowpassageontheotherside,theimpactexplodingthroughherbones,andkeptgalloping.Backacrosstheravine,theguardshadpulledtoahalt,andcursedatthem

inalanguageshewasgratefulshedidn’tunderstand.Ansel let out another whoop when they came out the other end of the

Cleaver, and she turned to find Celaena still riding close behind her. Theyrodeacrossthedunes,headingwest, thesettingsunturningtheentireworldbloodred.When thehorseswere toowinded tokeep running,Ansel finallystopped

atopadune,Celaenapullingupbesideher.AnsellookedatCelaena,wildnessstillrampantinhereyes.“Wasn’tthatwonderful?”Breathinghard,Celaenadidn’tsayanythingasshepunchedAnselsohard

inthefacethatthegirlwentflyingoffherhorseandtumbledontothesand.Anseljustclutchedherjawandlaughed.Thoughtheycouldhavemadeitbackbeforemidnight,andthoughCelaena

pushed her to continue riding,Ansel insisted on stopping for the night. Sowhen their campfire was nothing but embers and the horses were dozingbehindthem,AnselandCelaenalayontheirbacksonthesideofaduneandstaredupatthestars.Her hands tucked behind her head, Celaena took a long, deep breath,

savoring thebalmynightbreeze, theexhaustionebbingfromher limbs.Sherarely got to see stars so bright—notwith the lights ofRifthold. Thewindmovedacrossthedunes,andthesandsighed.“Youknow,”Anselsaidquietly,“Ineverlearnedtheconstellations.Though

Ithinkoursaredifferentfromyours—thenames,Imean.”It took Celaena amoment to realize that by “ours” she didn’t mean the

Silent Assassins—she meant her people in the Western Wastes. Celaenapointedtoaclusterofstars to their left.“That’s thedragon.”Shetracedtheshape.“Seethehead,legs,andtail?”“No.”Anselchuckled.Celaenanudgedherwithanelbowandpointedtoanothergroupingofstars.

“That’s the swan. The lines on either side are thewings, and the arc is itsneck.”“Whataboutthatone?”Anselsaid.“That’sthestag,”Celaenabreathed.“TheLordoftheNorth.”“Whydoeshegetafancytitle?Whatabouttheswanandthedragon?”Celaena snorted, but the smile faded when she stared at the familiar

constellation.“Becausethestagremainsconstant—nomattertheseason,he’s

alwaysthere.”“Why?”Celaena tooka longbreath.“SothepeopleofTerrasenwillalwaysknow

howtofindtheirwayhome.Sotheycanlookupatthesky,nomatterwheretheyare,andknowTerrasenisforeverwiththem.”“DoyoueverwanttoreturntoTerrasen?”CelaenaturnedherheadtolookatAnsel.Shehadn’ttoldhershewasfrom

Terrasen.Anselsaid,“YoutalkaboutTerrasenthewaymyfatherusedtotalkaboutourland.”Celaenawasabouttoreplywhenshecaughttheword.Usedto.Ansel’sattentionremainedonthestars.“IliedtotheMasterwhenIcame

here,” she whispered, as if afraid someone else would hear them in theemptinessofthedesert.Celaenalookedbacktothesky.“Myfatherneversentmetotrain.AndthereisnoBriarcliff,orBriarcliffHall.Therehasn’tbeenforfiveyears.”A dozen questions sprung up, but Celaena kept her mouth shut, letting

Anselspeak.“I was twelve,” Ansel said, “when Lord Loch took several territories

aroundBriarcliff,andthendemandedweyieldtohimaswell—thatwebowtohimasHighKingoftheWastes.Myfatherrefused.Hesaidtherewasonetyrantalreadyconqueringeverythingeastof themountains—hedidn’twantone in thewest, too.” Celaena’s bloodwent cold as she braced herself forwhatshewascertainwascoming.“Twoweekslater,LordLochmarchedintoour landwithhismen,seizingourvillages,our livelihood,ourpeople.AndwhenhegottoBriarcliffHall…”Anseldrewashudderingbreath.“WhenhearrivedatBriarcliffHall,Iwas

in thekitchen. I saw themfromthewindowandhid inacupboardasLochwalkedin.Mysisterandfatherwereupstairs,andLochstayedinthekitchenas hismenbrought themdownand… I didn’t daremake a sound asLordLochmademyfatherwatchashe…”Shestumbled,butforceditout,spittingitasif itwerepoison.“Myfatherbeggedonhishandsandknees,butLochstillmademyfatherwatchasheslitmysister’sthroat,thenhis.AndIjusthidthere,evenastheykilledourservants,too.Ihidthereanddidnothing.“Andwhentheyweregone,Itookmyfather’sswordfromhiscorpseand

ran.I ranandranuntil Icouldn’trunanymore,at thefoothillsof theWhiteFangMountains.Andthat’swhenIcollapsedatthecampfireofawitch—oneoftheIronteeth.Ididn’tcareifshekilledme.Butshetoldmethatitwasnotmyfatetodiethere.ThatIshouldjourneysouth,totheSilentAssassinsintheRedDesert,andthere…thereIwouldfindmyfate.Shefedme,andbound

mybleedingfeet,andgavemegold—goldthatIlaterusedtocommissionmyarmor—thensentmeonmyway.”Anselwipedathereyes.“SoI’vebeenhereeversince,trainingfortheday

whenI’mstrongenoughandfastenoughtoreturntoBriarcliffandtakebackwhatismine.Someday,I’llmarchintoHighKingLoch’shallandrepayhimforwhathedidtomyfamily.Withmyfather’ssword.”Herhandgrazedthewolf-headhilt.“Thisswordwillendhislife.BecausethisswordisallIhaveleftofthem.”Celaenahadn’trealizedshewascryinguntilshetriedtotakeadeepbreath.

Sayingthatshewassorrydidn’tfeeladequate.Sheknewwhatthissortoflosswaslike,andwordsdidn’tdoanythingatall.Ansel slowly turned to look at her, her eyes linedwith silver.She traced

Celaena’scheekbone,wherethebruiseshadoncebeen.“Wheredomenfindit in themselves to do such monstrous things? How do they find itacceptable?”“We’llmake them pay for it in the end.”Celaena graspedAnsel’s hand.

Thegirlsqueezedbackhard.“We’llseetoitthattheypay.”“Yes.”Anselshiftedhergazebacktothestars.“Yes,wewill.”

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CHAPTER7

Celaena and Ansel knew their little escapade with the Asterion horseswouldhaveconsequences.Celaenahadatleastexpectedtohaveenoughtimeto tell a decent lie about how they acquired the horses. But when theyreturned to the fortress and foundMikhail waiting, along with three otherassassins,sheknewthatwordoftheirstunthadsomehowalreadyreachedtheMaster.ShekepthermouthshutassheandAnselkneltatthefootoftheMaster’s

dais,headsbowed,eyesonthefloor.Shecertainlywouldn’tconvincehimtotrainhernow.His receiving chamber was empty today, and each of his steps scraped

softlyagainstthefloor.Sheknewhecouldbesilentifhewished.Hewantedthemtofeelthedreadofhisapproach.AndCelaenafeltit.Shefelteachfootstep,thephantombruisesonherface

throbbingwiththememoryofArobynn’sfists.Andsuddenly,asthememoryof that day echoed through her, she remembered the words Sam keptscreamingatArobynnas theKingof theAssassinsbeather, thewords thatshesomehowhadforgotteninthefogofpain:I’llkillyou!Samhad said it like hemeant it.He’d bellowed it.Again and again and

again.Theclear,unexpectedmemorywasalmostjarringenoughforhertoforget

whereshewas—butthenthesnow-whiterobesoftheMastercameintoview.Hermouthwentdry.“Weonlywantedtohavesomefun,”Anselsaidquietly.“Wecanreturnthe

horses.”Celaena,head still lowered,glanced towardAnsel.Shewas staringupat

theMasterashetoweredoverthem.“I’msorry,”Celaenamurmured,wishingshe could convey it with her hands, too. Though silence might have beenpreferable,sheneededhimtohearherapology.TheMasterjuststoodthere.Anselwas the first to break under his stare. She sighed. “I know itwas

foolish.But there’s nothing toworry about. I can handleLordBerick; I’vebeenhandlinghimforages.”There was enough bitterness in her words that Celaena’s brows rose

slightly.Perhapshisrefusaltotrainherwasn’teasyforAnseltobear.ShewasneveroutrightcompetitiveaboutgettingtheMaster’sattention,but…Aftersomanyyearsoflivinghere,beingstuckasthemediatorbetweentheMasterandBerickdidn’texactlyseemlikethesortofgloryAnselwasinterestedin.Celaenacertainlywouldn’thaveenjoyedit.TheMaster’sclotheswhisperedastheymoved,andCelaenaflinchedwhen

shefelthiscallousedfingershookunderherchin.Heliftedherheadsoshewas forced to look at him, his face lined with disapproval. She remainedperfectly still, bracing herself for the strike, already praying he wouldn’tdamagehertoosignificantly.ButthentheMaster’ssea-greeneyesnarrowedeversoslightly,andhegaveherasadsmileashereleasedher.Herfaceburned.Hehadn’tbeenabouttohither.He’dwantedhertolook

athim,totellhimhersideofthestory.Butevenifhewasn’tgoingtostrikeher,hestillmightpunish them.And ifhekickedoutAnsel forwhat they’ddone…Anselneededtobehere,tolearnallthattheseassassinscouldteachher,becauseAnselwantedtodosomethingwithherlife.Anselhadapurpose.AndCelaena…“It was my idea,” Celaena blurted, her words too loud in the empty

chamber. “I didn’t feel like walking back here, and I thought it would beuseful tohavehorses.Andwhen I saw theAsterionmares…I thoughtwemight as well travel in style.” She gave him a shaky half grin, and theMaster’sbrowsroseashelookedbetweenthem.Forlong,longmoment,hejustwatchedthem.WhateverhesawonAnsel’s facesuddenlymadehimnod.Anselquickly

bowed her head. “Before you decide on a punishment …” She turned toCelaena, then looked back at the Master. “Since we like horses so much,maybewecould…beonstableduty?For themorningshift.UntilCelaenaleaves.”Celaenaalmostchoked,butsheschooledherfeaturesintoneutrality.Afaintglimmerofamusementshoneinhiseyes,andheconsideredAnsel’s

wordsforamoment.Thenhenoddedagain.Anselloosenedabreath.“Thankyouforyourlenience,”shesaid.TheMasterglancedtowardthedoorsbehindthem.Theyweredismissed.Anselgottoherfeet,andCelaenafollowedsuit.ButasCelaenaturned,the

Master grabbed her arm.Ansel paused towatch as theMastermade a fewmotionswithhishand.Whenhefinished,Ansel’sbrowsrose.Herepeatedthemotionsagain—slower,pointing toCelaenarepeatedly.Whenitseemedshewascertainsheunderstoodhim,AnselturnedtoCelaena.“You’retoreporttohimatsunsettomorrow.Foryourfirstlesson.”

Celaenabitbackhersighofrelief,andgavetheMasteragenuinegrin.Hereturnedahintofasmile.Sheboweddeeply,andcouldn’tstopsmilingassheandAnsel left the hall and headed to the stables. She had three and a halfweeksleft—thatwouldbemorethanenoughtimetogetthatletter.Whatever he had seen in her face, whatever she had said… somehow,

she’dprovenherselftohimatlast.

It turnedout that theyweren’t just responsible for shovelinghorse dung.Oh, no—theywere responsible for cleaning the pens ofall the four-leggedlivestockin thefortress,a taskthat tookthemfrombreakfastuntilnoon.Atleast they did it in themorning, before the afternoon heat reallymade thesmellatrocious.Anotherbenefitwasthattheydidn’thavetogorunning.Thoughafterfour

hoursofshovelinganimaldroppings,Celaenawouldhavebeggedtotakethesix-mileruninstead.Anxious as she was to be out of the stables, she couldn’t contain her

growing trepidationas the sunarcedacross the sky,heading toward sunset.She didn’t knowwhat to expect; evenAnsel had no idea what theMastermighthave inmind.They spent theafternoonsparringasusual—witheachother, andwithwhatever assassinswandered into the shade of the open-airtrainingcourtyard.Andwhenthesunfinallyhoverednearthehorizon,AnselgaveCelaenasqueezeontheshoulderandsenthertotheMaster’shall.ButtheMasterwasn’tinhisreceivinghall,andwhensheranintoIlias,he

justgaveherhisusualsmileandpointedtowardtheroof.Aftertakingafewstaircasesandthenclimbingawoodenladderandsqueezingthroughahatchintheceiling,shefoundherselfintheopenairhighatopthefortress.TheMasterstoodbytheparapet,gazingacrossthedesert.Sheclearedher

throat,butheremainedwithhisbacktoher.The roof couldn’t have beenmore than twenty square feet, and the only

thingon itwas a covered reedbasket placed in the center.Torchesburned,illuminatingtherooftop.Celaenaclearedherthroatagain,andtheMasterfinallyturned.Shebowed,

which, strangely, was something she felt he actually deserved, rather thansomethingsheoughttodo.Hegaveheranodandpointedtothereedbasket,beckoningher toopen the lid.Doingher best not to look skeptical, hopingtherewasabeautifulnewweaponinside,sheapproached.Shestoppedwhensheheardthehissing.Unpleasant,don’t-come-closerhissing.Frominsidethebasket.

SheturnedtotheMaster,whohoppedontooneofthemerlons,hisbarefeetdangling in thegapbetweenoneblockofstoneand thenext,andbeckonedheragain.Palmssweating,Celaenatookadeepbreathandsnatchedbackthelid.Ablackaspcurledintoitself,headdrawnbacklowasithissed.Celaenaleaptawayayard,makingfortheparapetwall,buttheMasterlet

outalowclickofhistongue.Hishandsmoved,flowingandwindingthroughtheairlikeariver—likea

snake.Observeit,heseemedtotellher.Movewithit.Shelookedbackatthebasketintimetoseetheslender,blackheadofthe

aspslideovertherim,thendowntothetiledroof.Herheartthunderedinherchest.Itwaspoisonous,wasn’tit?Ithadtobe.

Itlookedpoisonous.Thesnakeslitheredacross theroof,andCelaena inchedbackfromit,not

daring to lookaway forevenaheartbeat.She reached foradagger,but theMasteragainclickedhistongue.Aglanceinhisdirectionwasenoughforhertounderstandthemeaningofthesound.Don’tkillit.Absorb.The snake moved effortlessly, lazily, and tasted the evening air with its

blacktongue.Withadeep,steadyingbreath,Celaenaobserved.

She spent every night that week on the roof with the asp, watching it,copying itsmovements, internalizing its rhythmand sounds until she couldmovelikeitmoved,untiltheycouldfaceeachotherandshecouldanticipatehowitwouldlunge;untilshecouldstrikeliketheasp,swiftandunflinching.After that, she spent three days dangling from the rafters of the fortress

stables with the bats. It took her longer to figure out their strengths—howthey became so silent that no one noticed theywere there, how they coulddrownouttheexternalnoiseandfocusonlyonthesoundoftheirprey.Andafterthat,itwastwonightsspentwithjackrabbitsonthedunes,learningtheirstillness, absorbinghow theyused their speedanddexterity to evade talonsand claws, how they slept above ground to better hear their enemiesapproaching.Nightafternight,theMasterwatchedfromnearby,neversayingaword,neverdoinganythingexceptoccasionallypointingouthowananimalmoved.Astheremainingweekspassed,shesawAnselonlyduringmealsandfor

the fewhours they spent eachmorning shovelingmanure.Andafter a longnightspentsprintingorhangingupsidedownorrunningsidewaystoseewhy

crabsbotheredmovinglikethat,Celaenawasusuallyinnomoodtotalk.ButAnsel was merry—almost gleeful, more andmore with every passing day.Sheneversaidwhy,exactly,butCelaenafounditratherinfectious.Andeveryday,Celaenawent tosleepafter lunchanddozeduntil thesun

wentdown,herdreamsfullofsnakesandrabbitsandchirpingdesertbeetles.SometimesshespottedMikhailtrainingtheacolytes,orfoundIliasmeditatinginanemptytrainingroom,butsherarelygot thechancetospendtimewiththem.Theyhadnomore attacks fromLordBerick, either.WhateverAnselhad

said during thatmeetingwith him inXandria,whatever theMaster’s letterhadcontained,itseemedtohaveworked,evenafterthetheftofhishorses.Therewerequietmoments also,when shewasn’t trainingor toilingwith

Ansel.Momentswhenher thoughtsdriftedback toSam, towhathe’d said.He’dthreatenedtokillArobynn.Forhurtingher.Shetriedtoworkthroughit,tried to figure outwhat had changed in Skull’sBay tomakeSamdare saysucha thing to theKingof theAssassins.Butwhenever shecaughtherselfthinking about it toomuch, she shoved those thoughts into the back of hermind.

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CHAPTER8

“Youmeantotellmeyoudothiseveryday?”Anselsaid,herbrowshighonherforeheadasCelaenabrushedrougeontothegirl’scheeks.“Sometimes twice a day,” Celaena said, andAnsel opened an eye. They

were sitting on Celaena’s bed, a scattering of cosmetics between them—asmall fraction of Celaena’s enormous collection back in Rifthold. “Besidesbeingusefulformywork,it’sfun.”“Fun?”Anselopenedherothereye.“Smearingallthisgunkonyourfaceis

fun?”Celaena set down her pot of rouge. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll draw a

mustacheonyou.”Ansel’s lips twitched,butsheclosedhereyesagainasCelaenaraised the

littlecontainerofbronzepowderanddustedsomeonhereyelids.“Well,itismybirthday.AndMidsummerEve,”Anselsaid,hereyelashes

flutteringbeneaththetickleofCelaena’sdelicatebrush.“Wesorarelygettohavefun.IsupposeIshouldlooknice.”Anselalways lookednice—better thannice, actually—butCelaenadidn’t

need to tell her that. “At a minimum, at least you don’t smell like horsedroppings.”Ansel letoutabreathychuckle, theairwarmonCelaena’shandsas they

hoverednearherface.ShekeptquietwhileCelaenafinishedwiththepowder,thenheldstillasshelinedhereyeswithkohlanddarkenedherlashes.“All right,” Celaena said, sitting back so she could see Ansel’s face.

“Open.”Anselopenedhereyes,andCelaenafrowned.“What?”Anselsaid.Celaenashookherhead.“You’regoingtohavetowashitalloff.”“Why?”“BecauseyoulookbetterthanIdo.”Ansel pinchedCelaena’s arm.Celaena pinched her back, laughter on her

lips.ButthenthesingleremainingweekthatCelaenahadleftloomedbeforeher,briefandunforgiving,andherchest tightenedat thethoughtofleaving.Shehadn’tevendaredasktheMasterforherletteryet.Butmorethanthat…Well, she’d never had a female friend—never really had any friends—and

somehow, the thought of returning to Rifthold without Ansel was a tadunbearable.

The Midsummer Eve festival was like nothing Celaena had everexperienced.She’dexpectedmusicanddrinkingandlaughter,butinstead,theassassinsgathered in the largestof the fortresscourtyards.Andallof them,including Ansel, were totally silent. The moon provided the only light,silhouettingthedatetreesswayingalongthecourtyardwalls.But the strangestpartwas thedancing.Even though therewasnomusic,

mostofthepeopledanced—someofthedancesforeignandstrange,someofthemfamiliar.Everyonewassmiling,butasidefromtherustleofclothingandthescrapeofmerryfeetagainstthestones,therewasnosound.But therewas wine, and she andAnsel found a table in a corner of the

courtyardandfullyindulgedthemselves.Though she loved, loved, loved parties,Celaenawould have rather spent

the night trainingwith theMaster.With only oneweek left, shewanted tospendeverywakingmomentworkingwithhim.Buthe’d insistedshego totheparty—ifonlybecausehewantedtogototheparty.Theoldmandancedto a rhythm Celaena could not hear or make out, and looked more likesomeone’s benevolent, clumsy grandfather than the master of some of theworld’sgreatestassassins.Shecouldn’thelpbutthinkofArobynn,whowasallcalculatedgraceand

restrained aggression—Arobynn who danced with a select few, and whosesmilewasrazor-sharp.Mikhail had draggedAnsel to the dancing, and shewas grinning as she

twirledandbobbedandbouncedfrompartnertopartner,alloftheassassinsnowkeepingthesame,silentbeat.Anselhadexperiencedsuchhorror,andyetshewasstillsocarefree,sokeenlyalive.Mikhailcaughtherinhisarmsanddippedher,lowenoughforAnsel’seyestowiden.Mikhail truly liked Ansel—that much was obvious. He always found

excusestotouchher,alwayssmiledather,alwayslookedatherasifsheweretheonlypersonintheroom.Celaena sloshed thewine around in her glass. If shewere being honest,

sometimesshethoughtSamlookedatherthatway.Butthenhe’dgoandsaysomethingabsurd,or try toundermineher,andshe’dchideherself foreventhinkingthatabouthim.Her stomach tightened.What had Arobynn done to him that night? She

shouldhaveinquiredafterhim.Butinthedaysafterward,she’dbeensobusy,

sowrappedinherrage…Shehadn’tdaredlookforhim,actually.BecauseifArobynnhadhurtSamthewayhe’dhurther—ifhe’dhurtSamworse thanthat…Celaena drained the rest of her wine. During the two days after she’d

awokenfromherbeating,she’dusedagoodchunkofhersavingstopurchaseher own apartment, away and well hidden from the Assassins’ Keep. Shehadn’ttoldanyone—partiallybecauseshewasworriedshemightchangehermindwhileshewasaway—butwitheachdayhere,witheachlessonwiththeMaster,shewasmoreandmoreresolvedtotellArobynnshewasmovingout.Shewasactuallyeagertoseethelookonhisface.Shestillowedhimmoney,ofcourse—he’dseentoitthatherdebtswouldkeepherwithhimforawhile—buttherewasnorulethatsaidshehadtolivewithhim.Andifheeverlaidahandonheragain…IfArobynneverlaidahandonherorSamagain,she’dseetoitthathelost

thathand.Actually,she’dseetoitthathelosteverythinguptotheelbow.Someone touched her shoulder, and Celaena looked up from her empty

winegoblettofindIliasstandingbehindher.Shehadn’tseenmuchofhiminthepastfewdays,asidefromatdinner,wherehestillglancedatherandgaveherthoselovelysmiles.Heofferedhishand.Celaena’sfaceinstantlywarmedandsheshookherhead,tryingherbestto

conveyasenseofnotknowingthesedances.Iliasshrugged,hiseyesbright.Hishandremainedextended.Shebitherlipandglancedpointedlyathisfeet.Iliasshruggedagain,this

timeasiftosuggestthathistoesweren’tallthatvaluable,anyway.CelaenaglancedatMikhailandAnsel,spinningwildly toabeatonly the

twoofthemcouldhear.Iliasraisedhisbrows.Livealittle,Sardothien!Anselhadsaidthatdaytheystolethehorses.Whynotlivealittletonight,too?Celaenagavehimadramaticshrugandtookhishand,tossingawrysmile

hisway.IsupposeIcouldspareadanceortwo,shewantedtosay.

Eventhoughtherewasnomusic,Iliasledherthroughthedanceswithease,eachofhismovements sureandsteady. Itwashard to lookaway—not justfromhisface,butalsofromthecontentmentthatradiatedfromhim.Andhelookedbackatherso intently thatshehadtowonder ifhe’dbeenwatchingheralltheseweeksnotonlytoprotecthisfather.Theydanceduntilwellaftermidnight;wilddancesthatweren’tatalllike

thewaltzesshe’dlearnedinRifthold.Evenwhensheswitchedpartners,Iliaswasalwaysthere,waitingforthenextdance.Itwasalmostasintoxicatingas

theoddityofdancingtonomusic,tohearingacollective,silentrhythm—tolettingthewindandthesighingsandoutsidethefortressprovidethebeatandthe melody. It was lovely and strange, and as the hours passed, she oftenwonderedifshe’dstrayedintosomedream.Whenthemoonwassetting,Celaenafoundherselfleavingthedancefloor,

doingherbesttoconveyhowexhaustedshewas.Itwasn’talie.Herfeethurt,andshehadn’thadapropernight’srestinweeksandweeks.Iliastriedpullingherbackontothefloorforonelastdance,butshenimblyslippedoutofhisgrasp,grinningassheshookherhead.AnselandMikhailwerestilldancing,holdingeachothercloserthananyotherpaironthedancefloor.Notwantingtointerruptherfriend,Celaenaleftthehall,Iliasintow.Shecouldn’tdenythatherracingheartbeatwasn’tjustfromthedancingas

theywalkeddowntheemptyhall.Iliasstrolledbesideher,silentasever,andsheswallowedtightly.Whatwouldhesay—thatis,ifhecouldspeak—ifheknewthatAdarlan’s

Assassinhadneverbeenkissed?She’dkilledmen,freedslaves,stolenhorses,but she’dnever kissed anyone. Itwas ridiculous, somehow.Something thatsheshouldhavegottenoutof thewayatsomepoint,butshe’dneverfoundtherightperson.Alltooquickly,theywerestandingoutsidethedoortoherroom.Celaena

didn’ttouchthedoorhandle,andtriedtocalmherbreathingassheturnedtofaceIlias.Hewassmiling.Maybehedidn’tmeantokissher.Hisroomwas,afterall,

justafewdoorsdown.“Well,” she said.After somanyhours of silence, thewordwas jarringly

loud.Her face burned.He stepped closer, and she tried not to flinch as heslipped a hand around her waist. It would be so simple to kiss him, sherealized.His other hand slid against her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw as he

gentlytiltedherheadback.Herbloodpoundedthrougheveryinchofher.Herlipsparted…butasIliasinclinedhishead,shewentrigidandsteppedback.Heimmediatelywithdrew,hisbrowscrossedwithconcern.Shewantedto

seepintothestonesanddisappear.“I’msorry,”shesaidthickly,tryingnottolook toomortified. “I—Ican’t. Imean, I’m leaving inaweek.And…andyoulivehere.AndI’minRifthold,so…”Shewasbabbling.Sheshouldstop.Actually,sheshouldjuststoptalking.Forever.Butifhesensedhermortification,hedidn’tshowit.Instead,hebowedhis

headandsqueezedhershoulder.Thenhegaveheroneofthoseshrugs,whichshe interpreted tomean, Ifonlywedidn’t live thousandsofmilesapart.But

canyoublamemefortrying?Withthat,hestrodethefewfeettohisroom.Hegaveherafriendlywave

beforedisappearinginside.Aloneinthehallway,Celaenawatchedtheshadowscastbythetorches.It

hadn’tbeenthemereimpossibilityofarelationshipwithIliasthathadmadeherpullaway.No; itwas thememory of Sam’s face that had stopped her from kissing

him.

Anseldidn’tcomebackto their roomthatnight.Andwhenshestumbledinto the stables the following morning, still wearing her clothes from theparty,Celaena could assume she’d either spent thewhole night dancing, orwithMikhail.FromtheflushonAnsel’sfreckledcheeks,Celaenathoughtitmightbeboth.Ansel took one look at the grin onCelaena’s face and glowered. “Don’t

youevenstart.”Celaenashoveledaheapofmanureintothenearbywagon.Latershe’dcart

ittothegardens,whereitwouldbeusedforfertilizer.“What?”Celaenasaid,grinningevenwider.“Iwasn’tgoingtosayanything.”Anselsnatchedhershovel fromwhere it leanedagainst thewoodenwall,

severalpensdown fromwhereKasidaandHislinowhad theirnewhomes.“Good.IgotenoughofitfromtheotherswhileIwaswalkinghere.”Celaenaleanedagainsthershovelintheopengate.“I’msureMikhailwill

gethisfairshareofteasing,too.”Ansel straightened, her eyes surprisingly dark. “No, he won’t. They’ll

congratulatehim,justliketheyalwaysdo,foraconquestwellmade.”Sheletoutalongsighfromhernose.“Butme?I’llget teaseduntilIsnapat them.It’salwaysthesame.”They continued their work in silence. After a moment, Celaena spoke.

“Eventhoughtheyteaseyou,youstillwanttobewithMikhail?”Ansel shrugged again, flingingdung into thepile she’dgathered into the

wagon.“He’sanamazingwarrior;he’staughtmefarmorethanIwouldhavelearnedwithouthim.Sotheycanteasemealltheywant,butattheendoftheday,he’sstilltheonegivingmeextraattentionwhenwetrain.”Thatdidn’tsitwellwithCelaena,butsheoptedtokeephermouthshut.“Besides,”Anselsaid,glancingsidelongatCelaena,“notallofuscanso

easilyconvincetheMastertotrainus.”Celaena’s stomach twisted a little. Was Ansel jealous of that? “I’m not

entirelysurewhyhechangedhismind.”“Oh?”Anselsaid,sharper thanCelaenahadeverheardher. It scaredher,

surprisingly.“Thenoble,clever,beautifulassassinfromtheNorth—thegreatCelaenaSardothien,hasnoideawhyhe’dwanttotrainher?Noideathathemightwant to leavehismarkonyou, too?Tohaveahand in shapingyourgloriousfate?”Celaena’sthroattightened,andshecursedherselfforfeelingsohurtbythe

words. She didn’t think theMaster felt thatway at all, but she still hissed,“Yes,mygloriousfate.Shovelingdunginabarn.Aworthytaskforme.”“ButcertainlyaworthytaskforagirlfromtheFlatlands?”“Ididn’tsaythat,”Celaenasaidthroughherteeth.“Don’tputwordsinmy

mouth.”“Whynot? Iknowyou think it—andyouknowI’m telling the truth. I’m

not good enough for theMaster to trainme. I began seeingMikhail to getextraattentionduringlessons,andIcertainlydon’thaveanotoriousnametoflauntaround.”“Fine,”Celaenasaid.“Yes:mostofthepeopleinthekingdomsknowmy

name—knowtofearme.”Hertemperrosewithdizzyingspeed.“Butyou…Youwant toknow the truth aboutyou,Ansel?The truth is, even if yougohomeandgetwhatyouwant,noonewillgiveadamnifyoutakebackyourspeckofterritory—noonewillevenhearaboutit.Becausenooneexceptforyouwillevencare.”Sheregrettedthewordstheinstanttheylefthermouth.Ansel’sfacewent

whitewithanger,andher lips trembledasshepressed themtogether.Anselthrewdownhershovel.Foramoment,Celaenathoughtthatshe’dattack,andevenwentasfarasslightlybendingherkneesinanticipationofafight.ButAnselstalkedpastherandsaid,“You’rejustaspoiled,selfishbitch.”

Withthat,sheleftCelaenatofinishtheirmorningchores.

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CHAPTER9

Celaenacouldn’t focusonher lessonwith theMaster thatnight.Allday,Ansel’swords had been ringing in her ears. She hadn’t seen her friend forhours—anddreadedthemomentwhenshe’dhavetoreturntoherroomandfaceheragain.ThoughCelaenahated toadmit it,Ansel’spartingclaimhadfelttrue.Shewasspoiled.Andselfish.TheMastersnappedhisfingers,andCelaena,whowasyetagainstudying

anasp,lookedup.Thoughshe’dbeenmirroringthesnake’smovements,shehadn’tnoticeditwasslowlycreepingtowardher.She leaptbackafewfeet,crouchingclose to theroof’swall,butstopped

when she felt theMaster’s handonher shoulder.Hemotioned to leave thesnakebeandsitbesidehimonthemerlonsthatranaroundtheroof.Gratefulforabreak,shehoppedup, tryingnot toglancedownat thegroundfar, farbelow.Though shewaswell acquaintedwith heights, andhadnoproblemswithbalance,sittingonanedgeneverreallyfeltnatural.TheMasterraisedhiseyebrows.Talk,heseemedtosay.Shetuckedherleftfootunderherrightthigh,makingsuretokeepaneye

ontheasp,whichslitheredintotheshadowsoftheroof.But telling him about her fight withAnsel felt so… childish. As if the

MasteroftheSilentAssassinswouldwanttohearaboutapettysquabble.Cicadasbuzzedin the treesof thekeep,andsomewherein thegardens,a

nightingalesangherlament.Talk.Talkaboutwhat?Shedidn’thaveanythingtosay,sotheysatontheparapetinsilencefora

while—until even the cicadas went to sleep, and the moon slipped awaybehindthem,andtheskybegantobrighten.Talk.Talkaboutwhathadbeenhaunting her these months. Haunting every thought, every dream, everybreath.Talk.“I’mscaredtogohome,”shesaidatlast,staringoutat thedunesbeyond

thewalls.ThepredawnlightwasbrightenoughforhertoseetheMaster’sbrowsrise.

Why?“Because everything will be different. Everything is already different. I

thinkeverythingchangedwhenArobynnpunishedme,but…Somepartofmestillthinksthattheworldwillgobacktothewayitwasbeforethatnight.

BeforeIwenttoSkull’sBay.”TheMaster’seyesshonelikeemeralds.Compassionate—sorrowful.“I’mnotsureIwantittogobacktothewayitwasbefore,”sheadmitted.

“AndIthink…Ithinkthat’swhatscaresmethemost.”TheMaster smiled at her reassuringly, then rolledhis neck and stretched

hisarmsoverhisheadbeforestandingatopthemerlon.Celaenatensed,unsureifsheshouldfollow.But the Master didn’t look at her as he began a series of movements,

gracefulandwinding,aselegantasadanceanddeadlyastheaspthatlurkedontheroof.Theasp.WatchingtheMaster,shecouldseeeachofthequalitiesshehadcopiedfor

thepastfewweeks—thecontainedpowerandswiftness,thecunningandthesmoothrestraint.He went through the motions again, and it took only a glance in her

directiontogethertoherfeetatoptheparapetwall.Mindfulofherbalance,she slowly copied him, her muscles singing with the rightness of themovements. She grinned as night after night of careful observation andmimicryclickedintoplace.Againandagain,thesweepandcurveofherarm,thetwistingofhertorso,

eventherhythmofherbreathing.Againandagain,untilshebecametheasp,untilthesunbrokeoverthehorizon,bathingtheminredlight.Againandagain,untiltherewasnothingleftbuttheMasterandherasthey

greetedthenewday.

An hour after sunup, Celaena crept into her room, bracing herself foranother fight,but foundAnsel alreadygone to the stables.SinceAnselhadabandoned her to do the chores by herself yesterday, Celaena decided toreturnthefavor.Shesighedwithcontentmentasshecollapsedatopherbed.She was later awoken by someone shaking her shoulder—someone who

smelledlikemanure.“It had better be afternoon,” Celaena said, rolling onto her stomach and

buryingherfaceinherpillow.Ansel chuckled. “Oh, it’s almost dinner.And the stables and pens are in

goodorder,nothankstoyou.”“Youleftmetodoitallyesterday,”Celaenamumbled.“Yes,well…I’msorry.”CelaenapeeledherfacefromthepillowtolookatAnsel,whostoodover

thebed.Ansel twistedherhands.Shewaswearingher armoragain.At thesightofit,Celaenawincedassherecalledwhatshe’dsaidaboutherfriend’shomeland.Ansel tucked her red hair behind her ears. “I shouldn’t have said those

thingsaboutyou.Idon’tthinkyou’respoiledorselfish.”“Oh,don’tworry.Iam—verymuchso.”Celaenasatup.Anselgavehera

weaksmile.“But,”shewenton,“I’msorryforwhatIsaid,too.Ididn’tmeanit.”Anselnodded,glancingtowardtheshutdoor,asifsheexpectedsomeoneto

bethere.“Ihavelotsoffriendshere,butyou’rethefirsttruefriendI’vehad.I’llbesorrytoseeyougo.”“Istillhavefivedays,”Celaenasaid.GivenhowpopularAnselwas,itwas

surprising—and somewhat relieving—to hear that she’d also felt slightlyalone.Ansel flicked her eyes to the door again.What was she nervous about?

“Trytoremembermefondly,willyou?”“I’lltry.Butitmightbehard.”Anselletoutaquietlaughandtooktwogobletsfromthetablebeneaththe

window.“Ibroughtussomewine.”ShehandedonetoCelaena.Anselliftedhercoppergoblet.“Tomakingamends—andfondmemories.”“Tobeingthemostfearsomeandimposinggirlstheworldhaseverseen.”

Celaenaraisedhergoblethighbeforeshedrank.Assheswallowedalargemouthfulofwine,shehadtwothoughts.ThefirstwasthatAnsel’seyeswerenowfilledwithunmaskedsorrow.And the second—which explained the first—was that the wine tasted

strange.But Celaena didn’t have time to considerwhat poison it was before she

heardherowngobletclattertothefloor,andtheworldspunandwentblack.

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CHAPTER10

Someonewashammeringagainstananvil somewherevery,veryclose toher head. So close that she felt each beat in her body, the sound shatteringthroughhermind,stirringherfromsleep.With a jolt, Celaena sat up. Therewas no hammer and no anvil—just a

poundingheadache.Andtherewasnoassassins’fortress,onlyendlessmilesof reddunes, andKasida standingwatchoverher.Well, at least shewasn’tdead.Cursing,shegottoherfeet.WhathadAnseldone?Themoonilluminatedenoughofthedesertforhertoseethattheassassins’

fortresswasnowhere insight,and thatKasida’ssaddlebagswerefullofherbelongings.Except for her sword.She searched and searched, but itwasn’tthere.Celaena reached foroneofher two longdaggers, but stiffenedwhenshefeltascrollofpapertuckedintoherbelt.Someonehadalsoleftalanternbesideher,andittookonlyafewmoments

forCelaena to get it lit andnestled into the dune.Kneeling before the dimlight, she unrolled the paper with shaking hands. It was in Ansel’shandwriting,andwasn’tlong.

Celaena read the letter three times to make sure she hadn’t missedsomething.Shewasbeingletgo—butwhy?Shehadtheletterofapproval,atleast,but…butwhathadshedonethatmadeitsourgenttogetridofherthathe’ddrugher and thendumpher in themiddleof thedesert?Shehad fivedaysleft;hecouldn’thavewaitedforhertoleave?Hereyesburnedasshesortedthroughtheeventsofthepastfewdaysfor

ways she might have offended the Master. She got to her feet and rifledthrough the saddlebags until she pulled out the letter of approval. It was afoldedsquareofpaper,sealedwithsea-greenwax—thecoloroftheMaster’seyes.Alittlevain,but…Her fingers hovered over the seal. If she broke it, then Arobynn might

accuseheroftamperingwiththeletter.Butwhatifitsaidhorridthingsabouther?Anselsaiditwasaletterofapproval,soitcouldn’tbethatbad.Celaenatuckedtheletterbackintothesaddlebag.Perhaps the Master had also realized that she was spoiled and selfish.

Maybeeveryonehadjustbeentoleratingher,and…maybethey’dheardofherfightwithAnselanddecidedtosendherpacking.Itwouldn’tsurpriseher.Theywere lookingoutfor theirown,afterall.Nevermind that forawhile,shehadfeltlikeoneoftheirown—felt,forthefirsttimeinalong,longwhile,likeshehadaplacewhereshebelonged.Whereshemight learnsomethingmorethandeceitandhowtoendlives.But she’d been wrong. Somehow, realizing that hurt far worse than the

beatingArobynnhadgivenher.Herlipstrembled,butshesquaredhershouldersandscannedthenightsky

untilshefoundtheStagandthecrowningstarthatlednorth.Sighing,Celaenablewoutthelantern,mountedKasida,androdeintothenight.

SherodetowardXandria,optingtofindashipthereinsteadofbravingthenorthern trek across the Singing Sands to Yurpa—the port she’d originallysailedinto.Withoutaguide,shedidn’treallyhavemuchofachoice.Shetookher time,oftenwalking insteadof ridingKasida,whoseemedassadasshewastoleavetheSilentAssassinsandtheirluxuriousstables.Thenext day, shewas a fewmiles intoher late afternoon trekwhen she

heard the thump, thump, thump. It grew louder, themovements now edgedwithclashingandclatteringanddeepvoices.ShehoppedontoKasida’sbackandcrestedadune.Inthedistance,atleasttwohundredmenweremarching—straightintothe

desert.Someboreredandblackbanners.LordBerick’smen.Theymarchedinalongcolumn,withmountedsoldiersgallopingalongtheflanks.ThoughshehadneverseenBerick,aquickexaminationofthehostshowednosignsofalordbeingpresent.Hemusthavestayedbehind.Buttherewasnothingouthere.Nothingexceptfor…Celaena’smouthwentdry.Nothingexceptfortheassassins’fortress.Amountedsoldierpausedhisriding,hisblackmare’scoatgleamingwith

sweat.Hestaredtowardher.Withherwhiteclothesconcealingallofherbuthereyes,hehadnowayofidentifyingher,nowayoftellingwhatshewas.Even from the distance, she could see the bow and quiver of arrows he

bore.Howgoodwashisaim?Shedidn’tdaretomove.Thelastthingsheneededwastheattentionofall

thosesoldiersonher.Theyallpossessedbroadswords,daggers,shields,andarrows.Thisdefinitelywasn’tgoingtobeafriendlyvisit,notwiththismanymen.WasthatwhytheMasterhadsentheraway?Hadhesomehowknownthis

wouldhappenanddidn’twanthercaughtupinit?CelaenanoddedtothesoldierandcontinuedridingtowardXandria.Ifthe

Masterdidn’twantanythingtodowithher,thenshecertainlydidn’tneedtowarnthem.Especiallysinceheprobablyknew.Andhehadafortressfullofassassins.Twohundred soldierswerenothingcompared to seventyor soofthesessizsuikast.Theassassinscouldhandlethemselves.Theydidn’tneedher.They’dmade

thatclearenough.Still, themuffled thumpofKasida’sstepsawayfromthe fortressbecame

moreandmoredifficulttobear.

Thenextmorning,Xandriawasremarkablyquiet.Atfirst,Celaenathoughtitwasbecausethecitizenswereallwaitingfornewsabouttheattackontheassassins,butshesoonrealizedshefounditquietbecauseshehadonlyseeniton Market Day. The winding, narrow streets that had been crammed withvendorswerenowempty, litteredwitherrantpalm frondsandpilesof sandthatslitheredinthefiercewindsfromthesea.She bought passage on a ship that would sail to Amier, the port in

MelisandeacrosstheGulfofOro.She’dhopedforashiptoInnish,anotherport,soshecouldinquireafterayounghealershe’dmetonherjourneyhere,but therewerenone.Andwith theembargoonshipsfromXandriagoingtootherpartsofAdarlan’sempire,adistant,forgottenportlikeAmierwouldbeherbestbet.Fromthere, she’d travelonKasidaback toRifthold,hopefullycatching another boat somewhere on the long arm of theAvery River thatwouldtakeherthelastlegtothecapital.Theshipdidn’tleaveuntilhightidethatafternoon,whichleftCelaenawith

afewhourstowanderthecity.TheSpidersilkmerchantwaslonggone,alongwiththecobblerandthetemplepriestesses.Nervous themarewould be identified in the city, butmoreworried that

someonewouldstealKasidaifsheleftherunguarded,Celaenaledthehorsethroughbackalleysuntilshefoundanear-privatetroughforKasida.Celaenaleanedagainstasandstonewallasherhorsedrankherfill.HadLordBerick’smen reached the fortress yet? At the rate they were going, they wouldprobably arrive this night or early tomorrow morning. She just hoped theMaster was prepared—and that he had at least restocked the flaming wallafterthelastattackfromBerick.Hadhesentherawayforherownsafety,orwasheabouttobeblindsided?She glanced up at the palace towering over the city. Berick hadn’t been

with his men. Delivering the Mute Master’s head to the King of Adarlanwouldsurelygettheembargoliftedfromhiscity.Washedoingitforthesakeofhispeople,orforhimself?ButtheRedDesertalsoneededtheassassins—andthemoneyandthetrade

theforeignemissariesbroughtin,too.Berickand theMasterhadcertainlybeencommunicating in thepast few

weeks.Whathadgonewrong?Anselhadmadeanothertripaweekagotoseehim,andhadn’tmentionedtrouble.She’dseemedquitejovial,actually.Celaena didn’t really know why a chill snaked down her spine in that

moment.OrwhyshefoundherselfsuddenlydiggingthroughthesaddlebagsuntilshepulledouttheMaster’sletterofapproval,alongwiththenoteAnselhadwrittenher.If theMasterhadknownabout theattack,hewouldhavebeen fortifying

hisdefensesalready;hewouldn’thavesentCelaenaaway.ShewasAdarlan’sgreatestassassin,andiftwohundredmenweremarchingonhisfortress,he’dneed her. TheMaster wasn’t proud—not like Arobynn. He truly loved hisdisciples; he looked after and nurtured them.But he’d never trainedAnsel.Why?Andwithsomanyofhislovedonesinthefortress,whysendonlyCelaena

away?Whynotsendthemall?Her heart beat so fast it stumbled, and Celaena tore open the letter of

approval.Itwasblank.Sheflippedthepaperover.Theothersidewasalsoblank.Holdingitupto

thesunrevealednohiddenink,nowatermark.Butithadbeensealedbyhim,hadn’tit?Thatwashissealonthe—Itwas easy to steal a signet ring.She’ddone itwithCaptainRolfe.And

she’d seen the white line around the Master’s finger—his ring had beenmissing.But ifAnsel haddruggedher, andgivenher a document sealedwith the

Master’ssignetring…No, itwasn’tpossible.And itdidn’tmakesense.WhywouldAnsel send

herawayandpretendtheMasterhaddoneit?Unless…Celaena looked up at Lord Berick’s palace. Unless Ansel hadn’t been

visitingLordBerickonbehalfoftheMasteratall.Ormaybeshehadatfirst,longenoughtogaintheMaster’strust.ButwhiletheMasterthoughtshewasmending the relationships between them, Ansel was really doing quite theopposite.AndthatSpidersilkmerchanthadmentionedsomethingaboutaspyamongtheassassins—aspyworkingforBerick.Butwhy?Celaenadidn’thavetimetoponderit.Notwithtwohundredmensoclose

tothefortress.ShemighthavequestionedLordBerick,but that, too,wouldtakeprecioustime.Onewarriormightnotmakeadifferenceagainsttwohundred,butshewas

Celaena Sardothien. That had to count for something. That did count forsomething.ShemountedKasidaandturnedhertowardthecitygates.“Let’s seehow fastyoucan run,” shewhispered into themare’s ear, and

tookoff.

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CHAPTER11

Likeashootingstaracrossaredsky,Kasidaflewoverthedunes,andmadethejumpacrosstheCleaverasifshewereleapingoverabrook.Theypausedonly long enough for the horse to rest and fill up on water, and thoughCelaena apologized to the mare for pushing her so hard, Kasida neverfaltered.She,too,seemedtosensetheurgency.Theyrodethroughthenight,untilthecrimsondawnbrokeoverthedunes

andsmokestainedthesky,andthefortressspreadbeforethem.Firesburnedhereandthere,andshoutsrangout,alongwiththeclashingof

weapons. The assassins hadn’t yielded yet, though their walls had beenbreached.Afewbodieslitteredthesandleadinguptothegates,butthegatesthemselves showedno signof a forced entry—as if someonehad left themunlocked.Celaena dismounted Kasida before the final dune, leaving the horse to

either follow or find her own path, and crept the rest of the way into thefortress.Shepaused longenough toswipeasword fromadead soldierandtuckit intoherbelt.Itwascheaplymadeandunbalanced,butthepointwassharpenoughtodothejob.Fromthemuffledcloppingofhoovesbehindher,sheknewKasidahadfollowed.Still,Celaenadidn’tdaretakehereyesawayfromthescenebeforeherasshedrewhertwolongdaggers.Inside the walls, bodies were everywhere—assassin and soldier alike.

Otherwise, themain courtyardwas empty, its little rivers now flowing red.Shetriedherbestnottolooktoocloselyatthefacesofthefallen.Firessmoldered,mostofthemjustsmokingpilesofash.Charredremnants

ofarrowsrevealedthatthey’dprobablybeenablazewhentheyhit.Everystepintothecourtyardfeltlikealifetime.Theshoutsandclangingweaponscamefrom other parts of the fortress.Who was winning? If all the soldiers hadgotteninwithsofewdeadonthesand,thensomeonehadtohaveletthemin—probablyinthedeadofnight.Howlonghadittakenbeforethenightwatchspotted the soldiers creeping inside? … Unless the night watch had beendispatchedbeforetheycouldsoundthealarm.But, as Celaena took step after step, she realized that the question she

shouldbeaskingwasfarworse.WhereistheMaster?ThatwaswhatLordBerickhadwanted—theMaster’shead.

AndAnsel…Celaena didn’t want to finish that thought. Ansel hadn’t sent her away

becauseofthis.Anselcouldn’tbebehindthis.But…Celaena started sprinting for theMaster’s greeting room, heedless of the

noise.Bloodanddestructionwereeverywhere.Shepassedcourtyardsfullofsoldiersandassassins,lockedindeadlybattle.Shewashalfwayup the stairs to theMaster’s roomwhena soldiercame

rushingdownthem,hisbladedrawn.Sheduckedtheblowforherheadandstrucklowanddeep,herlongdaggerburyingitselfintohisgut.Withtheheat,thesoldiershadforgonemetalarmor—andtheirleatherarmorcouldn’tturnablademadewithAdarlaniansteel.She jumped aside as hegroaned and tumbleddown the steps.Shedidn’t

bothersparinghimafinallookasshecontinuedherascent.Theupperlevelwascompletelysilent.Herbreathsharpinher throat,shecareenedtowardtheopendoorsof the

greetingroom.Thetwohundredsoldiersweremeanttodestroythefortress—and provide a distraction. The Master could have been unguarded witheveryonefocusedontheattack.ButhewasstilltheMaster.HowcouldAnselexpecttobesthim?Unlesssheusedthatdrugonhimaswell.Howelsewouldshebeableto

disarmhimandcatchhimunawares?Celaenahurledherself throughtheopenwoodendoorsandnearlytripped

onthebodyprostratebetweenthem.Mikhaillayonhisback,histhroatslit,eyesstaringupatthetiledceiling.

Dead. Beside him was Ilias, struggling to rise as he clutched his bleedingbelly.Celaenabitbackhercry,andIliasraisedhishead,blooddrippingfromhislips.Shemadetokneelbesidehim,buthegrunted,pointingtotheroomahead.Tohisfather.TheMasterlayonhissideatopthedais,hiseyesopenandhisrobesstill

unstained by blood.But he had the stillness of one drugged—paralyzed bywhateverAnselhadgivenhim.Thegirlstoodoverhim,herbacktoCelaenaasshetalked,swiftandquiet.

Babbling. She clenched her father’s sword in one hand, the bloodied bladedroopingtowardthefloor.TheMaster’seyesshiftedtoCelaena’sface,thentohis son. Theywere filledwith pain. Not for himself, but for Ilias—for hisbleeding boy. He looked back to Celaena’s face, his sea-green eyes nowpleading.Savemyson.Anseltookadeepbreathandtheswordroseintheair,makingtosliceoff

theMaster’shead.Celaenahadaheartbeattofliptheknifeinherhands.Shecockedherwrist

andletitfly.

The dagger slammed into Ansel’s forearm, exactly where Celaena hadaimed.Anselletoutacry,herfingerssplaying.Herfather’sswordclatteredtothe ground. Her face went white with shock as she whirled, clutching thebleeding wound, but the expression shifted into something dark andunyieldingasshebeheldCelaena.Anselscrambledforherfallenblade.ButCelaenawasalreadyrunning.Ansel grabbed her sword, dashing back to theMaster and lifting it high

overherhead.SheplungedtheswordtowardtheMaster’sneck.Celaenamanagedtotackleherbeforethebladestruck,sendingthemboth

crashing to the floor. Cloth and steel and bone, twisting and rolling. Shebrought her legs up high enough to kick Ansel. The girls split apart, andCelaenawasonherfeetthemomentshestoppedmoving.ButAnselwasalreadystanding,herswordstillinherhands,stillbetween

CelaenaandtheparalyzedMaster.ThebloodfromAnsel’sarmdrippedtothefloor.They panted, and Celaena steadied her reeling head. “Don’t do it,” she

breathed.Anselletoutalowlaugh.“IthoughtItoldyoutogohome.”Celaenadrewtheswordfromherbelt.IfonlyshehadabladelikeAnsel’s,

not some bit of scrap metal. It shook in her hands as she realized who,exactly, stood between her and theMaster.Not some nameless soldier, notsomestranger,orapersonshe’dbeenhiredtokill.ButAnsel.“Why?”Celaenawhispered.Anselcockedherhead,raisingherswordabithigher.“Why?”Celaenahad

never seen anything more hideous than the hate that twisted Ansel’s face.“Because Lord Berick promised me a thousand men to march into theFlatlands,that’swhy.Stealingthosehorseswasexactlythepublicexcuseheneededtoattackthisfortress.AndallIhadtodowastakecareoftheguardsandleavethegateopenlastnight.Andbringhimthis.”ShegesturedwithherswordtotheMasterbehindher.“TheMaster’shead.”SherananeyeupanddownCelaena’s body, andCelaenahatedherself for trembling further. “Putdownyoursword,Celaena.”Celaenadidn’tmove.“Gotohell.”Ansel chuckled. “I’ve been to hell. I spent some time therewhen I was

twelve,remember?AndwhenImarchintotheFlatlandswithBerick’stroops,I’llseetoitthatHighKingLochseesabitofhell,too.Butfirst…”SheturnedtotheMasterandCelaenasuckedinabreath.“Don’t,”Celaena

said.Fromthisdistance,Anselwouldkillhimbeforeshecoulddoanythingtostopher.“Justlooktheotherway,Celaena.”Anselsteppedclosertotheman.“Ifyoutouchhim,I’llputthisswordthroughyourneck,”Celaenasnarled.

Thewordsshook,andsheblinkedawaythebuildingmoistureinhereyes.Ansellookedoverhershoulder.“Idon’tthinkyouwill.”AnseltookanotherstepclosertotheMaster,andCelaena’sseconddagger

flew. It grazed the side of Ansel’s armor, leaving a long mark before itclatteredtoastopatthefootofthedais.Anselpaused,givingCelaenaafaintsmile.“Youmissed.”“Don’tdoit.”“Why?”Celaena put a hand over her heart, tightly gripping her sword with the

other.“BecauseIknowwhatitfeelslike.”Shedaredanotherstep.“BecauseIknowhowitfeelstohavethatkindofhate,Ansel.Iknowhowitfeels.Andthisisn’ttheway.This,”shesaidlouder,gesturingtothefortressandallthecorpsesinit,allthesoldiersandassassinsstillfighting.“Thisisnottheway.”“Saystheassassin,”Anselspat.“I’vebecomeanassassinbecauseIhadnochoice.Butyouhaveachoice,

Ansel.You’vealwayshadachoice.Pleasedon’tkillhim.”Pleasedon’tmakemekillyouwaswhatshetrulymeanttosay.Anselshuthereyes.Celaenasteadiedherwrist,testingthebalanceofher

blade,tryingtogetasenseofitsweight.WhenAnselopenedhereyes,therewaslittleofthegirlshe’dgrowntocareforoverthepastmonth.“These men,” Ansel said, her sword rising higher. “These men destroy

everything.”“Iknow.”“You know, and yet you do nothing! You’re just a dog chained to your

master.”Sheclosedthedistancebetweenthem,herswordlowering.Celaenaalmost sagged with relief, but didn’t lighten her grip on her own blade.Ansel’sbreathingwasragged.“Youcouldcomewithme.”ShebrushedbackastrandofCelaena’shair.“ThetwoofusalonecouldconquertheFlatlands—and with Lord Berick’s troops…” Her hand grazed Celaena’s cheek, andCelaena tried not to recoil at the touch and at the words that came out ofAnsel’smouth. “Iwouldmakeyoumy right hand.We’d take theFlatlandsback.”

“Ican’t,”Celaenaanswered,eventhoughshecouldseeAnsel’splanwithperfectclarity—evenifitwastempting.Anselsteppedback.“WhatdoesRiftholdhavethat’ssospecial?Howlong

willyoubowandscrapeforthatmonster?”“I can’t go with you, and you know it. So take your troops and leave,

Ansel.”ShewatchedtheexpressionsflitteracrossAnsel’sface.Hurt.Denial.Rage.“Sobeit,”Anselsaid.Shestruck,andCelaenaonlyhadtimetotiltherheadtododgethehidden

daggerthatshotoutofAnsel’swrist.Thebladegrazedhercheek,andbloodwarmedherface.Herface.Ansel swiped with her sword, so close that Celaena had to flip herself

backward.She landedonher feet, butAnselwas fast andnear enough thatCelaenacouldonlybringupherblade.Theirswordsmet.Celaena spun, shoving Ansel’s sword from hers. Ansel stumbled, and

Celaena used the moment to gain the advantage, striking again and again.Ansel’ssuperiorbladewashardlyimpacted.They passed the prostrate Master and the dais. Celaena dropped to the

ground, swiping at Ansel with a leg. Ansel leapt back, dodging the blow.Celaenausedtheprecioussecondstosnatchherfallendaggerfromwhereitlayonthedaissteps.WhenAnsel struckagain, shemet thecrossedbladesofCelaena’s sword

anddagger.Anselletoutalowlaugh.“Howdoyouimaginethisending?”Shepressed

Celaena’sblades.“Orisitafighttothedeath?”Celaenabracedherfeetagainstthefloor.She’dneverknownAnselwasso

strong—orsomuchtaller thanher.AndAnsel’sarmor—howwouldshegetthrough that?Therewas a joint between the armpit and the ribs—and thenaroundherneck…“You tell me,” Celaena said. The blood from her cheek slid down her

throat.“Youseemtohaveeverythingplanned.”“I tried to protect you.”Ansel shoved hard againstCelaena’s blades, but

notstronglyenoughtodislodgethem.“Andyoucamebackanyway.”“You call that protection? Drugging me and leaving me in the desert?”

Celaenabaredherteeth.But before she could launch another assault, Ansel struck with her free

hand, rightacross theXmadeby theirweapons,her fist slammingbetweenCelaena’seyes.Celaena’sheadsnappedback, theworld flashing,andshe landedhardon

herknees.Herswordanddaggerclatteredtothefloor.Anselwasonherinasecond,herbloodiedarmacrossCelaena’schest,the

otherhandpressingtheedgeofherswordagainstCelaena’sunmarredcheek.“Givemeonereasonnottokillyourighthere,”Anselwhisperedintoher

ear,kickingawayCelaena’ssword.Herfallendaggerstilllaynearthem,justoutofreach.Celaenastruggled,tryingtoputsomedistancebetweenAnsel’sswordand

herface.“Oh,howvaincanyoube?”Anselsaid,andCelaenawincedasthesword

dug into her skin. “Afraid I’ll scar your face?” Ansel angled the sworddownward, the blade now biting into Celaena’s throat. “What about yourneck?”“Stopit.”“Ididn’twantittoendthiswaybetweenus.Ididn’twantyoutobeapart

ofthis.”Celaenabelievedher. IfAnselwanted tokillher,shewouldhavedone it

already. If shewanted tokill theMaster, shewouldhavedone thatalready,too.Andallofthiswafflingbetweensadistichateandpassionandregret…“You’reinsane,”Celaenasaid.Anselsnorted.“WhokilledMikhail?”Celaenademanded.Anythingtokeephertalking,to

keepherfocusedonherself.Becausejustafewfeetawaylayherdagger…“Idid,”Anselsaid.Alittleofthefiercenessfadedfromhervoice.Herback

pressed against Ansel’s chest, Celaena couldn’t be sure without seeingAnsel’sface,butshecouldhaveswornthewordsweretingedwithremorse.“WhenBerick’smenattacked,ImadesurethatIwastheonewhonotifiedtheMaster; the fool didn’t sniff once at thewater jughedrank frombeforehewenttothegates.ButthenMikhailfiguredoutwhatIwasdoingandburstinhere—toolatetostoptheMasterfromdrinking,though.AndthenIliasjust…gotintheway.”Celaena looked at Ilias,who still layon theground—still breathing.The

Master watched his son, his eyes wide and pleading. If someone didn’tstaunchIlias’sbleeding,he’ddiesoon.TheMaster’sfingerstwitchedslightly,makingacurvingmotion.“How many others did you kill?” Celaena asked, trying to keep Ansel

distracted as the Master made the motion again. A kind of slow, strangewriggling…“Onlythem.Andthethreeonthenightwatch.Iletthesoldiersdotherest.”TheMaster’sfingertwistedandslithered…likeasnake.

Onestrike—thatwasallitwouldtake.Justliketheasp.Anselwasfast.Celaenahadtobefaster.“Youknowwhat,Ansel?”Celaenabreathed,memorizingthemotionsshe’d

have to make in the next few seconds, imagining her muscles moving,prayingnottofalter,tostayfocused.Ansel pressed the edge of the blade into Celaena’s throat. “What,

Celaena?”“YouwanttoknowwhattheMastertaughtmeduringallthoselessons?”ShefeltAnseltense,feltthequestiondistracther.Itwasalltheopportunity

sheneeded.“This.” Celaena twisted, slamming her shoulder into Ansel’s torso. Her

bonesconnectedagainstthearmorwithajarringthud,andtheswordcutintoCelaena’s neck, but Ansel lost her balance and teetered back. Celaena hitAnsel’s fingerssohard theydropped thesword right intoCelaena’swaitinghand.Inaflash,likeasnaketurninginonitself,CelaenapinnedAnselfacedown

ontheground,herfather’sswordnowpressedagainstthebackofherneck.Celaena hadn’t realized how silent the roomwas until shewas kneeling

there, one knee holdingAnsel to the ground, the other braced on the floor.Blood seeped from where the sword tip rested against Ansel’s tan neck,redderthanherhair.“Don’tdoit,”Anselwhispered,inthatvoicethatshe’dso often heard—that girlish, carefree voice. But had it always been aperformance?CelaenapushedharderandAnselsuckedinabreath,closinghereyes.Celaenatightenedhergriponthesword,willingsteelintoherveins.Ansel

shoulddie;forwhatshe’ddone,shedeservedtodie.Andnotjustforallthoseassassinslyingdeadaroundthem,butalsoforthesoldierswho’dspenttheirlives forheragenda.AndforCelaenaherself,who,evenassheknelt there,feltherheartbreaking.Evenifshedidn’tputtheswordthroughAnsel’sneck,she’dstillloseher.She’dalreadylosther.ButmaybetheworldhadlostAnsellongbeforetoday.Celaena couldn’t stopher lips from trembling as she asked, “Was it ever

real?”Anselopenedaneye, staringat the farwall. “Thereweresomemoments

whenitwas.ThemomentIsentyouaway,itwasreal.”Celaena reined in her sob and took a long, steadyingbreath. Slowly, she

liftedtheswordfromAnsel’sneck—onlyafractionofaninch.Anselmadetomove,butCelaenapressedthesteelagainstherskinagain,

and she went still. From outside came cries of victory—and concern—in

voices that sounded hoarse from disuse. The assassins hadwon.How longbeforetheygothere?IftheysawAnsel,sawwhatshehaddone…they’dkillher.“Youhavefiveminutestopackyourthingsandleavethefortress,”Celaena

saidquietly.“Becauseintwentyminutes,I’mgoinguptothebattlementsandI’mgoing tofireanarrowatyou.Andyou’dbetterhope thatyou’reoutofrangebythen,becauseifyou’renot,thatarrowisgoingstraightthroughyourneck.”Celaena lifted the sword.Ansel slowly got to her feet, but didn’t flee. It

tookCelaenaaheartbeattorealizeshewaswaitingforherfather’ssword.Celaenalookedatthewolf-shapedhiltandthebloodstainingthesteel.The

onetieAnselhadlefttoherfather,herfamily,andwhatevertwistedshredofhopeburnedinherheart.Celaena turned thebladeandhanded ithilt-first toAnsel.Thegirl’seyes

weredampasshetookthesword.Sheopenedhermouth,butCelaenacutheroff.“Gohome,Ansel.”Ansel’s face went white again. She sheathed the sword at her side. She

glanced at Celaena only once before she took off at a sprint, leaping overMikhail’scorpseasifhewerenothingmorethanabitofdebris.Thenshewasgone.

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CHAPTER12

CelaenarushedtoIlias,whomoanedassheturnedhimover.Thewoundinhis stomachwas still bleeding.She ripped strips fromher tunic,whichwasalreadysoakedwithblood,andshoutedforhelpassheboundhimtightly.Therewasascrapeofclothonstone,andCelaenalookedoverhershoulder

to see theMaster trying to drag himself across the stones to his son. Theparalyticmustbewearingoff.Five bloodied assassins came rushing up the stairs, eyes wide and faces

pale as theybeheldMikhail and Ilias.Celaena left Ilias in their care as shedashedtotheMaster.“Don’tmove,”shetoldhim,wincingasbloodfromherfacedrippedonto

hiswhiteclothes.“Youmighthurtyourself.”Shescannedthepodiumforanysign of the poison, and rushed to the fallen bronze goblet. A few sniffsrevealed that thewinehadbeen lacedwithasmallamountofgloriella, justenough to paralyze him, not kill him. Ansel must have wanted himcompletelypronebeforeshekilledhim—shemusthavewantedhimtoknowshe was the one who had betrayed him. To have him conscious while shesevered his head. How had he not noticed it before he drank? Perhaps hewasn’tashumbleasheseemed;perhapshe’dbeenarrogantenoughtobelievethathewassafehere.“It’llwearoffsoon,”shetoldtheMaster,butshestillcalledforanantidotetospeeduptheprocess.Oneoftheassassinstookoffatarun.ShesatbytheMaster,onehandclutchingherbleedingneck.Theassassins

attheotherendoftheroomcarriedIliasout,stoppingtoreassuretheMasterthathissonwouldbefine.Celaena nearly groaned with relief at that, but straightened as a dry,

callousedhandwrappedaroundhers,squeezingfaintly.ShelookeddownintothefaceoftheMaster,whoseeyesshiftedtotheopendoor.Hewasremindingherofthepromiseshe’dmade.Anselhadbeengiventwentyminutestoclearfiringrange.Itwastime.

Anselwasalreadyadarkblurinthedistance,Hisligallopingasifdemons

werebitingatherhooves.Shewasheadingnorthwestoverthedunes,towardthe Singing Sands, to the narrow bridge of feral jungle that separated theDesertedLandfromtherestofthecontinent,andthentheopenexpanseoftheWesternWastesbeyondthem.TowardBriarcliff.Atopthebattlements,Celaenadrewanarrowfromherquiverandnockedit

intoherbow.Thebowstringmoanedas shepulled it back, farther and farther, her arm

straining.Focusinguponthetinyfigureatopthedarkhorse,Celaenatookaim.Inthesilenceofthefortress,thebowstringtwangedlikeamournfulharp.

Thearrowsoared, turningrelentlessly.Thereddunespassedbeneath inablur, closing the distance.A sliver ofwinged darkness edgedwith steel.Aquick,bloodydeath.

Hisli’s tail flicked to the side as the arrow buried itself in the sand justinchesbehindherrearhooves.ButAnseldidn’tdarelookoverhershoulder.Shekeptriding,andshedid

notstop.

CelaenaloweredherbowandwatcheduntilAnseldisappearedbeyondthehorizon.Onearrow,thathadbeenherpromise.But she’d alsopromisedAnsel that shehad twentyminutes togetoutof

range.Celaenahadfiredaftertwenty-one.

TheMaster calledCelaena to his chamber the followingmorning. It hadbeen a long night, but Ilias was on themend, the wound having narrowlymissedpuncturinganyorgans.AllofLordBerick’ssoldiersweredead,andwereintheprocessofbeingcartedbacktoXandriaasaremindertoBericktoseek theKing ofAdarlan’s approval elsewhere.Twenty assassins had died,andaheavy,mourningsilencefilledthefortress.Celaenasatonanornatelycarvedwoodenchair,watchingtheMasterashe

stared out the window at the sky. She nearly fell out of her seat when hebeganspeaking.

“IamgladyoudidnotkillAnsel.”Hisvoicewasraw,andhisaccentthickwith the clipped yet rolling sounds of some language she’d never heardbefore.“Ihavebeenwonderingwhenshewoulddecidewhattodowithherfate.”“Soyouknew—”The Master turned from the window. “I have known for years. Several

monthsafterAnsel’sarrival,IsentinquiriestotheFlatlands.Herfamilyhadnot written her any letters, and I was worried that something might havehappened.”He took a seat in a chair across fromCelaena. “Mymessengerreturned tome somemonths later, saying that therewas noBriarcliff. Thelord and his eldest daughter had beenmurdered by theHighKing, and theyoungestdaughter—Ansel—wasmissing.”“Whydidn’tyouever…confronther?”Celaenatouchedthenarrowscab

onherleftcheek.Itwouldn’tscarifshelookedafteritproperly.Andifitdidscar…thenmaybeshe’dhuntdownAnselandreturnthefavor.“BecauseIhopedshewouldeventuallytrustmeenoughtotellme.Ihadto

giveher that chance, even though itwasa risk. Ihoped shewould learn tofaceherpain—thatshe’dlearntoendureit.”HesmiledsadlyatCelaena.“Ifyoucanlearntoendurepain,youcansurviveanything.Somepeoplelearntoembraceit—toloveit.Someendureit throughdrowningit insorrow,orbymaking themselves forget.Others turn it into anger.ButAnsel let her painbecomehate,andletitconsumeheruntilshebecamesomethingelseentirely—apersonIdon’tthinksheeverwishedtobe.”Celaenaabsorbedhiswords,butsetthemasideforconsiderationatalater

time.“Areyougoingtotelleveryoneaboutwhatshedid?”“No.Iwouldsparethemthatanger.ManybelievedAnselwastheirfriend

—andpartofme,too,believesthatattimesshewas.”Celaena looked at the floor, wondering what to do with the ache in her

chest.Wouldturningitintorage,ashesaid,helpherendureit?“Forwhatitisworth,Celaena,”herasped,“Ibelieveyouweretheclosest

thingtoafriendAnselhaseverallowedherselftohave.AndIthinkshesentyouawaybecauseshetrulycaredforyou.”Shehatedhermouthforwobbling.“Thatdoesn’tmakeithurtanyless.”“I didn’t think it would. But I think you will leave a lasting imprint on

Ansel’sheart.Yousparedher life,andreturnedherfather’ssword.Shewillnotsoonforget that.Andmaybewhenshemakeshernextmove to reclaimhertitle,shewillremembertheassassinfromtheNorthandthekindnessyoushowedher,andtrytoleavefewerbodiesinherwake.”He walked to a latticework hutch, as if he were giving her the time to

regainhercomposure,andpulledoutaletter.Bythetimehereturnedtoher,Celaena’s eyes were clear. “When you give this to your master, hold yourheadhigh.”Shetooktheletter.Herrecommendation.Itseemedinconsequentialinthe

faceofeverythingthathadjusthappened.“Howisitthatyou’respeakingtomenow?Ithoughtyourvowofsilencewaseternal.”He shrugged. “The world seems to think so, but as far as my memory

servesme,I’veneverofficiallysworntobesilent.Ichoosetobesilentmostof the time, and I’ve become so used to it that I often forget I have thecapacity for speech, but there are some timeswhenwords are necessary—whenexplanationsareneededthatmeregesturescannotconvey.”Shenodded,tryingherbesttohidehersurprise.Afterapause,theMaster

said,“IfyoueverwanttoleavetheNorth,youwillalwayshaveahomehere.Ipromiseyouthewintermonthsarefarbetterthanthesummer.AndIthinkmysonwouldbe ratherhappy if youdecided to return, too.”Hechuckled,andCelaenablushed.Hetookherhand.“Whenyouleavetomorrow,you’llbeaccompaniedbyafewofmypeople.”“Why?”“Because theywillbeneededtodrive thewagontoXandria. Iknowthat

you are indentured to yourmaster—that you still owe him a good deal ofmoneybeforeyouarefreetoliveyourownlife.He’smakingyoupaybackafortune that he forced you to borrow.” He squeezed her hand beforeapproachingoneofthreetrunkspushedagainstthewall.“Forsavingmylife—and sparing hers.” He flipped open the lid of a trunk, then another, andanother.Sunlightgleamedonthegoldinside,reflectingthroughtheroomlikelight

onwater.Allthatgold…andthepieceofSpidersilkthemerchanthadgivenher…shecouldn’t thinkof thepossibilities thatwealthwouldopen toher,notrightnow.“Whenyougiveyourmasterhisletter,alsogivehimthis.Andtellhimthat

intheRedDesert,wedonotabuseourdisciples.”Celaenasmiledslowly.“IthinkIcanmanagethat.”Shelookedtotheopenwindow,totheworldbeyond.Forthefirsttimeina

longwhile,sheheardthesongofanorthernwind,callingherhome.Andshewasnotafraid.

OceanofPDF.com

THEASSASSINANDTHE

UNDERWORLD

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER1

Thecavernousentrancehallof theAssassins’KeepwassilentasCelaenaSardothien stalked across the marble floor, a letter clutched between herfingers. No one had greeted her at the towering oak doors save thehousekeeper,who’dtakenherrain-soddencloak—and,aftergettingalookatthewickedgrinonCelaena’sface,optednottosayanything.Thedoors toArobynnHamel’sstudylayat theotherendof thehall,and

were currently shut.But she knewhewas in there.Wesley, his bodyguard,stood watch outside, dark eyes unreadable as Celaena strode toward him.ThoughWesleywasn’tofficiallyanassassin,shehadnodoubtthathecouldwieldthebladesanddaggersstrappedtohismassivebodywithdeadlyskill.ShealsohadnodoubtthatArobynnhadeyesateverygateinthiscity.The

moment she’d stepped into Rifthold, he’d been alerted that she’d at lastreturned. She trailedmud from her wet, filthy boots as shemade her waytowardthestudydoors—andWesley.It had been three months since the night Arobynn had beaten her

unconscious—punishment for ruining his slave-trade agreement with thePirateLord,CaptainRolfe.Ithadbeenthreemonthssincehe’dshippedheroff to the Red Desert to learn obedience and discipline and to earn theapprovaloftheMuteMasteroftheSilentAssassins.The letterclutched inherhandwasproof thatshehaddone it.Proof that

Arobynnhadn’tbrokenherthatnight.Andshecouldn’twaittoseethelookonhisfacewhenshegaveittohim.Not to mention when she told him about the three trunks of gold she’d

broughtwithher,whichwereon theirwayup toher roomat thismoment.Withafewwords,she’dexplainthatherdebttohimwasnowrepaid,thatshewasgoing towalkoutof theKeepandmove into thenewapartment she’dpurchased.Thatshewasfreeofhim.Celaenareachedtheotherendof thehall,andWesleysteppedinfrontof

thestudydoors.He lookedabout fiveyearsyounger thanArobynn,and theslenderscarsonhisfaceandhandssuggestedthatthelifehe’dspentservingtheKingof theAssassinshadn’tbeeneasy.She suspected thereweremorescarsbeneathhisdarkclothing—perhapsbrutalones.“He’sbusy,”saidWesley,hishandshanginglooselyathissides,readyto

reach for his weapons. She might be Arobynn’s protégée, butWesley hadalwaysmade it clear that if she became a threat to hismaster, hewouldn’thesitatetoendher.Shedidn’tneedtoseehiminactiontoknowhe’dbeaninterestingopponent.Shesupposedthatwaswhyhedidhistraininginprivate—andkepthispersonalhistoryasecret,too.Thelesssheknewabouthim,themore advantage Wesley would have if that fight ever came. Clever, andflattering,shesupposed.“Nicetoseeyou,too,Wesley,”shesaid,flashinghimasmile.Hetensed,

but didn’t stop her as she strode past him and flung open the doors ofArobynn’sstudy.TheKingof theAssassinswas seatedathisornatedesk,poringover the

stackofpapersbeforehim.Withoutsomuchasahello,Celaenastroderightuptothedeskandtossedtheletterontotheshiningwoodensurface.She opened hermouth, thewords near-bursting out of her.ButArobynn

merelyliftedafinger,smilingfaintly,andreturnedtohispapers.Wesleyshutthedoorsbehindher.Celaena froze. Arobynn flipped the page, rapidly scanning whatever

documentwasinfrontofhim,andmadeavaguewavewithhishand.Sit.Withhisattentionstillonthedocumenthewasreading,Arobynnpickedup

theMuteMaster’sletterofapprovalandsetitatopanearbystackofpapers.Celaenablinked.Once.Twice.Hedidn’tlookupather.Hejustkeptreading.Themessagewasclearenough:shewastowaituntilhewasready.Anduntilthen,evenifshescreameduntilherlungsburst,hewouldn’tacknowledgeherexistence.SoCelaenasatdown.Rain plinked against the windows of the study. Seconds passed, then

minutes. Her plans for a grand speech with sweeping gestures faded intosilence.Arobynn read three other documents before he even picked up theMuteMaster’sletter.And as he read it, she could only think of the last time she’d sat in this

chair.Shelookedattheexquisiteredcarpetbeneathherfeet.Someonehaddone

a splendid job of getting all the blood out.Howmuch of the blood on thecarpethadbeenhers—andhowmuchofithadbelongedtoSamCortland,herrivalandcoconspiratorinthedestructionofArobynn’sslaveagreement?Shestill didn’t know what Arobynn had done to him that night. When she’darrivedjustnow,shehadn’tseenSamintheentrancehall.Butthenagain,shehadn’t seen any of the other assassinswho lived here. Somaybe Samwasbusy.Shehopedhewasbusy,becausethatwouldmeanhewasalive.

Arobynnfinallylookedather,settingasidetheMuteMaster’sletterasifitwerenothingmorethanascrapofpaper.Shekeptherbackstraightandherchinupheld,evenasArobynn’ssilvereyesscannedevery inchofher.Theylingered the longest on the narrow pink scar across the side of her neck,inches away fromher jawandear. “Well,”Arobynn said at last, “I thoughtyou’dbetanner.”Shealmostlaughed,butshekeptatightreinonherfeatures.“Head-to-toe

clothestoavoidthesun,”sheexplained.Herwordswerequieter—weaker—thanshewanted.Thefirstwordsshe’dspokentohimsincehe’dbeatenherintooblivion.Theyweren’texactlysatisfying.“Ah,”he said,his long, elegant fingers twistingagolden ringaroundhis

forefinger.Shesuckedinabreaththroughhernose,rememberingall thatshe’dbeen

burningtosaytohimthesepastfewmonthsandduringthejourneybacktoRifthold.Afewsentences,anditwouldbeover.Morethaneightyearswithhim,finishedwithastringofwordsandamountainofgold.Shebracedherselftobegin,butArobynnspokefirst.“I’msorry,”hesaid.Yetagain,thewordsvanishedfromherlips.His eyes were intent on hers, and he stopped toyingwith his ring. “If I

couldtakebackthatnight,Celaena,Iwould.”Heleanedovertheedgeofthedesk, his hands now forming fists. The last time she’d seen those hands,they’dbeensmearedwithherblood.“I’msorry,”Arobynnrepeated.Hewasnearlytwentyyearshersenior,and

though his red hair had a few strands of silver, his face remained young.Elegant,sharpfeatures,blazinglycleargrayeyes…Hemightnothavebeenthehandsomestmanshe’deverseen,buthewasoneofthemostalluring.“Everyday,”hewenton.“Everydaysinceyouleft,I’vegonetothetemple

ofKiva topray for forgiveness.”Shemighthave snorted at the ideaof theKingoftheAssassinskneelingbeforeastatueoftheGodofAtonement,buthiswordsweresoraw.Wasitpossiblethatheactuallyregrettedwhathehaddone?“Ishouldn’thaveletmytempergetthebetterofme.Ishouldn’thavesent

youaway.”“Thenwhydidn’tyouretrieveme?”Itwasoutbeforeshehadachanceto

controlthesnapinhervoice.Arobynn’seyesnarrowedslightly,asclose toawinceashe’d lethimself

come,shesupposed.“Withthetimeit’dtakeforthemessengerstotrackyoudown,youprobablywouldhavebeenonyourwayhome,anyway.”

Sheclenchedherjaw.Aneasyexcuse.Hereadtheireinhereyes—andherdisbelief.“Allowmetomakeitupto

you.”Herosefromhisleatherchairandstrodearoundthedesk.Hislonglegsand years of trainingmade hismovements effortlessly graceful, even as heswipedaboxoff theedgeof the table.Hesank toonekneebeforeher,hisfacenearlevelwithhers.She’dforgottenhowtallhewas.Heextendedthegifttoher.Theboxinitselfwasaworkofart,inlaidwith

mother-of-pearl,butshekeptherfaceblankassheflippedopenthelid.An emerald-and-gold brooch glittered in the gray afternoon light. It was

stunning, the work of a master craftsman—and she instantly knew whatdressesandtunicsitwouldbestcomplement.He’dboughtitbecausehealsoknewherwardrobe,hertastes,everythingabouther.Ofallthepeopleintheworld,onlyArobynnknewtheabsolutetruth.“Foryou,”hesaid.“Thefirstofmany.”Shewaskeenlyawareofeachof

hismovements,andbracedherselfasheliftedahand,carefullybringingittoher face. He brushed a finger from her temple down to the arc of hercheekbones.“I’msorry,”hewhisperedagain,andCelaenaraisedhereyestohis.Father, brother, lover—he’d never really declared himself any of them.

Certainlynottheloverpart, thoughifCelaenahadbeenanothersortofgirl,andifArobynnhadraisedherdifferently,perhapsitmighthavecometothat.Helovedherlikefamily,yetheputherinthemostdangerouspositions.Henurtured and educated her, yet he’d obliterated her innocence the first timehe’d made her end a life. He’d given her everything, but he’d also takeneverythingaway.ShecouldnosoonersortoutherfeelingstowardtheKingoftheAssassinsthanshecouldcountthestarsinthesky.Celaena turned her face away, and Arobynn rose to his feet. He leaned

againsttheedgeofthedesk,smilingfaintlyather.“I’veanothergift,ifyou’dlikeit.”Allthosemonthsofdaydreamingaboutleaving,aboutpayingoffherdebts

…Whycouldn’tsheopenhermouthandjusttellhim?“BenzoDonevaliscomingtoRifthold,”Arobynnsaid.Celaenacockedher

head.She’dheardofDoneval—hewasanimmenselypowerfulbusinessmanfromMelisande,acountryfartothesouthwest,andoneofAdarlan’snewerconquests.“Why?”sheaskedquietly—carefully.Arobynn’s eyes glittered. “He’s a part of a large convoy that Leighfer

BardingaleisleadingtotheCapital.LeighferisgoodfriendswiththeformerQueenofMelisande,whoaskedher tocomehere toplead theircasebefore

the King of Adarlan.” Melisande, Celaena recalled, was one of the fewkingdomswhoseroyalfamilyhadnotbeenexecuted.Instead,they’dhandedover their crowns and sworn loyalty to the King of Adarlan and hisconqueringlegions.Shecouldn’ttellwhatwasworse:aquickbeheading,oryieldingtotheking.“Apparently,”Arobynnwenton,“theconvoywillattempt todemonstrate

allthatMelisandehastooffer—culture,goods,wealth—inordertoconvincethekingtograntthemthepermissionandresourcesrequiredtobuildaroad.Given that the young Queen of Melisande is now a mere figurehead, I’lladmitthatI’mimpressedbyherambition—andherbrazennessinaskingtheking.”Celaena bit her lip, visualizing the map of their continent. “A road to

connect Melisande to Fenharrow and Adarlan?” For years, trade withMelisandehadbeen trickydue to its location.Borderedbynear-impassablemountainsand theOakwaldForest,mostof their tradehadbeenreduced towhatevertheycouldgetoutoftheirports.Aroadmightchangeallofthat.AroadcouldmakeMelisanderich—andinfluential.Arobynn nodded. “The convoy will be here for a week, and they have

parties and markets planned, including a gala three days from now tocelebrate theHarvestMoon. Perhaps if the citizens ofRifthold fall in lovewiththeirgoods,thenthekingwilltaketheircaseseriously.”“SowhatdoesDonevalhavetodowiththeroad?”Arobynn shrugged. “He’s here to discuss business arrangements in

Rifthold.Andprobablyalsotounderminehisformerwife,Leighfer.Andtocomplete one very specific piece of business that made Leighfer want todispatchhim.”Celaena’sbrowsrose.Agift,Arobynnhadsaid.“Donevalistravelingwithsomeverysensitivedocuments,”Arobynnsaid

so quietly that the rain lashing thewindow nearly drowned out his words.“Notonlywouldyouneedtodispatchhim,butyou’dalsobeaskedtoretrievethedocuments.”“Whatsortofdocuments?”Hissilvereyesbrightened.“Donevalwantstosetupaslave-tradebusiness

betweenhimselfandsomeoneinRifthold.If theroadisapprovedandbuilt,hewants to be the first inMelisande to profit off the import and export ofslaves. The documents, apparently, contain proof that certain influentialMelisanders in Adarlan are opposed to the slave trade. Considering thelengths the King of Adarlan has already gone to punish those who speakagainsthispolicies…Well,knowingwhostandsagainsthimregarding the

slaves—especially when it seems like they’re taking steps to help free theslaves from his grasp—is information that the king would be extremelyinterestedinlearning.DonevalandhisnewbusinesspartnerinRiftholdplanto use that list to blackmail those people into changing their minds—intostopping their resistance and investingwith him to build the slave trade inMelisande.Or,iftheyrefuse,Leighferbelievesherformerhusbandwillmakesurethekinggetsthatlistofnames.”Celaenaswallowedhard.Wasthisapeaceoffering,then?Someindication

that Arobynn actually had changed his mind about the slave trade andforgivenherforSkull’sBay?But toget tangledup in this sort of thing again…“What’sBardingale’s

stakeinthis?”sheaskedcarefully.“Whyhireustokillhim?”“BecauseLeighferdoesn’tbelieveinslavery,andshewantstoprotectthe

peopleon that list—peoplewhoarepreparing to take thenecessarysteps tosoftentheblowofslaveryinMelisande.Andpossiblyevensmugglecapturedslaves to safety.”Arobynn spoke like he knewBardingale personally—liketheyweremorethanbusinesspartners.“AndDoneval’spartnerinRifthold?Whoisit?”Shehadtoconsiderallthe

anglesbeforesheaccepted,hadtothinkitthrough.“Leighferdoesn’t know;her sourceshaven’t beenable to find aname in

Doneval’s codedcorrespondenceswithhispartner.All she’sgleaned is thatDonevalwillexchangethedocumentswithhisnewbusinesspartnersixdaysfromnowathisrentedhouse,atsomepointintheday.She’suncertainwhatdocumentshispartnerisbringingtothetable,butshe’sbettingthatitincludesa list of important people opposed to slavery in Adarlan. Leighfer saysDoneval will probably have a private room in his house to do the swap—perhaps an upstairs study or something of the sort. She knows him wellenoughtoguaranteethat.”Shewasbeginning to seewhere thiswasgoing.Donevalwaspractically

wrapped in a ribbon for her.All she had to dowas find outwhat time themeetingwould take place, learn his defenses, and figure out away aroundthem.“SoI’mnotonlytotakeoutDoneval,butalsotowaituntilhe’sdonetheexchangesoIcangethisdocumentsandwhateverdocumentshispartnerbringstothetable?”Arobynnsmiledslightly.“Whatabouthispartner?AmItodispatchthispersonaswell?”Arobynn’s smile became a thin line. “Sincewedon’t knowwhohe’ll be

dealingwith, you haven’t been contracted to eliminate them.But, it’s beenstrongly hinted that Leighfer and her allies want the contact dead as well.Theymightgiveyouabonusforit.”Shestudiedtheemeraldbroochinherlap.“Andhowwellwillthispay?”

“Extraordinarily well.” She heard the smile in his voice, but kept herattention on the lovely green jewel. “And I won’t take a cut of it. It’s allyours.”Sheraisedherheadat that.Therewasaglimmerofpleading inhiseyes.

Perhapshetrulywassorryforwhathe’ddone.Andperhapshe’dpickedthismissionjustforher—toprove,inhisway,thatheunderstoodwhyshe’dfreedthoseslavesinSkull’sBay.“IcanassumeDonevaliswell-guarded?”“Very,” Arobynn said, fishing a letter from the desk behind him. “He’s

waitingtodothedealuntilafterthecitywidecelebrations,sohecanrunhomethenextday.”Celaenaglanced toward theceiling,as ifshecouldsee through thewood

beamsand intoher roomon the floorabove,whereher trunksofgoldnowsat.Shedidn’tneed themoney,but ifsheweregoing topayoffherdebt toArobynn, her funds would be severely depleted. And to take this missionwouldn’t just be about killing—itwould be about helpingothers, too.Howmanyliveswouldbedestroyedifshedidn’tdispatchDonevalandhispartnerandretrievethosesensitivedocuments?Arobynnapproachedheragain,andsherosefromherchair.Hebrushedher

hairbackfromherface.“Imissedyou,”hesaid.Heopenedhisarmstoher,butdidn’tmakeafurthermovetoembraceher.

She studied his face. TheMuteMaster had told her that people dealt withtheirpainindifferentways—thatsomechosetodrownit,somechosetoloveit, and some chose to let it turn into rage.While she had no regrets aboutfreeingthosetwohundredslavesfromSkull’sBay,shehadbetrayedArobynnindoingit.Perhapshurtingherhadbeenhiswayofcopingwiththepainofthat.Andeventhoughtherewasnoexcuseinthisworldforwhathehaddone,

Arobynnwasallshehad.Thehistorythatlaybetweenthem,darkandtwistedandfullofsecrets,wasforgedbymorethanjustgold.Andifshelefthim,ifshepaidoffherdebtsrightnowandneversawhimagain…She took a step back, andArobynn casually lowered his arms, not at all

fazedbyher rejection.“I’ll thinkabout takingonDoneval.” Itwasn’ta lie.She always took time to consider her missions—Arobynn had encouragedthatfromthestart.“I’msorry,”hesaidagain.Celaenagavehimanotherlonglookbeforesheleft.

Herexhaustionhitherthemomentshebeganclimbingthepolishedmarble

stepsofthesweepinggrandstaircase.Amonthofhardtravel—afteramonthofgruelingtrainingandheartache.Everytimeshesawthescaronherneck,or touched it, or felt her clothes brush against it, a tremor of pain wentthroughherassherememberedthebetrayalthathadcausedit.She’dbelievedAnselwasherfriend—alife-friend,afriendoftheheart.ButAnsel’sneedforrevengehadbeengreaterthananythingelse.Still,whereverAnselnowwas,Celaenahopedthatshewasfinallyfacingwhathadhauntedherforsolong.A passing servant bowed his head, eyes averted. Everyone who worked

hereknewmoreorlesswhoshewas,andwouldkeepheridentitysecretonpainofdeath.Notthattherewasmuchofapointtoitnow,giventhateverysingleoneoftheSilentAssassinscouldidentifyher.Celaena took a ragged breath, running a hand through her hair. Before

enteringthecitythismorning,she’dstoppedatatavernjustoutsideRiftholdto bathe, to wash her filthy clothes, to put on some cosmetics. She hadn’twantedtostrideintotheKeeplookinglikeagutterrat.Butshestillfeltdirty.She passed one of the upstairs drawing rooms, her brows rising at the

soundofapianoforteandlaughingpeople inside. IfArobynnhadcompany,thenwhyhadhebeeninhisstudy,eversobusy,whenshearrived?Celaenagroundherteeth.Sothatnonsensewherehe’dmadeherwaitwhile

hefinishedhiswork…Sheclenchedherhands intofistsandwasabout towhirlandstompback

down the stairs to tellArobynn that shewas leaving and that he no longerownedher,whensomeonesteppedintotheelegantlyappointedhall.SamCortland.Sam’sbrowneyeswerewide,hisbodyrigid.Asif it tooksomeefforton

hispart,heshutthedoortothehallwashroomandstrodetowardher,pastthetealvelvetcurtainshangingonthefloor-to-ceilingwindows,pasttheframedartwork, closer and closer. She remained still, taking in every inch of himbeforehestoppedafewfeetaway.Nomissing limbs, no limp, no indication of anything haunting him.His

chestnuthairhadgottena little longer,but it suitedhim.Andhewas tan—gloriouslytan,asifhe’dspentthewholesummerbaskinginthesun.Hadn’tArobynnpunishedhimatall?“You’reback,”Samsaid,asifhecouldn’tquitebelieveit.Sheliftedherchin,stuffingherhandsinherpockets.“Obviously.”Hetiltedhisheadslightlytotheside.“Howwasthedesert?”Therewasn’tascratchonhim.Ofcourse,herfacehadhealed,too,but…

“Hot,”shesaid.Samletoutabreathychuckle.Itwasn’tthatshewasmadathimforbeinguninjured.Shewassorelieved

she could have vomited, actually. She just never imagined that seeing himtodaywould feel so… strange. And after what had happenedwith Ansel,couldshehonestlysaythatshetrustedhim?In the drawing room a fewdoors down, awoman let out a shrill giggle.

Howwasitpossiblethatshecouldhavesomanyquestionsandyetsolittletosay?Sam’seyesslippedfromherfacetoherneck,hisbrowsdrawingtogether

foraheartbeatashesawthethinnewscar.“Whathappened?”“Someoneheldaswordtomythroat.”Hiseyesdarkened,butshedidn’twanttoexplainthelong,miserablestory.

She didn’t want to talk about Ansel, and she certainly didn’t want to talkabout what had happened with Arobynn that night they’d returned fromSkull’sBay.“Areyouhurt?”Samaskedquietly,takinganotherstepcloser.Ittookheramomenttorealizethathisimaginationhadprobablytakenhim

toafar,farworseplacewhenshesaidsomeonehadheldabladetoherthroat.“No,”shesaid.“No,notlikethat.”“Thenlikewhat?”Hewasnowlookingmorecloselyather,atthealmost

invisiblewhitelinealonghercheek—anothergiftfromAnsel—atherhands,at everything.His lean,muscledbody tensed.Hischesthadgottenbroader,too.“Likenoneofyourbusiness,that’swhat,”sheretorted.“Tellmewhathappened,”hegrittedout.Shegavehimoneofthosesimperinglittlesmilesthatsheknewhehated.

Thingshadn’t beenbadbetween them sinceSkull’sBay, but after somanyyears of treating him awfully, she didn’t know how to slide back into thatnewfound respect and camaraderie they’d discovered for each other. “WhyshouldItellyouanything?”“Because,” he hissed, taking another step, “the last time I saw you,

Celaena,youwereunconsciousonArobynn’scarpetandsobloodiedupthatIcouldn’tseeyourdamnface.”Hewascloseenoughthatshecouldtouchhimnow.Raincontinuedbeating

against the hall windows, a distant reminder that there was still a worldaroundthem.“Tellme,”hesaid.I’llkillyou!SamhadscreameditatArobynnastheKingoftheAssassins

beather.He’droaredit.Inthosehorribleminutes,whateverbondhadsprungup between her and Sam hadn’t broken. He’d switched loyalties—he’dchosentostandbyher,fightforher.Ifanything,thatmadehimdifferentfromAnsel. Sam could have hurt or betrayed her a dozen times over, but he’d

neverjumpedattheopportunity.Ahalfsmile tuggedatacornerofher lips.She’dmissedhim.Seeing the

expressiononherface,hegaveherabewilderedsortofgrin.Sheswallowed,feelingthewordsbubblingupthroughher—Imissedyou—butthedoortothedrawingroomopened.“Sam!” a dark-haired, green-eyed youngwoman chided, laughter on her

lips.“Thereyou—”Thegirl’seyesmetCelaena’s.Celaenastoppedsmilingassherecognizedher.Afelinesortofsmirkspreadacrosstheyoungwoman’sstunningfeatures,

andsheslippedoutofthedoorwayandslunkovertothem.Celaenatookineachswishofherhips,theelegantangleofherhand,theexquisitedressthatdippedlowenoughtorevealhergenerousbosom.“Celaena,”shecooed,andSameyed the twogirlswarily as she stoppedbesidehim.Too closebesidehimforacasualacquaintance.“Lysandra,”Celaenaechoed.She’dmetLysandrawhentheywerebothten,

andinthesevenyearsthatthey’dknowneachother,Celaenacouldn’trecallatimewhenshedidn’twanttobeatinthegirl’sfacewithabrick.Orthrowheroutawindow.Ordoanyofanumberofthingsshe’dlearnedfromArobynn.It didn’t help that Arobynn had spent a good deal of money assisting

Lysandra in her rise from street orphan to one of the most anticipatedcourtesansinRifthold’shistory.HewasgoodfriendswithLysandra’smadam—and had been Lysandra’s doting benefactor for years. Lysandra and hermadamremained theonlycourtesansaware that thegirlArobynncalledhis“niece”wasactuallyhisprotégée.Celaenahadnever learnedwhyArobynnhad told them, but whenever she complained about the risk of Lysandrarevealing her identity, he seemed certain she would not. Celaena, notsurprisingly,hadtroublebelievingit;butperhapsthreatsfromtheKingoftheAssassinswereenoughtokeepeventheloud-mouthedLysandrasilent.“I thoughtyou’dbeenpackedoff to thedesert,”Lysandrasaid, runninga

shrewdeyeoverCelaena’sclothes.ThanktheWyrdshe’dbotheredtochangeat that tavern.“Is itpossible thesummerpassed thatquickly?Iguesswhenyou’rehavingsomuchfun…”Adeadly,vicioussortofcalmfilledCelaena’sveins.She’dsnappedonceat

Lysandra—whentheywerethirteenandLysandrahadsnatchedalovelylacefan rightoutofCelaena’shands.Theensuing fighthad sent them tumblingdownaflightofstairs.CelaenahadspentanightintheKeep’sdungeonfortheweltsshe’dleftonLysandra’sfacebybeatingherwiththefanitself.ShetriedtoignorehowclosethegirlstoodtoSam.He’dalwaysbeenkind

tothecourtesans,andtheyalladoredhim.Hismotherhadbeenoneofthem,and had askedArobynn—apatron of hers—to look after her son. Samhad

onlybeensixwhenshewasmurderedbyajealousclient.Celaenacrossedherarms.“ShouldIbothertoaskwhatyou’redoinghere?”Lysandragaveheraknowingsmile.“Oh,Arobynn”—shepurredhisname

liketheywerethemostintimateoffriends—“threwmealuncheoninhonorofmyupcomingBidding.”Ofcoursehedid.“Heinvitedyourfutureclientshere?”“Oh, no.” Lysandra giggled. “This is just for me and the girls. And

Clarisse,ofcourse.”Sheusedhermadam’sname,too,likeaweapon,awordmeant tocrushanddominate—aword thatwhispered: Iammore importantthan you; I have more influence than you; I am everything and you arenothing.“Lovely,”Celaenareplied.Samstillhadn’tsaidanything.Lysandra lifted her chin, looking down her delicately freckled nose at

Celaena. “My Bidding is in six days. They expect me to break all therecords.”CelaenahadseenafewyoungcourtesansgothroughtheBiddingprocess

—girlstraineduntiltheywereseventeen,whentheirvirginitywassoldtothehighestbidder.“Sam,”Lysandrawenton,puttingaslenderhandonhisarm,“hasbeenso

helpfulwithmakingsureallthepreparationsarereadyformyBiddingparty.”Celaenawassurprisedat theswiftnessofherdesire torip thathandright

offLysandra’swrist.Justbecausehesympathizedwiththecourtesansdidn’tmeanhehadtobeso…friendlywiththem.Samclearedhisthroat,straightening.“Notthathelpful.Arobynnwantedto

makesurethatthevendorsandlocationweresecure.”“Importantclientelemustbegiventhebesttreatment,”Lysandratrilled.“I

dowishIcouldtellyouwhowillbeinattendance,butClarissewouldkillme.It’sextraordinarilyhush-hushandneed-to-know.”Itwasenough.Onemorewordoutofthecourtesan’smouth,andCelaena

was fairly certain she’d punch Lysandra’s teeth down her throat. Celaenaangledherhead,herfingerscurlingintoafist.SamsawthefamiliargestureandpriedLysandra’shandoffhisarm.“Gobacktotheluncheon,”hetoldher.LysandragaveCelaenaanotheroneofthosesmiles,whichshethenturned

onSam.“Whenareyoucomingbackin?”Herfull,redlipsformedapout.Enough,enough,enough.Celaena turnedonherheel.“Enjoyyourqualitycompany,”shesaidover

hershoulder.“Celaena,”Samsaid.But shewouldn’t turn around, not evenwhen she heardLysandra giggle

andwhispersomething,notevenwhenallshewantedintheentireworldwastograbherdaggerand throw,ashardasshecould, right towardLysandra’simpossiblybeautifulface.She’d always hated Lysandra, she told herself. Always hated her. Her

touchingSamlikethat,speakingtoSamlikethat,itdidn’tchangethings.But…ThoughLysandra’svirginitywasunquestionable—ithadtobe—therewere

plentyofotherthingsthatshecouldstilldo.ThingsthatshemighthavedonewithSam…Feeling sick and furious and small, Celaena reached her bedroom and

slammedthedoorhardenoughtorattletherain-splatteredwindows.

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CHAPTER2

The rain didn’t stop the next day, and Celaena awoke to a grumble ofthunderandaservantsettingalong,beautifullywrappedboxonherdresser.Sheopenedthegiftasshedrankhermorningcupoftea,takinghertimewiththeturquoiseribbon,doingherbesttopretendthatshewasn’tthatinterestedinwhatArobynnhadsenther.Noneofthesepresentscameclosetoearninganysortofforgiveness.Butshecouldn’tcontainhersquealwhensheopenedtheboxandfoundtwogoldhaircombsglintingather.Theywereexquisite,formedlikesharpfishfins,eachpointaccentuatedwithasliverofsapphire.She nearly upset her breakfast tray as she rushed from the table by the

window to the rosewood vanity. With deft hands, she dragged one of thecombs through her hair, sweeping it back before she nimbly flipped it intoplace.Shequicklyrepeateditontheothersideofherhead,andwhenshehadfinished,shebeamedatherreflection.Exotic,beguiling,imperious.Arobynnmightbeabastard,andhemightassociatewithLysandra,buthe

haddamngood taste.Oh, itwassonice tobeback incivilization,withherbeautiful clothes and shoes and jewels and cosmetics and all the luxuriesshe’dhadtospendthesummerwithout!Celaenaexaminedtheendsofherhairandfrowned.Thefrowndeepened

whenherattentionshiftedtoherhands—tohershreddedcuticlesandjaggednails.Sheletoutalowhiss,facingthewindowsalongonewallofherornatebedroom.Itwasearlyautumn—thatmeantrainusuallyhungaroundRiftholdforagoodcoupleofweeks.Through the low-hanging clouds and the slashing rain, she could see the

rest of the capital city gleaming in the gray light. Pale stone houses stoodtucked together, linked by broad avenues that stretched from the alabasterwallstothedocksalongtheeasternquarterofthecity,fromtheteemingcitycentertothejumbleofcrumblingbuildingsintheslumsatthesouthernedge,where the Avery River curved inland. Even the emerald roofs on eachbuilding seemed cast in silver. The glass castle towered over them all, itsupperturretsshroudedinmist.TheconvoyfromMelisandecouldn’thavepickedaworsetimetovisit.If

theywanted to have street festivals, they’d find few participantswilling tobravethemercilessdownpour.Celaenaslowlyremovedthecombsfromherhair.Theconvoywouldarrive

today,Arobynnhadtoldherlastnightoveraprivatedinner.Shestillhadn’tgivenhiman answer aboutwhether she’d takedownDoneval in fivedays,andhehadn’tpushedheraboutit.Hehadbeenkindandgracious,servingherfoodhimself,speakingsoftlytoherlikeshewassomefrightenedpet.Sheglancedagainatherhairandnails.Averyunkempt,wild-lookingpet.Shestrodeintoherdressingroom.She’ddecidewhattodoaboutDoneval

andhisagendalater.Fornow,noteventherainwouldkeepherfromalittlepampering.

Theshopshe favored forherupkeepwasecstatic toseeher—andutterlyhorrifiedat thestateofherhair.Andnails.Andhereyebrows!Shecouldn’thavebotheredtopluckhereyebrowswhileshewasaway?Halfadaylater—her hair cut and shining, her nails soft and gleaming—Celaena braved thesoddencitystreets.Evenwiththerain,peoplefoundexcusestobeoutandaboutasthegiant

convoyfromMelisandearrived.Shepausedbeneaththeawningofaflowershop where the owner was standing on the threshold to watch the grandprocession. The Melisanders snaked along the broad avenue that stretchedfromthewesterngateofthecityallthewaytothecastledoors.There were the usual jugglers and fire-eaters, whose jobs were made

infinitely harder by the confounded rain; the dance girls whose billowingpantsweresoddenuptotheknees;andthenthelineofVeryImportant,VeryWealthyPeople,whowerebundledundercloaksanddidn’tsitquiteastallasthey’dprobablyimaginedtheywould.Celaenatuckedhernumbedfingersintohertunicpockets.Brightlypainted

covered wagons ambled past. Their hatches had all been shut against theweather—andthatmeantCelaenawouldstartbacktotheKeepimmediately.Melisandewasknownforitstinkerers,forcleverhandsthatcreatedclever

little devices. Clockwork so fine you could swear it was alive, musicalinstruments so clear and lovely they could shatter your heart, toys socharming you’d believe magic hadn’t vanished from the continent. If thewagons that contained those things were shut, then she had no interest inwatchingaparadeofsoaked,miserablepeople.Crowds were still flocking toward the main avenue, so Celaena took to

narrow,windingalleystoavoidthem.ShewonderedifSamwasmakinghiswaytoseetheprocession—andifLysandrawaswithhim.SomuchforSam’sunwavering loyalty. How long had it taken after she’d gone to the desertbeforeheandLysandrahadbecomedear,dearfriends?

Things had been better when she relished the thought of gutting him.Apparently,SamwasjustassusceptibletoaprettyfaceasArobynnwas.Shedidn’t know why she’d thought he would be different. She scowled andwalked faster, her freezing arms crossed over her chest as she hunched hershouldersagainsttherain.Twentyminutes later,shewasdrippingwaterallover themarblefloorof

theKeep’sentranceway.Andoneminuteafterthat,shewasdrippingwateralloverArobynn’sstudycarpetasshetoldhimthatshewouldtakeonDoneval,his slave-trade blackmail documents, andwhoever his co-conspiratormightbe.

The next morning, Celaena looked down at herself, her mouth caughtbetweenasmileandafrown.Theneck-to-toeblackoutfitwasallmadefromthesame,darkfabric—asthickasleather,butwithoutthesheen.Itwaslikeasuit of armor, only skintight andmade from some strange cloth, notmetal.She could feel the weight of her weapons where they were concealed—soneatly that even someone patting her down might think they were merelyribbing—andsheswungherarmsexperimentally.“Careful,” the shortman in front of her said, his eyeswide. “Youmight

takeoffmyhead.”Behindthem,Arobynnchuckledfromwhereheleanedagainstthepaneled

wallofthetrainingroom.Shehadn’taskedquestionswhenhe’dsummonedher,thentoldhertoputontheblacksuitandmatchingbootsthatwerelinedwithfleece.“Whenyouwanttounsheathetheblades,”theinventorsaid,takingalarge

step back, “it’s a downward sweep, and an extra flick of the wrist.” Hedemonstratedthemotionwithhisownscrawnyarm,andCelaenaechoedit.Shegrinnedasanarrowbladeshotoutofaconcealedflapinherforearm.

Permanentlyattachedtothesuit, itwaslikehavingashortswordweldedtoherarm.Shemadethesamemotionwiththeotherwrist,andthetwinbladeappeared. Some internal mechanism had to be responsible for it—somebrilliantcontraptionofspringsandgears.Shegaveafewdeadlyswingsintheair in front of her, reveling in thewhoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the swords.Theywere finelymade, too. She raised her brows in admiration. “How dotheygoback?”“Ah,alittlemoredifficult,”theinventorsaid.“Wristangledup,andpress

this little buttonhere. It should trigger themechanism—thereyougo.”Shewatched the blade slide back into the suit, then released and returned the

bladeseveraltimes.ThedealwithDonevalandhispartnerwasinfourdays,justlongenough

for her to try using the new suit. Four days was plenty to figure out hishouse’sdefensesandlearnwhattimethemeetingwouldtakeplace,especiallysinceshealreadyknewthatitwasoccurringinsomeprivatestudy.AtlastshelookedatArobynn.“Howmuchisit?”Hepushedoff thewall.“It’sagift.Asare theboots.”Sheknockeda toe

against the tiled floor, feeling the jagged edges and grooves of the soles.Perfect for climbing. The sheepskin interior would keep her feet at bodytemperature,theinventorhadsaid,evenifshegotthemutterlysoaked.She’dneverevenheardofasuitlikethis.Itwouldcompletelychangethewaysheconductedhermissions.Notthatsheneededthesuittogiveheranedge.ButshewasCelaenaSardothien,godsbedamned,sodidn’tshedeservetheverybestequipment?Withthissuit,noonewouldquestionherplaceasAdarlan’sAssassin.Ever.Andiftheydid…Wyrdhelpthem.The inventor asked to take her final measurements, though the ones

Arobynnhadsuppliedwerealmostperfect.Sheliftedherarmsoutashedidthemeasuring,askinghimblandquestionsabouthistripfromMelisandeandwhat he planned to sell here. He was a master tinkerer, he said—andspecializedincraftingthingsthatwerebelievedtobeimpossible.Likeasuitthat was both armor and an armory, and lightweight enough to wearcomfortably.Celaena looked over her shoulder at Arobynn, who had watched her

interrogationwithabemusedsmile.“Areyougettingonemade?”“Ofcourse.AndSam,too.Onlythebestformybest.”Shenoticedthathe

didn’t say “assassin”—but whatever the tinkerer thought about who theywere,hisfaceyieldednosign.Shecouldn’thidehersurprise.“YounevergiveSamgifts.”Arobynn shrugged, picking at his nails. “Oh,Samwill be paying for the

suit.Ican’thavemysecond-bestcompletelyvulnerable,canI?”She hid her shock better this time. A suit like this had to cost a small

fortune. Materials aside, just the hours it must have taken the tinkerer tocreateit…Arobynnhadtohavecommissionedthemimmediatelyafterhe’dsenthertotheRedDesert.Perhapshetrulyfeltbadaboutwhathappened.ButtoforceSamtobuyit…The clock chimed eleven, and Arobynn let out a long breath. “I have a

meeting.” He waved a ringed hand to the tinkerer. “Give the bill to mymanservantwhenyou’redone.”Themaster tinkerernodded,stillmeasuringCelaena.

Arobynnapproachedher,eachstepasgracefulasamovementofadance.He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m glad to have you back,” hemurmured onto her hair.With that, he strolled from the room,whistling tohimself.Thetinkererknelttomeasurethelengthbetweenherkneeandboottip,for

whateverpurposethathad.Celaenaclearedherthroat,waitinguntilshewassureArobynnwasoutofearshot.“IfIweretogiveyouapieceofSpidersilk,could you incorporate it into one of these uniforms? It’s small, so I’d justwantitplacedaroundtheheart.”Sheusedherhandstoshowthesizeofthematerialthatshe’dbeengivenbythemerchantinthedesertcityofXandria.Spidersilk was a near-mythical material made by horse-sized stygian

spiders—sorarethatyouhadtobravethespidersyourselftogetit.Andtheydidn’t trade ingold.No, theycoveted things likedreamsandmemoriesandsouls. Themerchant she’d met had traded twenty years of his youth for ahundred yards of it. And after a long, strange conversationwith him, he’dgiven her a few square inches of Spidersilk. A reminder, he’d said. Thateverythinghasaprice.Themaster tinkerer’sbushybrows rose.“I—Isuppose.To the interioror

theexterior?Ithinktheinterior,”hewenton,answeringhisownquestion.“IfIsewedittotheexterior,theiridescencemightruinthestealthoftheblack.But it’dturnanyblade,andit’s justbarelytherightsizetoshieldtheheart.Oh,whatI’dgivefortenyardsofSpidersilk!You’dbeinvincible,mydear.”Shesmiledslowly.“Aslongasitguardstheheart.”

She left the tinkerer in the hall. Her suit would be ready the day aftertomorrow.Itdidn’tsurpriseherwhensheranintoSamonherwayout.She’dspotted

thedummythatborehisownsuitwaitingforhiminthetraininghall.Alonewithherinthehallway,heexaminedhersuit.Shestillhadtochangeoutofitand bring it back downstairs to the tinkerer so he could make his finaladjustmentsinwhatevershophe’dsetupwhilehewasstayinginRifthold.“Fancy,” Sam said. Shemade to put her hands on her hips, but stopped.

Until shemastered the suit, she had towatch how shemoved—or else shemightskewersomeone.“Anothergift?”“Isthereaproblemifitis?”She hadn’t seen Sam at all yesterday, but, then again, she’d also made

herself pretty scarce. It wasn’t that she was avoiding him; she just didn’tparticularly want to see him if it meant running into Lysandra, too. But it

seemed strange that hewasn’t on anymission.Most of the other assassinswere away on various jobs or so busy theywere hardly at home.But SamseemedtobehangingaroundtheKeep,orhelpingLysandraandhermadam.Samcrossedhisarms.Hiswhiteshirtwastightenoughthatshecouldsee

themuscles shifting beneath. “Not at all.Though I’m a little surprised thatyou’reacceptinghisgifts.Howcanyouforgivehimafterwhathedid?”“Forgive him! I’m not the one cavorting with Lysandra and attending

luncheons and doing…doingwhatever in hell it is you spent the summerdoing!”Samletoutalowgrowl.“YouthinkIactuallyenjoyanyofthat?”“Youweren’ttheonesentofftotheRedDesert.”“Believeme,Iwouldratherhavebeenthousandsofmilesaway.”“Idon’tbelieveyou.HowcanIbelieveanythingyousay?”Hisbrowsfurrowed.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”“Nothing.None of your business. I don’t want to talk about this. And I

don’tparticularlywanttotalktoyou,SamCortland.”“Thengoahead,”hebreathed.“GocrawlbacktoArobynn’sstudyandtalk

tohim.Let himbuyyoupresents andpet yourhair andoffer you thebest-payingmissionsweget.Itwon’ttakehimlongtofigureoutthepriceforyourforgiveness,notwhen—”She shoved him. “Don’t you dare judge me. Don’t you say one more

word.”Amuscle feathered inhis jaw. “That’s finewithme.Youwouldn’t listen

anyway. Celaena Sardothien and Arobynn Hamel: just the two of you,inseparable, until the end of the world. The rest of us might as well beinvisible.”“That sounds an awful lot like jealousy. Especially considering you had

three uninterrupted months with him this summer. What happened, hmm?Youfailedtoconvincehimtomakeyouhisfavorite?Foundyoulacking,didhe?”Samwasinherfacesoquicklythatshefoughttheurgetojumpback.“You

knownothingaboutwhatthissummerwaslikeforme.Nothing,Celaena.”“Good.Idon’tparticularlycare.”His eyes were so wide that she wondered if she’d struck him without

realizing it.At last he stepped away, and she stormed past him. She haltedwhen he spoke again. “Youwant to knowwhat price I asked for forgivingArobynn,Celaena?”Sheslowlyturned.Withtheongoingrain,thehallwasfullofshadowsand

light.Samstoodsostillthathemighthavebeenastatue.“Mypricewashis

oath thathe’dnever layahandonyouagain. I toldhim I’d forgivehim inexchangeforthat.”She wished he’d punched her in the gut. It would have hurt less. Not

trustingherselftokeepfromfallingtoherkneeswithshamerightthere,shejuststalkeddownthehall.

Shedidn’twanttospeaktoSameveragain.Howcouldshelookhimintheeye?He’dmadeArobynn swear that forher. She didn’t knowwhatwordscouldconveythemixtureofgratitudeandguilt.Hatinghimhadbeensomucheasier … And it would have been far simpler if he’d blamed her forArobynn’spunishment.Shehadsaidsuchcruelthingstohiminthehallway;howcouldsheeverbegintoapologize?Arobynncametoherroomafterlunchandtoldhertohaveadresspressed.

Doneval,he’dheard,wasgoingtobeatthetheaterthatnight,andwithfourdaysuntilhisexchange,itwouldbeinherbestinteresttogo.She’dformulatedaplanforstalkingDoneval,butshewasn’tproudenough

torefuseArobynn’soffertousehisboxatthetheaterforspying—toseewhoDonevalspoketo,whosatnearhim,whoguardedhim.Andtoseeaclassicaldance performedwith a full orchestra…well, she’d never turn that down.ButArobynnfailedtosaywhowouldbejoiningthem.ShefoundoutthehardwaywhensheclimbedintoArobynn’scarriageand

discovered Lysandra and Sam waiting inside. With four days until herBidding,theyoungcourtesanneededalltheexposureshecouldget,Arobynncalmlyexplained.AndSamwastheretoprovideadditionalsecurity.CelaenadaredaglanceatSamassheslumpedontothebenchbesidehim.

He watched her, his eyes wary, shoulders tensed, as if he expected her tolaunchaverbalattackrightthere.Likeshe’dmockhimforwhathe’ddone.Didhereallythinkshewasthatcruel?Feelingabitsick,shedroppedSam’sstare.LysandrajustsmiledatCelaenafromacrossthecarriageandlinkedherelbowthroughArobynn’s.

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CHAPTER3

TwoattendantsgreetedthematArobynn’sprivatebox,takingtheirsoddencloaksandexchangingthemforglassesofsparklingwine.Immediately,oneof Arobynn’s acquaintances popped in from the hall to say hello, andArobynn, Sam, and Lysandra remained in the velvet-lined antechamber asthey chatted. Celaena, who had no interest in seeing Lysandra test out herflirtingwithArobynn’sfriend,strodethroughthecrimsoncurtaintotakeherusualseatclosesttothestage.Arobynn’sboxwason the sideof thecavernoushall,nearenough to the

center so that she had a mostly unobstructed view of the stage and theorchestrapit,butstillangledenoughtomakeherlooklonginglyattheemptyRoyal Boxes. All of them occupied the coveted center position, and all ofthemwerevacant.Whatawaste.She observed the floor seats and the other boxes, taking in the glittering

jewels, thesilkdresses, thegoldenglowofsparklingwineinflutedglasses,therumblingmurmuroftheminglingcrowd.Iftherewasoneplacewhereshefelt themost at home, a placewhere she felt happiest, it was here, in thistheater,withtheredvelvetcushionsandtheglasschandeliersandthegildeddomed ceiling high, high above them.Had it been coincidence or planningthat had led to the theater being constructed in the veryheart of the city, amere twenty-minutewalk from theAssassins’Keep?Sheknew itwouldbehard for her to adjust to her new apartment, which was nearly double thedistance from the theater.A sacrifice shewaswilling tomake—if she everfoundtherightmomenttotellArobynnshewaspayingherdebtandmovingout.Whichshewould.Soon.She feltArobynn’s easy, self-assured gait strutting across the carpet, and

straightened as he leaned over her shoulder. “Doneval is straight ahead,”Arobynnwhispered,hisbreathhotonherskin.“Thirdboxinfromthestage,secondrowofseats.”Sheimmediatelyfoundthemanshe’dbeenassignedtokill.Hewastalland

middle-aged,with pale blondhair and tan skin.Not particularly handsome,butnotaneyesore,either.Notheavy,butnottoned.Asidefromhisperiwinkletunic—which,evenfromthisdistance,lookedexpensive—therewasnothingremarkableabouthim.There were a few others in the box. A tall, elegant woman in her late

twentiesstoodnearthepartitioncurtain,aclusterofmenaroundher.Sheheldherselflikeanoble,thoughnodiademglitteredinherlustrous,darkhair.“LeighferBardingale,”Arobynnmurmured,followinghergaze.Doneval’s

formerwife—andtheonewho’dhiredher.“Itwasanarrangedmarriage.Shewanted hiswealth, and hewanted her youth.Butwhen they failed to havechildren and some of his less … desirable behavior was revealed, shemanagedtogetoutofthemarriage,stillyoung,butfarricher.”ItwassmartofBardingale,really.Ifsheplannedtohavehimassassinated,

then pretending to be his friendwould help keep fingers frompointing herway.ThoughBardingalemighthavelookedthepartofapolite,elegantlady,Celaenaknewtherehadtobesomeice-coldsteelrunningthroughherveins.And an unyielding sense of dedication to her friends and allies—not tomention to the common rights of every human being. It was hard not toimmediatelyadmireher.“Andthepeoplearoundthem?”Celaenaasked.Throughasmallgapinthe

curtainsbehindDoneval, she couldglimpse three toweringmen, all clad indarkgray—alllookinglikebodyguards.“Theirfriendsandinvestors.BardingaleandDonevalstillhavesomejoint

businessestogether.Thethreemeninthebackarehisguards.”Celaenanodded,andmighthaveaskedhimsomeotherquestionshadSam

and Lysandra not filed into the box behind them, bidding farewell toArobynn’s friend. There were three seats along the balcony rail, and threeseatsbehindthem.Lysandra,toCelaena’sdismay,satnexttoherasArobynnandSamtooktherearseats.“Oh,lookathowmanypeoplearehere,”Lysandrasaid.Her low-cut ice-

bluedressdidlittletohidehercleavageasshecranedherneckovertherail.CelaenablockedoutLysandra’sprattlingas thecourtesanbegan tossingoutimportantnames.Celaena could senseSambehindher, feel his gaze focused solelyon the

goldvelvetcurtainsconcealingthestage.Sheshouldsaysomethingtohim—apologizeorthankhimorjust…saysomethingkind.Shefelthimtensing,asifhe,too,wantedtosaysomething.Somewhereinthetheater,agongbegansignalingtheaudiencetotaketheirseats.Itwasnowornever.Shedidn’tknowwhyherheartthunderedthewayit

did, but she didn’t give herself a chance to second-guess as she twisted tolook at him. She glanced once at his clothes and then said, “You lookhandsome.”His brows rose, and she swiftly turnedback around in her seat, focusing

hard on the curtain.He looked better than handsome, but…Well, at least

she’dsaidonenicething.She’dtriedtobenice.Somehow,itdidn’tmakeherfeelthatmuchbetter.Celaena folded her hands in the lap of her bloodred gown. Itwasn’t cut

nearlyaslowasLysandra’s,butwiththeslendersleevesandbareshoulders,shefeltparticularlyexposedtoSam.She’dcurledandsweptherhairoveroneshoulder,certainlynottohidethescaronherneck.Doneval lounged in his seat, eyes on the stage. How could a man who

looked so bored and useless be responsible for not just the fate of severallives,butofhisentirecountry?Howcouldhesitinthistheaterandnothanghisheadinshameforwhathewasabouttodotohisfellowcountrymen,andto whatever slaves would be caught up in it? The men around Bardingalekissed her cheeks and departed for their own boxes. Doneval’s three thugswatchedthemenvery,verycloselyastheyleft.Notlazy,boredguards,then.Celaenafrowned.But then thechandelierswerehauledupward into thedomeanddimmed,

and the crowd quieted to hear the opening notes as the orchestra beganplaying.Inthedark,itwasnearlyimpossibletoseeDoneval.Sam’shandbrushedhershoulder,andshealmostjumpedoutofherskinas

he brought hismouth close to her ear andmurmured, “You look beautiful.ThoughIbetyoualreadyknowthat.”Shemostcertainlydid.Shegavehimasidelongglareandfoundhimgrinningashe leanedback

intohisseat.Suppressing her urge to smile, Celaena turned toward the stage as the

musicestablishedthesettingforthem.Aworldofshadowsandmist.Aworldwherecreaturesandmythsdwelledinthedarkmomentsbeforedawn.Celaenawentstillasthegoldcurtaindrewback,andeverythingsheknew

andeverythingshewasfadedawaytonothing.

Themusicannihilatedher.The dancing was breathtaking, yes, and the story it told was certainly

lovely—alegendofaprinceseekingtorescuehisbride,andthecunningbirdhecapturedtohelphimtodoit—butthemusic.Hadthereeverbeenanythingmorebeautiful,moreexquisitelypainful?She

clenchedthearmsoftheseat,herfingersdiggingintothevelvetasthemusichurtledtowarditsfinale,sweepingherawayinaflood.Witheachbeatofthedrum,eachtrillofthefluteandblareofthehorn,she

feltallof italongherskin,alongherbones.Themusicbrokeherapartandputherbacktogether,onlytorendherasunderagainandagain.

Andthentheclimax,thecompilationofallthesoundsshehadlovedbest,amplified until they echoed into eternity. As the final note swelled, a gaspbrokefromher,settingthetearsinhereyesspillingdownherface.Shedidn’tcarewhosaw.Then,silence.Thesilencewastheworstthingshe’deverheard.Thesilencebroughtback

everythingaroundher.Applauseerupted,andshewasonherfeet,cryingstillassheclappeduntilherhandsached.“Celaena, I didn’t know you had a shred of human emotion in you,”

Lysandraleanedintowhisper.“AndIdidn’tthinktheperformancewasthatgood.”SamgrippedthebackofLysandra’schair.“Shutup,Lysandra.”Arobynn clicked his tongue in warning, but Celaena remained clapping,

evenasSam’sdefensesentafainttrickleofpleasurethroughher.Theovationcontinuedforawhile,withthedancersemergingfromthecurtainagainandagain tobowandbeshoweredwithflowers.Celaenaclapped through itall,evenashertearsdried,evenasthecrowdbeganshufflingout.WhensherememberedtoglanceatDoneval,hisboxwasempty.Arobynn,Sam,andLysandralefttheirbox,too,longbeforeshewasready

to end her applause. But after she finished clapping, Celaena remained,staring toward the curtained stage,watching the orchestra begin to packuptheirinstruments.Shewasthelastpersontoleavethetheater.

TherewasanotherpartyattheKeepthatnight—apartyforLysandraandher madam and whatever artists and philosophers and writers Arobynnfavored at thatmoment.Mercifully, it was confined to one of the drawingrooms,butlaughterandmusicstillfilledtheentiretyofthesecondfloor.Onthecarriageridehome,ArobynnhadaskedCelaenatojointhem,butthelastthingshewantedtoseewasLysandrabeingfawnedoverbyArobynn,Sam,andeveryoneelse.Soshetoldhimthatshewastiredandneededtosleep.Shewasn’t tired in the least, though.Emotionallydrained,perhaps,but it

wasonlytenthirty,andthethoughtoftakingoffhergownandclimbingintobedmade her feel rather pathetic. ShewasAdarlan’sAssassin; she’d freedslaves and stolenAsterion horses andwon the respect of theMuteMaster.Surelyshecoulddosomethingbetterthangotobedearly.Sosheslippedintooneofthemusicrooms,whereitwasquietenoughthat

she could only hear a burst of laughter every now and then. The other

assassinswereeitheratthepartyoroffonsomemissionorother.Herrustlingdresswastheonlysoundasshefoldedbackthecoverofthepianoforte.She’dlearned toplaywhen shewas ten—underArobynn’sorders that she find atleast one refined skill other than ending lives—and had fallen in loveimmediately. Though she no longer took lessons, she playedwhenever shecouldspareafewminutes.Themusicfromthetheaterstillechoedinhermind.Againandagain,the

sameclusterofnotesandharmonies.Shecouldfeelthemhummingunderthesurfaceofherskin,beatingintimewithherheart.Whatshewouldn’tgivetohearthemusiconcemore!Sheplayedafewnoteswithonehand,frowned,adjustedherfingers,and

tried again, clinging to themusic in hermind. Slowly, the familiarmelodybegantosoundright.Butitwasonlyafewnotes,anditwasthepianoforte,notanorchestra;she

pounded thekeysharder,workingout the riffs. Itwasalmost there,butnotquiteright.Shecouldn’trememberthenotesasperfectlyastheysoundedinherhead.Shedidn’tfeelthemthewayshe’dfeltthemonlyanhourago.Shetriedagainforafewminutes,buteventuallyslammedthelidshutand

stalkedfromtheroom.ShefoundSamloungingagainstawallinthehallway.Hadhebeenlisteningtoherfumblewiththepianofortethiswholetime?“Close,butnotquite the same, is it?”he said.Shegavehimawithering

lookandstartedtowardherbedroom,eventhoughshehadnodesiretospendthe restof thenight sitting in therebyherself. “Itmustdriveyoumad,notbeingable toget it exactly thewayyou remember it.”Hekeptpacebesideher.Hismidnight-bluetunicbroughtoutthegoldenhuesinhisskin.“Iwasjustfoolingaround,”shesaid.“Ican’tbethebestateverything,you

know. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of you, would it?” Down the hall,someonehadstartedamerrytuneontheinstrumentsinthegamingroom.Samchewedonhis lip. “Whydidn’t you trailDoneval after the theater?

Don’t you have only four days left?” She wasn’t surprised he knew; hermissionsweren’tusuallythatsecret.She paused, still itching to hear themusic oncemore. “Some things are

moreimportantthandeath.”Sam’seyesflickered.“Iknow.”She tried not to squirm as he refused to drop her stare. “Why are you

helpingLysandra?”Shedidn’tknowwhysheaskedit.Sam frowned. “She’s not all that bad, youknow.When she’s away from

otherpeople, she’s…better.Don’tbiteoffmyhead for saying it,buteventhough you taunt her about it, she didn’t choose this path for herself—like

us.”Heshookhishead.“Shejustwantsyourattention—andacknowledgmentofherexistence.”She clenched her jaw. Of course he’d spent plenty of time alone with

Lysandra.Andofcoursehe’dfindhersympathetic.“Idon’tparticularlycarewhatshewants.Youstillhaven’tansweredmyquestion.Whyareyouhelpingher?”Heshrugged.“BecauseArobynntoldmeto.AndsinceIhavenodesireto

havemyfacebeatentoapulpagain,I’mnotgoingtoquestionhim.”“He—hehurtyouthatbadly,too?”Samletoutalowlaugh,butdidn’treplyuntilafteraservantbustledpast,

carryingatrayfullofwinebottles.Theywereprobablybetterofftalkinginaroomwherethey’dbelesslikelytobeoverheard,buttheideaofbeingutterlyalonewithhimmadeherpulsepound.“Iwas unconscious for a day, and dozed on and off for threemore after

that,”Samsaid.Celaenahissedaviolentcurse.“He sent you to theRedDesert,” Samwent on, hiswords soft and low.

“Butmypunishmentwashavingtowatchhimbeatyouthatnight.”“Why?”Anotherquestionshedidn’tmeantoask.Heclosed thedistancebetween them,standingnearenoughnow that she

could see the fine gold-thread detailing on his tunic. “After what wewentthroughinSkull’sBay,youshouldknowtheanswer.”Shedidn’twant toknow theanswer,now that she thoughtabout it. “Are

yougoingtomakeaBidforLysandra?”Samburstout laughing.“Bid?Celaena,Idon’thaveanymoney.Andthe

moneythatIdohaveisgoingtowardpayingbackArobynn.EvenifIwantedto—”“Doyouwantto?”Hegaveheralazygrin.“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”“Because I’m curious whether Arobynn’s beating damaged your brain,

that’swhy.”“AfraidsheandIhadasummerromance?”Thatinsufferablegrinwasstill

there.Shecouldhaverakedhernailsdownhisface.Instead,shepickedanother

weapon.“Ihopeyoudid.Icertainlyenjoyedmyselfthissummer.”Thesmilefadedatthat.“Whatdoyoumean?”Shebrushedaninvisiblefleckofdustoffherredgown.“Let’sjustsaythat

the son of theMuteMasterwas far morewelcoming than the other SilentAssassins.”Itwasn’tquitealie.Iliashadtriedtokissher,andshehadbasked

inhisattention,butshehadn’twantedtostartanythingbetweenthem.Sam’sfacepaled.Herwordshadstruckhome,butitwasn’tassatisfyingas

shethoughtitwouldbe.Instead,themerefactthatithadaffectedhimmadeherfeel…feel…Oh,whyhadsheevensaidanythingaboutIlias?Well,sheknewpreciselywhy.Sambegantoturnaway,butshegrabbedhis

arm. “HelpmewithDoneval,” she blurted.Not that she needed it, but thiswasthebestshecouldofferhiminexchangeforwhathe’ddoneforher.“I’ll—I’llgiveyouhalfofthemoney.”Hesnorted.“Keepyourmoney.Idon’tneedit.Ruiningyetanotherslave-

trade agreementwill be enough forme.”He studied her for amoment, hismouthquirkingtotheside.“You’resureyouwantmyhelp?”“Yes,”shesaid.Itcameoutabitstrangled.Hesearchedhereyesforany

signofmockery.Shehatedherselfformakinghimdistrustherthatmuch.But he nodded at last. “Then we’ll start tomorrow. We’ll scope out his

house.Unlessyou’vealreadydonethat?”Sheshookherhead.“I’llcomebyyourroomafterbreakfast.”Shenodded.Therewasmoreshewantedtosaytohim,andshedidn’twant

himtogo,butherthroathadclosedup,toofullofallthoseunspokenwords.Shemadetoturnaway.“Celaena.”Shelookedbackathim,herredgownsweepingaroundher.His

eyesshoneasheflashedheracrookedgrin.“Imissedyouthissummer.”Shemethisstareunflinchingly,returningthesmileasshesaid,“Ihateto

admitit,SamCortland,butImissedyoursorryass,too.”He merely chuckled before he strode toward the party, his hands in his

pockets.

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CHAPTER4

Crouched in the shadows of a gargoyle the following afternoon,Celaenashiftedhernumblegsandgroanedsoftly.Sheusuallyoptedtowearamask,but with the rain, it would have limited her vision even further. Goingwithout,though,madeherfeelsomewhatexposed.Therainalsomadethestoneslick,andshetookextracarewhileadjusting

her position. Six hours. Six hours spent on this rooftop, staring across thestreetatthetwo-storyhouseDonevalhadrentedforthedurationofhisstay.Itwasjustoffthemostfashionableavenueinthecity,andwasenormous,asfaras cityhomeswent.Madeof solidwhite stone and cappedwithgreen clayshingles,itlookedjustlikeanyotherwealthyhomeinthecity,rightdowntoits intricately carved windowsills and doorways. The front lawn wasmanicured, and even in the rain, servants bustled around the property,bringinginfood,flowers,andothersupplies.Thatwas the first thing shenoticed—that people cameandwent all day.

And therewereguards everywhere.They lookedclosely at the facesof theservantswhoentered,scaringthedaylightsoutofsomeofthem.Therewas awhisperofboots against the ledge, andSamnimbly slipped

intotheshadowsofthegargoyle,returningfromscoutingtheothersideofthehouse.“Aguardoneverycorner,”CelaenamurmuredasSamsettleddownbeside

her.“Threeatthefrontdoor,twoatthegate.Howmanydidyouspotintheback?”“Oneoneithersideofthehouse,threemorebythestables.Andtheydon’t

look like cheap hands for hire, either.Will we take them out, or slip pastthem?”“I’dprefernottokillthem,”sheadmitted.“Butwe’llseeifwecanslippast

whenthetimecomes.Seemslike they’rerotatingeverytwohours.Theoff-dutyguardsgointothehouse.”“Doneval’sstillaway?”She nodded, inching nearer to him. Of course, it was just to absorb his

warmth against the freezing rain. She tried not to notice when he pressedclosertoher,too.“Hehasn’treturned.”Donevalhadleftnearlyanhourago,closelyflankedbyahulkingbruteofa

manwho lookedhewn fromgranite.Thebodyguard inspected the carriage,examined the coachman and the footman, held the door untilDonevalwasensconcedinside,andthenslippedinhimself. ItseemedlikeDonevalknewverywell just how coveted and delicate his list of slave sympathizerswas.She’dseldomseenthiskindofsecurity.They’d already surveyed the house and grounds, noting everything from

thestonesof thebuilding towhat sortof latches sealed thewindows to thedistancebetween thenearby rooftops and the roofof thehouse itself.Evenwith the rain, she could see well enough into the second-story window tomake out a long hallway. Some servants came out of rooms bearing sheetsandblankets—bedrooms,then.Fourofthem.Therewasasupplyclosetnearthe stairwell at the center of the hall. From the light that spilled into thehallway,sheknewthatthemainstairwellhadtobeopenandgrand,justliketheoneintheAssassins’Keep.Notachanceofhiding,unlesstheyfoundtheservants’passages.Theygotlucky,though,whenshespiedaservantgoingintotheoneofthe

second-floor rooms, carrying a pile of the afternoon papers.A fewminuteslater, amaid lugged inabucketand tools for sweepingouta fireplace,andthenamanservantbrought inwhat looked likeabottleofwine.Shehadn’tseenanyonechangingthelinensinthatroom,andsotheytookspecialnoticeoftheservantswhoenteredandexited.It had to be the private study that Arobynn had mentioned. Doneval

probablymaintained a formal study on the first floor, but if hewere doingdarkdealings,thenmovinghisrealbusinesstoamorehiddenquarterofthehousewouldmake sense.But they still needed to figure outwhat time themeetingwouldtakeplace.Rightnow,itcouldbeatanypointonthearrangedday.“Therehe is,”Samhissed.Doneval’s carriagepulledup, and thehulking

bodyguardgotout,scouringthestreetforamomentbeforehemotionedforthebusinessmantoemerge.CelaenahadafeelingthatDoneval’srushtogetintothehousewasn’tjustaboutthedownpour.They ducked back into the shadows again. “Where do you suppose he

went?”Samasked.Sheshrugged.Hisformerwife’sHarvestMoonpartywastonight;perhaps

that had something to do with it, or the street festival thatMelisande washostinginthecenterofthecitytoday.SheandSamwerenowcrouchingsoclose together that a toasty warmth was spreading up one side of her.“Nowheregood,I’msure.”Samletoutabreathylaugh,hiseyesstillonthehouse.Theyweresilentfor

afewminutes.Atlast,hesaid,“So,theMuteMaster’sson…”

Shealmostgroaned.“How close were you, exactly?” He focused on the house, though she

noticedthathe’dfistedhishands.Justtellhimthetruth,idiot!“NothinghappenedwithIlias.Itwasonlyabitofflirtation,but…nothing

happened,”shesaidagain.“Well,” he said after a moment, “nothing happened with Lysandra. And

nothingisgoingto.Ever.”“Andwhy,exactly,doyouthinkIcare?”Itwasherturntokeephereyes

fixedonthehouse.He nudged her with his shoulder. “Since we’re friends now, I assumed

you’dwanttoknow.”Shewasgratefulthatherhoodconcealedmostofherburning-hotface.“I

thinkIpreferreditwhenyouwantedtokillme.”“Sometimes I think so, too. Certainly made my life more interesting. I

wonder, though—if I’mhelping you, does itmean I get to be yourSecondwhenyouruntheAssassins’Guild?OrdoesitjustmeanthatIcanboastthatthefamedCelaenaSardothienfinallyfindsmeworthy?”She jabbed him with an elbow. “It means you should shut up and pay

attention.”Theygrinnedateachother,andthentheywaited.Aroundsunset—which felt especially early that day, given the heavy cloud cover—thebodyguard emerged. Doneval was nowhere in sight, and the bodyguardmotionedto theguards,speakingquietly to thembeforehestrodedownthestreet.“Offonanerrand?”Celaenapondered.Saminclinedhisheadafterthebodyguard,asuggestionthattheyfollow.“Goodidea.”Celaena’sstifflimbsachedinprotestassheslowly,carefullyinchedaway

fromthegargoyle.Shekepthereyesonthenearbyguards,notoncelookingawayasshegrabbedtheroof ledgeandhauledherselfup it,Samfollowingsuit.Shewishedshehadthebootsthemastertinkererwasadjustingforher,but

theywouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. Her black leather boots, while suppleandsupportive, feltabit traitorouson therain-slickgutterof theroof.Still,sheandSamkept lowandfastas theydashedalongtheroofedge, trackingthehulkingmaninthestreetbelow.Luckily,heturneddownabackalley,andthenexthousewascloseenoughthatshecouldnimblyleapontotheadjacentroof. Her boots slid, but her gloved fingers grappled onto the green stoneshingles. Sam landed flawlessly beside her, and, to her surprise, she didn’tbitehisheadoffwhenhegrabbedthebackofhercloaktohelpherstand.Thebodyguardcontinuedalongthealley,andtheytrailedontherooftops,

shadowsagainstthegrowingdark.Atlast,hecametoabroaderstreetwherethe gaps between houses were too big to jump, and Celaena and Samshimmied down a drainpipe. Their boots were soft as they hit the ground.They picked up a casual pace behind their quarry, arms linked, just twocitizensofthecapitalontheirwaytosomewhere,eagertogetoutoftherain.Itwaseasytospothiminthecrowd,evenastheyreachedthemainavenue

ofthecity.Peoplejumpedoutofhisway,actually.Melisande’sstreetfestivalin honor of the HarvestMoon was in full swing, and people flocked to itdespite the rain. Celaena and Sam followed the bodyguard for a fewmoreblocks, downa fewmore alleys.Thebodyguard turned to lookbehindhimonlyonce,buthefound themleaningcasuallyagainstanalleywall,merelycloakedfigurestakingshelterfromtherain.With all thewaste brought in by theMelisande convoy, and the smaller

street festivals thathadalreadyoccurred, thestreetsandsewerswerenearlyoverflowing with garbage. As they stalked the bodyguard, Celaena heardpeopletalkingabouthowthecitywardenshaddammeduppartsofthesewersto let them fillwith rainwater.Tomorrownight theywere going to unleashthem,causinga torrent in thesewerswildenough to sweepall theclingingtrash into theAveryRiver.They’ddone itbefore,apparently—if thesewersweren’t flushedout everynowand then, the filthwouldgrow stagnant andreekevenmore.Still,Celaenaplannedtobehigh,highabovethestreetsbythe time they unleashed those dams. There was sure to be some in-streetfloodingbeforeitsubsided,andshehadnodesiretowalkthroughanyofit.Thebodyguardeventuallywentintoatavernonthecuspofthecrumbling

slums, and they waited for him across the street. Through the crackedwindows,theycouldseehimsittingatthebar,drinkingmugaftermugofale.Celaenabegantowishferventlythatshecouldbeatthestreetfestivalinstead.“Well,ifhehasaweaknessforalcohol,thenperhapsthatcouldbeourway

aroundhim,”Samobserved.Shenodded,butdidn’tsayanything.Samlookedtowardtheglasscastle,itstowerswreathedinmist.“IwonderifBardingaleandtheothersarehavinganyluckconvincingthekingtofundtheirroad,”hesaid.“Iwonderwhyshewouldevenwantitbuilt,sincesheseemssoeagertomakesuretheslavetradestaysoutofMelisandeforaslongaspossible.”“Ifanything, itmeansshehasabsolute faith thatwewon’t fail,”Celaena

said.Whenshedidn’tsayanythingelse,Samfellsilent.Anhourpassed,andthebodyguardspoketonoone,paidtheentiretabwithapieceofsilver,andheaded back to Doneval’s house. Despite the ale he’d consumed, his stepswere steady, and by the timeSamandCelaena reached the house, shewasalmostbored to tears—not tomentionshiveringwithcoldandunsure ifhernumbedtoeshadfallenoffinsideherboots.

Theywatched from a nearby street corner as the bodyguardwent up thefront steps.He held a position of respect, then, if hewasn’tmade to enterthroughtheback.Butevenwiththebitsofinformationthey’dgatheredthatday, when they made the twenty-minute trek across the city to the Keep,Celaena couldn’t help feeling rather useless andmiserable. Even Samwasquietas theyreached theirhome,andmerely toldher thathe’dseeher inafewhours.TheHarvestMoonpartywasthatnight—andthedealwithDonevalthree

daysaway.Consideringhowlittlethey’dbeenabletoactuallygleanthatday,perhapsshe’dhave toworkharder thanshe’d thought to findaway to takeoutherquarry.MaybeArobynn’s“gift”hadbeenmoreofacurse.Whatawaste.

Shespentanhoursoaking inherbathtub, running thehotwateruntil shewasfairlycertaintherewasn’tanyleftforanyoneelseintheKeep.Arobynnhimselfhadcommissioned therunningwateroutfit for theKeep,and ithadcostasmuchasthebuildingdid,butshewasforevergratefulforit.Once the icehadmeltedawayfromherbones, sheslipped into theblack

silk dressing robe Arobynn had given her that morning—another of hispresents, but still not enough that she’d forgive him anytime soon. Shepaddedintoherbedroom.Aservanthadstartedafire,andshewasabouttobegindressingfortheHarvestMoonpartywhenshespottedthepileofpapersonherbed.Theywere tiedwitha red string, andher stomach flutteredas shepulled

outthenoteplacedontop.

Shemighthaverolledhereyeshadshenotseenwhatlaybeforeher.Sheetmusic.For theperformanceshe’dseenlastnight.For thenotesshe

couldn’tgetoutofhermind,evenadaylater.Sheglancedagainatthenote.Itwasn’tArobynn’selegantscript,butSam’shurriedscrawl.Wheninhellhadhefoundthetimetodaytogetthese?Hemusthavegoneoutrightafterthey’dreturned.She sank onto the bed, flipping through the pages. The show had only

debuteda fewweeks ago; sheetmusic for itwasn’t even in circulationyet.Norwoulditbe,untilitproveditselftobeasuccess.Thatcouldbemonths,

evenyears,fromnow.Shecouldn’thelphersmile.

Despite the ongoing rain that night, the HarvestMoon party at LeighferBardingale’sriverfronthousewassopackedthatCelaenahardlyhadroomtoshowoffher exquisitegold-and-bluedress, or the fish-fin combs she’dhadpositionedalongthesidesofherupswepthair.EveryonewhowasanyoneinRiftholdwashere.That is, everyonewithout royal blood, though she couldhave sworn she saw a few members of the nobility mingling with thebejeweledcrowd.Theballroomwasenormous,itstoweringceilingstrungwithpaperlanterns

of all colors and shapes and sizes. Garlands had been woven around thepillars lining one side of the room, and on the many tables, cornucopiasoverflowed with food and flowers. Young women in nothing more thancorsetsandlacylingeriedangledfromswingsattachedtothefiligreedceiling,andbare-chestedyoungmenwithornateivorycollarshandedoutwine.Celaena had attended dozens of extravagant partieswhile growing up in

Rifthold; she’d infiltrated functions hosted by foreign dignitaries and localnobility;she’dseeneverythingandanythinguntilshethoughtnothingcouldsurpriseheranymore.Butthispartyblewthemallaway.Therewasasmallorchestraaccompaniedbytwoidentical-twinsingers—

bothyoungwomen,bothdark-haired,andbothequippedwithutterlyetherealvoices. They had people swaying where they stood, their voices tuggingeveryonetowardthepackeddancefloor.WithSam flanking her,Celaena stepped from the stairs at the top of the

ballroom.Arobynnkeptonherleft,hissilvereyesscanningthecrowd.Theycrinkledwithpleasurewhen theirhostessgreeted themat thebottomof thesteps. In his pewter tunic,Arobynn cut a dashing figure as he bowed overBardingale’shandandpressedakisstoit.Thewomanwatchedhimwithdark,cunningeyes,agracioussmileonher

red lips. “Leighfer,” Arobynn crooned, half-turning to beckon to Celaena.“Allowmetointroducemyniece,Dianna,andmyward,Sam.”His niece. That was always the story, always the ruse whenever they

attendedevents together.Sambowed,andCelaenacurtsied.Theglimmer inBardingale’s gaze said that she knew very well that Celaena was notArobynn’s niece. Celaena tried not to frown. She’d never liked meetingclientsface-to-face;itwasbetteriftheywentthroughArobynn.“Charmed,”Bardingalesaidtoher,thencurtsiedtoSam.“Bothofthemare

delightful,Arobynn.”Apretty,nonsensestatement,saidbysomeoneusedtowieldingpretty,nonsensewordstogetwhatshewanted.“Walkwithme?”sheaskedtheKingoftheAssassins,andArobynnextendedanelbow.Justbeforetheyslippedintothecrowd,Arobynnglancedoverhisshoulder

andgaveCelaenaarakishsmile.“Trynottogetintotoomuchtrouble.”ThenArobynn and the ladywere swallowed up by the throng of people, leavingSamandCelaenaatthefootofthestairs.“What now?” Sam murmured, staring after Bardingale. His dark green

tunicbroughtupthefaintflecksofemeraldinhisbrowneyes.“DidyouspotDoneval?”They’dcomeheretoseewithwhomDonevalassociated,howmanyguards

werewaitingoutside,andifhelookednervous.Theexchangewouldhappenthreenightsfromnow,inhisupstairsstudy.Butatwhattime?Thatwaswhatsheneededtofindoutmorethananything.Andtonightwastheonlychanceshe’dhavetogetcloseenoughtohimtodoit.“He’sbythethirdpillar,”shesaid,keepinghergazeonthecrowd.Inthe

shadowsofthepillarsliningonehalfoftheroom,littleseatingareashadbeenerectedonraisedplatforms.Theywereseparatedbyblackvelvetcurtains—private lounges forBardingale’smostdistinguishedguests. Itwas tooneofthese alcoves that she spotted Doneval making his way, his hulkingbodyguardclosebehind.AssoonasDonevalploppedintotheplushcushions,four of the corset-clad girls slid into place beside him, smiles plastered ontheirfaces.“Doesn’thelookcozy,”Sammused.“IwonderhowmuchClarissestands

tomakeoff thisparty.”That explainedwhere thegirls came from.CelaenajusthopedLysandrawasn’there.One of the beautiful serving boys offered Doneval and the courtesans

glassesofsparklingwine.Thebodyguard,whostoodbythecurtains,sippedfirstbeforenoddingtoDonevaltotakeit.Doneval,onehandalreadywrappedaround the bare shoulders of the girl beside him, didn’t thank either hisbodyguardortheservingboy.CelaenafeltherlipcurlasDonevalpressedhislips to the neck of the courtesan. The girl couldn’t have been older thantwenty.Itdidn’tsurpriseheratallthatthismanfoundthegrowingslavetradeappealing—and that he was willing to destroy his opponents to make hisbusinessarrangementasuccess.“Ihavea feelinghe’snotgoing togetupforawhile,”Celaenasaid,and

when she turned to Sam, he was frowning. He’d always had a mixture ofsorrow and sympathy for the courtesans—and such hatred for their clients.Hismother’sendhadn’tbeenahappyone.PerhapsthatwaswhyhetoleratedtheinsufferableLysandraandherinsipidcompanions.

Someone almost knocked into Celaena from behind, but she sensed thestaggeringmanandeasilysidesteppedoutofhispath.“Thisisamadhouse,”shemuttered,hergazerisingtothegirlsontheswingsastheyfloatedthroughthe room.They arched their backs so far that itwas amiracle their breastsstayedintheircorsets.“Ican’tevenimaginehowmuchBardingalespentonthisparty.”Samwas

so close his breath caressed her cheek. Celaena was actuallymore curiousabout howmuch the hostess was spending on keeping Doneval distracted;clearly, no cost was too great, if she’d hired Celaena to help destroyDoneval’s trade agreement and get those documents into safe hands. Butperhapstherewasmoretothisassignmentthanjusttheslave-tradeagreementandblackmailinglist.PerhapsBardingalewastiredofsupportingherformerhusband’sdecadentlifestyle.Celaenacouldn’tbringherselftoblameher.Even though Doneval’s cushioned alcove was meant to be private, he

certainlywantedtobeseen.Andfromthebottlesofsparklingwinethathadbeen set on the low table before him, she could tell he had no intention ofgettingup.Amanwhowanted tobeapproachedbyothers—whowanted tofeelpowerful.Helikedtobeworshipped.Andatapartyhostedbyhisformerwife,hehadsomenerveassociatingwiththosecourtesans.Itwaspetty—andcruel,ifshethoughtaboutit.Butwhatgooddidknowingthatdoher?Herarelyspoketoothermen,itseemed.Butwhosaidhisbusinesspartner

hadtobeaman?Maybeitwasawoman.Oracourtesan.Donevalwasnowslobberingovertheneckofthegirlonhisotherside,his

hand roaming along her bare thigh. But if Doneval were in league with acourtesan,whywouldhewaituntil threedays fromnowbeforemaking thedocumentexchange?Itcouldn’tbeoneofClarisse’sgirls.OrClarisseherself.“Doyouthinkhe’sgoingtomeetwithhisconspiratortonight?”Samasked.Celaenaturnedtohim.“No.Ihaveafeelingthathe’snotfoolishenoughto

actually do any dealings here. At least, not with anyone except Clarisse.”Sam’sfacedarkened.IfDonevalenjoyedfemalecompany,well,thatcertainlyworkedinfavorof

herplantogetclosetohim,didn’tit?Shebeganwindingherwaythroughthecrowd.“Whatareyoudoing?”Samsaid,managingtokeepupwithher.Sheshothima lookoverhershoulder,nudgingpeopleoutof thewayas

shemadeforthealcove.“Don’tfollowme,”shesaid—butnotharshly.“I’mgoingtotrysomething.Juststayhere.I’llcomefindyouwhenI’mdone.”Hestaredatherforaheartbeat,thennodded.Celaenatookalongbreaththroughhernoseasshemountedthestepsand

walkedintotheraisedalcovewhereDonevalsat.

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CHAPTER5

The four courtesans noticed her, but Celaena kept her eyes on Doneval,wholookedupfromtheneckofthecourtesancurrentlyonthereceivingendofhisaffection.Hisbodyguardwasalert,butdidn’tstopher.Fool.SheforcedalittlesmiletoherlipsasDoneval’seyesrovedfreely.Upanddown,downandup.Thatwaswhyshe’doptedfora lower-cutdress thanusual. Itmadeherstomachturn,butshesteppedcloser,onlythelow-lyingtablebetweenherandDoneval’ssofa.Shegavealow,elegantcurtsy.“Mylord,”shepurred.Hewasnotalordinanysense,butamanlikethathadtoenjoyfancytitles,

howeverunearnedtheymightbe.“May I help you?” he said, taking in her dress. Shewas definitelymore

covered-up than the courtesans aroundhim.But sometimes therewasmoreallureinnotseeingeverything.“Oh, I’msosorry to interrupt,”shesaid, tiltingherheadso that the light

fromthe lanternscaught inhereyesandset themsparkling.Sheknewwellenoughwhichofher featuresmen tended tonotice—andappreciate—most.“Butmyuncleisamerchant,andhespeakssohighlyofyouthatI…”Shenow lookedat thecourtesansas if suddenlynoticing them,as if shewereagood,decentgirlrealizingthecompanyhekeptandtryingnottobecometooembarrassed.Doneval seemed to sense her discomfort and sat up, removing his hand

from the thigh of the girl next to him. The courtesans allwent a bit rigid,shootingdaggersinherdirection.Shemighthavegrinnedatthemhadshenotbeensofocusedonheract.“Goon,mydear,”Donevalsaid,hiseyesnowfixedonhers.Really,itwas

tooeasy.Shebitherlip,tuckingherchindown—demure,shy,waitingtobeplucked.

“Myuncleissicktonightandcouldn’tattend.Hewassolookingforwardtomeetingyou,and I thought Imightmakean introductiononhisbehalf,butI’m so terribly sorry to have interrupted you.” Shemade to turn, countingdowntheheartbeatsuntil…“No,no—I’dbepleasedtomaketheacquaintance.Whatisyourname,my

deargirl?”Sheturnedback,lettingthelightcatchinherblue-goldeyesagain.“Dianna

Brackyn;myuncleisErickBrackyn…”Sheglancedatthecourtesans,givingher best alarmed-innocent-maiden look. “I—I truly don’t wish to interruptyou.” Doneval kept drinking her in. “Perhaps, if it would not be aninconvenienceoranimpertinence,wecouldcallonyou?Nottomorroworthedayafter,sincemyunclehassomecontractwiththeviceroyofBellhaventoworkon,butthedayafterthat?Threedaysfromnow,iswhatImean.”Shemadealittlecooofalaugh.“It wouldn’t be an impertinence in the least,” Doneval crooned, leaning

forward.Mentioning Fenharrow’swealthiest city—and ruler—had done thetrick.“Infact,Imuchadmireyouforhavingthenervetoapproachme.Notmanymenwould,letaloneyoungwomen.”She almost rolled her eyes, but she just fluttered her eyelashes ever so

slightly.“Thankyou,mylord.Whattimewouldbeconvenientforyou?”“Ah,”Doneval said. “Well, Ihavedinnerplans thatnight.”Notahintof

nerves, or a flicker of anxiety in his eyes. “But I am free for breakfast, orlunch,”headdedwithagrowingsmile.Shesigheddramatically.“Oh,no—IthinkImighthavecommittedmyself

then,actually.Whataboutteathatafternoon?Yousayyouhavedinnerplans,butperhapssomethingbefore…?Ormaybewe’lljustseeyouatthetheaterthatnight.”He fell silent, and she wondered if he was growing suspicious. But she

blinked,tuckingherarmsintohersidesenoughthatherchestsqueezedabitmoreoutofherneckline. Itwasa trickshe’dusedoftenenough toknowitworked.“Iwouldcertainlyliketohavetea,”hesaidatlast,“butI’llalsobeatthetheateraftermydinner.”Shegavehimabright smile. “Wouldyou like to joinus inourbox?My

unclehastwoofhiscontactsfromtheviceroyofBellhaven’scourtjoiningus,butIjustknowhe’dbehonoredhaveyouwithusaswell.”He cocked his head, and she could practically see the cold, calculating

thoughts churning behind his eyes.Come on, she thought, take the bait…Contacts with a wealthy businessman and Bellhaven’s viceroy should beenough.“I’dbedelighted,”hesaid,givingherasmilethatreekedoftrainedcharm.“I’msureyouhaveafinecarriagetoescortyoutothetheater,butwe’dbe

doublyhonored if you’duseours.Wecouldpickyouup after yourdinner,perhaps?”“I’mafraidmydinner is rather late—I’dhate tomakeyouoryouruncle

tardyforthetheater.”“Oh,itwouldn’tbeaproblem.Whattimedoesyourdinnerbegin—orend,

Isupposeisthebetterquestion!”Agiggle.AtwinkleinhereyethatsuggestedthesortofcuriosityinwhatamanlikeDonevalwouldbeeagertoshowaninexperiencedgirl.Heleanedfartherforward.Shewantedtoclawattheskinhisgazerakedoverwithsuchsensualconsideration.“Themealshouldbeoverwithinanhour,”hedrawled,“ifnotsooner;only

aquickmealwithanoldfriendofmine.Whydon’tyoustopbythehouseateightthirty?”Hersmilegrew,genuinethistime.Seventhirty,then.That’swhenthedeal

wouldoccur.Howcouldhebethatfoolish,thatarrogant?Hedeservedtodiejust for being so irresponsible—so easily lured by a girl who was far tooyoungforhim.“Oh,yes!”shesaid.“Ofcourse.”Sherattledoffdetailsaboutheruncle’s

business andhowwell they’dget along, and soon shewas curtsying again,giving him another long look at her cleavage before shewalked away.Thecourtesans were still glaring at her, and she could feel Doneval’s gazedevouringheruntilthecrowdswallowedherup.Shemadeashowofgoingover to the food,keepingup thedemuremaiden facade,andwhenDonevalfinallystoppedwatching,sheletoutasigh.Thathadcertainlygonewell.Sheloadedaplatewithfoodthatmadehermouthwater—roastboar,berriesandcream,warmchocolatecake…From a few feet away, she foundLeighferBardingale observing her, the

woman’sdarkeyesremarkablysad.Pitying.Orwasitregretforwhatshehadhired Celaena to do? Bardingale approached, brushing against Celaena’sskirtsonherway to thebuffet table,butCelaenachosenot toacknowledgeher. Whatever Arobynn had told the woman about her, she didn’t care toknow.Thoughshewould have liked toknowwhatperfumeBardingalewaswearing;itsmelledlikejasmineandvanilla.Samwassuddenlybesideher,appearinginthatsilent-as-deathwayofhis.

“Did you get what you needed?” He followed Celaena as she addedmorefoodtoherplate.Leighfertookafewscoopsofberriesandadollopofcreamanddisappearedbackintothecrowd.Celaenagrinned,glancingto thealcovewhereDonevalhadnowreturned

tohishiredcompany.Shedepositedherplateonthetable.“Icertainlydid.Itappearshe’sunavailableatseventhirtyintheeveningthatday.”“Sowehaveourmeetingtime,”Samsaid.“Indeedwedo.”Sheturnedtohimwithatriumphantsmirk,butSamwas

nowwatchingDoneval, his frowngrowingas themancontinuedpawingatthegirlsaroundhim.The music shifted, becoming livelier, the twins’ voices rising in a

wraithlike harmony. “And now that I got what I came here for, I want todance,” Celaena said. “So drink up, SamCortland.We’re not washing ourhandsinbloodtonight.”

She danced and danced.The beautiful youths ofMelisande had gatherednear the platform that held the twin singers, and Celaena had gravitatedtowardthem.Bottlesofsparklingwinepassedfromhandtohand,mouthtomouth.Celaenaswiggedfromallofthem.Around midnight, the music changed, going from organized, elegant

dances to a frenzied, sensual sound that had her clapping her hands andstompingherfeetintime.TheMelisandersseemedeagertowritheandflingthemselves about. If there were music and movements that embodied thewildnessandrecklessnessand immortalityofyouth, theywerehere,on thisdancefloor.Donevalremainedwherehesatonthecushions,drinkingbottleafterbottle.

He never once glanced in her direction; whoever he had thought DiannaBrackynwas,shewasnowforgotten.Good.Sweatranalongeverypartofherbody,butshetippedherheadback,arms

upraised,content tobask in themusic.Oneof thecourtesanson theswingsflew by so low that their fingers brushed. The touch sent sparks shootingthroughher.Thiswasmorethanaparty:itwasaperformance,anorgy,andacalltoworshipatthealtarofexcess.Celaenawasawillingsacrifice.Themusicshiftedagain,ariotofpoundingdrumsandthestaccatonotesof

the twins. Sam kept a respectful distance—dancing alone, occasionallydetangling himself from the arms of a girl who saw his beautiful face andtriedtoseizehimforherown.Celaenatriednottosmirkwhenshesawhimpolitely,butfirmly,tellingthegirltofindsomeoneelse.Manyoftheolderpartygoershadlongsinceleft,cedingthedancefloorto

theyoungandbeautiful.CelaenafocusedlongenoughtocheckonDoneval—and to see Arobynn sitting with Bardingale in another one of the nearbyalcoves.Afewotherssatwiththem,andthoughglassesofwinelitteredtheirtable, they all had lowered brows and tight-lipped expressions. WhileDonevalhadcomeheretofeastoffhisformerwife’sfortune,itseemedlikeshehadotherthoughtsonhowtoenjoyherparty.Whatsortofstrengthhadittaken to accept that assassinating her former husband was the only optionleft?Orwasitweakness?Theclockstruckthree—three!Howhadsomanyhourspassed?Aglimmer

ofmovementcaughthereyebythetoweringdoorsatopthestairs.Fouryoung

menwearingmasksstoodatopthesteps,surveyingthecrowd.It tookalloftwoheartbeatsforhertoseethat thedark-hairedyouthwastheirringleader,and that the fineclothesand themasks theyworemarked themasnobility.ProbablynobleslookingtoescapeastuffyfunctionandsavorthedelightsofRifthold.The masked strangers swaggered down the steps, one of them keeping

closetothedark-hairedyouth.Thatonehadasword,shenoticed,andfromhistensedshoulders,shecouldtellhewasn’tentirelypleasedtobehere.Butthelipsoftheringleaderpartedinagrinashestalkedintothecrowd.Godsabove,evenwiththemaskobscuringhalfofhisfeatures,hewashandsome.Shedancedasshewatchedhim,and,asifhehadsomehowsensedherall

this time, their eyesmet fromacross the room.Shegavehima smile, thendeliberatelyturnedbacktowardthesingers,herdancingalittlemorecareful,alittlemoreinviting.ShefoundSamfrowningather.Shegavehimashrug.Ittookthemaskedstrangerafewminutes—andaknowingsmilefromher

tosuggestthatshe,too,knewexactlywherehewas—butsoonshefeltahandslidearoundherwaist.“Someparty,”thestrangerwhisperedinherear.Shetwistedtoseesapphire

eyesgleamingather.“AreyoufromMelisande?”Sheswayedwiththemusic.“Perhaps.”His smile grew. She itched to pull off themask.Any young nobleswho

were out at this hourwere certainly not here for innocent purposes. Still—whowastosaythatshecouldn’thavesomefun,too?“What’syourname?”heaskedabovetheroarofthemusic.She leaned close. “My name isWind,” she whispered. “And Rain. And

BoneandDust.Mynameisasnippetofahalf-rememberedsong.”Hechuckled,alow,delightfulsound.Shewasdrunk,andsilly,andsofull

ofthegloryofbeingyoungandaliveandinthecapitaloftheworldthatshecouldhardlycontainherself.“Ihavenoname,”shepurred.“Iamwhoeverthekeepersofmyfatetellme

tobe.”He grasped her by her wrist, running a thumb along the sensitive skin

underneath.“ThenletmecallyouMineforadanceortwo.”Shegrinned,but someonewassuddenlybetween them,a tall,powerfully

builtperson.Sam.Herippedthestranger’shandoffherwrist.“She’sspokenfor,”hegrowled,alltooclosetotheyoungman’smaskedface.Thestranger’sfriendwasbehindhiminaninstant,hisbronzeeyesfixedonSam.CelaenagrabbedSam’selbow.“Enough,”shewarnedhim.Themasked stranger looked Sam up and down, then held up his hands.

“Mymistake,”hesaid,butwinkedatCelaenabeforehedisappearedintothecrowd,hisarmedfriendclosebehind.CelaenawhirledtofaceSam.“Whatinhellwasthatfor?”“You’redrunk,”hetoldher,socloseherchestbrushedhis.“Andheknew

it,too.”“So?”Evenasshesaidit,someonedancingwildlycrashedintoherandset

herreeling.Samcaughtheraroundthewaist,hishandsfirmonherashekeptherfromfallingtotheground.“You’llthankmeinthemorning.”“Justbecausewe’reworkingtogetherdoesn’tmeanI’msuddenlyincapable

ofhandlingmyself.”Hishandswerestillonherwaist.“Letme take you home.” She glanced toward the alcoves. Donevalwas

passedoutcoldontheshoulderofaverybored-lookingcourtesan.ArobynnandBardingalewerestilldeepintheirconversation.“No,”shesaid.“Idon’tneedanescort. I’llgohomewhenI feel like it.”

Sheslippedoutofhisgrasp,slammingintotheshoulderofsomeonebehindher.Themanapologizedandmovedaway.“Besides,”Celaenasaid,unabletostop the words or the stupid, useless jealousy that grabbed control of her,“don’tyouhaveLysandraorsomeoneequallyforhiretobewith?”“Idon’twanttobewithLysandra,oranyoneelseforhire”hesaidthrough

gritted teeth.He reached for her hand. “And you’re a damned fool for notseeingit.”Sheshookoffhisgrip.“IamwhatIam,andIdon’tparticularlycarewhat

youthinkofme.”Maybeoncehemighthavebelievedthat,butnow…“Well, I care what you think ofme. I care enough that I stayed at this

disgusting party just for you.And I care enough that I’d attend a thousandmorelikeitsoIcanspendafewhourswithyouwhenyouaren’tlookingatmelikeI’mnotworththedirtbeneathyourshoes.”Thatmadeherangerstumble.Sheswallowedhard,herheadspinning.“We

haveenoughgoingonwithDoneval. Idon’tneed tobe fightingwithyou.”Shewantedtorubhereyes,butshewouldhaveruinedthecosmeticsonthem.Sheletoutalongsigh.“Can’twejust…trytoenjoyourselvesrightnow?”Samshrugged,buthiseyeswerestilldarkandgleaming.“Ifyouwant to

dancewiththatman,thengoahead.”“It’snotaboutthat.”“Thentellmewhatit’sabout.”Shebeganwringingherfingers,thenstoppedherself.“Look,”shesaid,the

musicsolouditwashardtohearherownthoughts.“I—Sam,Idon’tknowhowtobeyourfriendyet.Idon’tknowifIknowhowtobeanyone’sfriend.

And…Canwejusttalkaboutthistomorrow?”Heshookhisheadslowly,butgaveherasmile,eventhoughitdidn’treach

hiseyes.“Sure.Ifyoucanrememberanythingtomorrow,”hesaidwithforcedlightness.Shemadeherselfsmilebackathim.Hejerkedhischintowardthedancing. “Gohave fun.We’ll talk in themorning.”He steppedcloser, as ifhe’dkisshercheek,butthenthoughtbetterofit.Shecouldn’ttellifshewasdisappointedornotashesqueezedhershoulderinstead.With that, he vanished into the crowd. Celaena stared after him until a

youngwomanpulledher intoacircleofdancinggirls,and the revelry tookholdofheragain.

The rooftop of her new apartment looked out over theAveryRiver, andCelaena sat on the walled edge, her legs dangling off the side. The stonebeneathherwaschillanddamp,buttherainhadstoppedduringthenight,andfierce winds had blown the clouds away as the stars faded and the skylightened.Thesunbrokeoverthehorizon,floodingthesnakingarmoftheAverywith

light.Itbecamealivingbandofgold.Thecapitalbegantostir,chimneyspuffingupsmokefromthefirstofthe

day’s fires, fishermen calling to one another from the nearby docks, youngchildren rushing through the streets with bundles of wood or the morningpapers or buckets of water. Behind her, the glass castle shimmered in thedawn.Shehadn’tbeentohernewapartmentsinceshe’dreturnedfromthedesert,

soshe’dtakenafewminutestowalkthroughthespaciousroomshiddenontheupperfloorofafakewarehouse.Itwasthelastplaceanyonewouldexpecthertopurchaseahome,andthewarehouseitselfwasfilledwithbottlesofink—asupplynoonewaslikelytobreakintosteal.Thiswasaplacethatwashers and hers alone.Or itwould be, as soon as she toldArobynn shewasleaving.Whichshe’ddoassoonasshefinishedthisbusinesswithDoneval.Orsometimesoonafterthat.Maybe.She inhaled thedampmorningair, letting itwash throughher.Seatedon

the roof ledge, she felt wonderfully insignificant—a mere speck in thevastnessofthegreatcity.Andyetallofitwashersforthetaking.Yes, the party had been delightful, but therewasmore to theworld than

that.Bigger things,morebeautiful things,more real things.Her futurewashers,andshehadthreetrunksofgoldhiddeninherroomthatwouldsolidifyit.Shecouldmakeofherlifewhatshewanted.

Celaenaleanedbackonherhands,drinkingintheawakeningcity.Andasshewatched thecapital, shehad the joyous feeling that thecapitalwatchedherback.

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CHAPTER6

Since she’d forgotten to do it at the party the night before, shemeant tothankSam for themusic during their usual tumbling lesson after breakfast.Butseveraloftheotherassassinswerealsointhetraininghall,andshehadnodesiretoexplainthegifttoanyoftheoldermen.Theywouldundoubtedlytakeitthewrongway.Notthattheyparticularlycaredaboutwhatshewasupto; theydidtheirbest tostayoutofherway,andshedidn’tbothertoget toknowthem,either.Besides,herheadwasthrobbingthankstostayingupuntildawnanddrinkingall thatsparklingwine,soshecouldn’teventhinkoftherightwordsjustnow.She went through her training exercises until noon, impressing their

instructorwiththenewwaysshe’dlearnedtomovewhileshewasintheRedDesert.ShefeltSamwatchingherfromthematsafewfeetaway.Shetriednot to lookathisshirtlesschest,gleamingwithsweat,ashe tooka runningjump,nimblyflippingthroughtheairandlandingalmostsoundlesslyontheground.BytheWyrd,hewasfast.He’dcertainlyspentthesummertraining,too.“Milady,”theinstructorcoughed,andsheturnedtohim,givingaglarethat

warnedhimnottocomment.Sheslidintoabackbend,thenflippedoutofit,herlegssmoothlyrisingoverherheadandbacktothefloor.She landed in a kneel, and looked up to see Sam approaching. Stopping

before her, he gave the instructor a sharp jerk of his chin, and the stocky,compactmanfoundsomewhereelsetobe.“Hewas helpingme,”Celaena said.Hermuscles quivered as she stood.

She’dtrainedhardthismorning,despitehowlittlesleepshe’dgotten—whichhad nothing to dowith the fact that she hadn’twanted to spend amomentalonewithSaminthetraininghall.“He’s here every other day. I don’t think you’remissing anything vital,”

Samreplied.Shekepthergazeonhisface.She’dseenSamshirtlessbefore—she’d seen all of the assassins in various stages of undress thanks to theirtraining—butthisfeltdifferent.“So,”shesaid,“arewebreakingintoDoneval’shousetonight?”Shekept

hervoicedown.Shedidn’tparticularlylikesharinganythingwithherfellowassassins. Ben she’d once told everything to, but he was dead and buried.“Nowthatweknowthemeetingtime,weshouldgetintothatupstairsstudy

andgetasenseofwhatandhowmanydocumentstherearebeforehesharesthem with his partner.” Since the sun had finally decided to make anappearance,itmadedaytimestalkingnexttoimpossible.Hefrowned,runningahandthroughhishair.“Ican’t.Iwantto,butIcan’t.

Lysandra has a pre-Bidding rehearsal, and I’mon guard duty. I couldmeetyouafter,ifyouwanttowaitforme.”“No.I’llgomyself.Itshouldn’tbethathard.”Shestartedfromthetraining

room,andSamfollowedher,keepingclosetoherside.“It’sgoingtobedangerous.”“Sam, I freed twohundred slaves inSkull’sBayand tookdownRolfe. I

thinkIcanhandlethis.”TheyreachedthemainentrancewayoftheKeep.“And you did that withmy help.Why don’t I stop byDoneval’s after I

finishandseeifyouneedme?”Shepattedhisshoulder,hisbareskinstickywithsweat.“Dowhateveryou

want.ThoughIhaveafeelingI’llalreadybedonebythatpoint.ButI’lltellyouallabout it tomorrowmorning,”shecrooned,pausingat thefootof thegrandstaircase.Hegrabbedherhand.“Pleasebecareful.Justgetalookatthedocuments

andgo.We’vestillgottwodaysuntiltheexchange;ifit’stoodangerous,thenwecantrytomorrow.Don’tputyourselfatrisk.”ThedoorstotheKeepswungopenandSamdroppedherhandasLysandra

andClarissecamesweepingin.Lysandra’s facewas flushed,making her green eyes sparkle. “Oh,Sam,”

Lysandrasaid,rushingtowardhimwithoutstretchedhands.Celaenabristled.SamgraspedLysandra’sslenderfingerspolitely.Fromthewayshedrankhimin—especiallyhisshirtlesstorso—Celaenahadnotroublebelievingthattwodaysfromnow,assoonasherBiddingNightwasoverandshecouldbewithwhoevershewanted,she’dseekoutSam.Andwhowouldn’t?“AnotherluncheonwithArobynn?”Samasked,butLysandrawouldn’tlet

goofhishands.MadamClarissegaveCelaenaacurtnodasshebustledpast,headingstraightforArobynn’sstudy.ThebrothelmadamandtheKingoftheAssassinshadbeenfriendsforaslongasCelaenahadbeenhere,andClarissehadneversaidmorethanafewwordstoher.“Oh, no—we’re here for tea. Arobynn promised a silver tea service,”

Lysandra said, her words somehow feeling tossed in Celaena’s direction.“Youmustjoinus,Sam.”Ordinarily, Celaena would have bitten the girl’s head off for the insult.

LysandrawasstillgraspingSam’shands.Asifhesensedit,Samwriggledhisfingersaway.“I—”hestarted.

“You should go,” Celaena said. Lysandra looked between them. “I haveworktodo,anyway.Idon’tgettobethebestsimplybylyingonmybackallday.”A cheap shot, butLysandra’s eyes flashed.Celaena gave her a razor-sharpsmile.NotthatshehadwantedtokeeptalkingtoSam,orinvitehimtolistentoherpracticethemusiche’dgottenher,orspendanymoretimewithhimthanwasabsolutelynecessary.Heswallowed.“Havelunchwithme,Celaena.”Lysandra clicked her tongue and strode off muttering, “Why would you

wanttohavelunchwithher?”“I’mbusy,”Celaenasaid. Itwasn’ta lie;shedidstillhavetofinalizeher

plantobreakintothehousetofindoutmoreaboutDoneval’sdocuments.ShejerkedherchintowardLysandraandthesittingroombeyondher.“Goenjoyyourself.”Without wanting to seewhat he chose, she kept her eyes on themarble

floors,thetealdrapes,andthegildedceilingasshewalkedtoherroom.

ThewallsofDoneval’shousewereunguarded.Whereverhe’dgonetonight—fromthelookofhisclothes,probablytothetheateroraparty—he’dtakenseveral of his guards with him, though she hadn’t counted his hulkingbodyguardintheirranks.Perhapsthebodyguardhadthenightoff.Itstillleftseveralguardspatrollingthegrounds,nottomentionwhoeverwasinside.Whileshe loathed the thoughtofgettinghernewblacksuitwet,Celaena

wasgrateful for therain thathadstartedagainatsundown,even if itmeantforgoing her usualmask in order to keep her weather-limited senses open.Thankfully,theheavydownpouralsomeantthattheguardonthesideofthehouse didn’t even notice her slipping right past him.The second floorwasfairly high up, but the window was darkened, and the latch was easilyunlocked from the outside. She’d mapped the house already. If she wascorrect—andshewascertainshewas—thatwindowledrightintothesecond-floorstudy.Listeningcarefully,shewaiteduntil theguardwaslookingtheotherway,

and began to climb. Her new boots found their grip on the stone, and herfingershadnotroubleatallseekingoutcracks.Thesuitwasalittleheavierthanherusual tunic,butwith thebuilt-inblades in thegauntlets, shedidn’thave the additional encumbrance of a sword on her back or daggers at herwaist.Therewereeventwoknivesbuiltintoherboots.ThiswasonegiftfromArobynnthatshe’dgetalotofuseoutof.Butwhile the rain quieted and cloudedher, it alsomasked the sound of

anyone approaching. She kept her eyes and ears wide open, but no otherguardsroundedthecornerofthehouse.Theadditionalriskwasworthit.Nowthatsheknewwhat timethemeetingwouldtakeplace,shehadtwodaystogather as much specific information as she could about the documents,namelyhowmanypages therewereandwhereDonevalhid them. Ina fewmoments, shewas at the sill of the studywindow.The guard below didn’tevenlookupatthehousetoweringbehindhim.Top-notchguardsindeed.Oneglance inside showedadarkened room—adesk litteredwithpapers,

andnothingelse.Hewouldn’tbesofoolishastoleavethelistsoutinplainsight,but…Celaenahauledherselfontotheledge,andtheslenderknifefromherboot

gleamed dully as itwedged into the slight gap between thewindow doors.Twoangledjabs,aflickofherwrist,and—Sheeasedthewindowopen,prayingforsilenthinges.Oneofthemcreaked

quietly, but the other swung awaywithout a sound.She slid into the study,boots quiet on the ornate rug. Carefully, holding her breath, she eased thewindowsshutagain.Shesensedtheattackaheartbeatbeforeithappened.

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CHAPTER7

Celaenawhirledandducked,theotherknifefromherbootinstantlyinherhand, and the guardwent downwith a groan. She struck fast as an asp—amoveshe’dlearnedintheRedDesert.Assheyankedtheknifefromhisthigh,hotbloodpumpedontoherhand.Anotherguardswipedaswordather,butshemet itwithbothherknivesbeforekickinghimsquarelyin thestomach.He staggered back, yet not fast enough to escape the blow to his head thatknockedhimout.Anothermaneuver theMuteMaster had taught herwhileshe’d been studying how the desert animalsmoved. In the darkness of theroom,shefeltthereverberationsastheguard’sbodyslammedintothefloor.But therewere others, and she counted threemore—threemore grunting

and moaning as they crumpled around her—before someone grabbed herfrombehind.Therewasaviciousthumpagainstherhead,andsomethingwetandputridpressedtoherface,andthen—Oblivion.

Celaenaawoke,butshedidn’topenhereyes.Shekeptherbreathingsteady,evenassheinhaledthereekoffilthandthedamp,rottenairaroundher.Andshekeptherearsopen,evenassheheardthechuckleofmalevoicesandthegurgleofwater.Shekeptverystill,evenasshefelttheropesthatboundhertothechair,andthewaterthatwasalreadyuptohercalves.Shewasinthesewer.Splashes approached—heavy enough that the sewer water showered her

lap.“I think that’s enough sleeping,” said a deep voice. A powerful hand

slappedhercheek.Throughstingingeyes,shefoundthehatchet-hewnfaceofDoneval’sbodyguardsmilingather.“Hello,lovely.Thoughtwedidn’tnoticeyou spying on us for days, did you? You might be good, but you’re notinvisible.”Behind him, four guards loitered by an iron door—and beyond it was

anotherdoor, throughwhichshecouldseeasetofsteps that ledupward. Itmust be a door into the cellar of the house. Several of the older houses inRiftholdhadsuchdoors:escaperoutesduringwars,waystosneakinscandal-

worthyguests,ormerelyaneasywaytodepositthehousehold’swaste.Thedouble doors were to keep out the water—airtight, and made long ago byskilled craftsmen who had used magic to coat the thresholds with water-repellentspells.“Therearealotofroomstobreakintointhishouse,”thebodyguardsaid.

“Why’dyouchoosetheupstairsstudy?Andwhere’syourfriend?”Shegavehimacrookedgrin,all thewhile taking in thecavernoussewer

aroundher.Thewaterwas rising.Shedidn’twant to think aboutwhatwasfloatinginit.“Willthisbeaninterrogation,thentorture,thendeath?”sheaskedhim.“Or

amIgettingtheorderwrong?”Themangrinned rightbackather. “Smart-ass. I like it.”His accentwas

thick,butsheunderstoodhimwellenough.Hebracedhishandsoneitherarmof her chair.With her own arms bound behind her back, she only had thefreedomtomoveherface.“Whosentyou?”Herheartbeatwildly,buthersmiledidn’tfade.Withstandingtorturewasa

lessonshe’dlearnedlongago.“Whydoyouassumeanyonesentme?Can’tagirlbeindependent?”The wooden chair groaned under his weight as he leaned so close their

noseswerealmosttouching.Shetriednottoinhalehishotbreath.“Whyelsewouldalittlebitchlikeyoubreakintothishouse?Idon’tthinkyou’reafterjewelsorgold.”Shefelthernostrilsflare.Butshewouldn’tmakehermove—notuntilshe

knewshehadnochancetogleaninformationfromhim.“If you’re going to tortureme,” she drawled, “thenget it started. I don’t

particularlyenjoythesmelldownhere.”Themanpulledback,hisgrinunfaltering.“Oh,we’renotgoingtotorture

you.Doyouknowhowmany spies and thieves and assassinshave tried totake down Doneval?We’re beyond asking questions. If you don’t want totalk,thenfine.Don’ttalk.We’velearnedhowtodealwithyoufilth.”“Philip,” one of the guards said, pointingwith his sword down the dark

tunnelofthesewer.“We’vegottogo.”“Right,”Philipsaid,turningbacktoCelaena.“See,Ifigureifsomeonewas

foolishenoughtosendyouhere, thenyoumustbeexpendable.AndIdon’tthink anyonewill look for youwhen they flood the sewers, not even yourfriend.Infact,mostpeoplearestayingoff thestreetsrightnow.Youcapitaldwellersdon’tlikegettingyourfeetdirty,doyou?”Her heart pounded harder, but she didn’t break his gaze. “Too bad they

won’tgetallthetrash,”shesaid,battinghereyelashes.

“No,” he said, “but they’ll get you. Or at least, the river will get yourremains,iftheratshaveleftenough.”Philippattedhercheekhardenoughtosting.Asif thesewershadheardhim,arushofwaterbegansoundingfromthedarkness.Oh,no.No.Hesplashedbacktothelandingwheretheguardsstood.Shewatchedthem

strideoutthroughtheseconddoor,thenupthestairs,then—“Enjoy your swim,” Philip said, and slammed the iron door shut behind

him.

Darkness andwater. In themoments it took for her to adjust to the dimstreetlightleakinginthroughthegratehigh,highabove,watergushedagainstherlegs.Itwasuptoherlapinaninstant.Shecursedviolentlyandwriggledhardagainsttheropes.Butastheropes

cutintoherarms,sheremembered:thebuilt-inblades.Itwasatestamenttotheinventor’sskillthatPhiliphadn’tfoundthem,eventhoughhemusthavesearchedher.Yetthebindingswerealmosttootightforhertoreleasethem…She twisted herwrists, fighting for any shred of space to flick her hand.

Thewaterpooledaroundherwaist.Theymusthavebuiltthesewerdamattheotherendofthecity;itwouldtakeafewminutesbeforeitcompletelyfloodedthispart.The ropewouldn’t budge, but she flicked herwrist, doing as themaster

tinkererhadtoldher,againandagain.Then,atlast,thewhineandsplashofthebladeasitshotout.Paindanceddownthesideofherhand,andsheswore.She’dcutherselfonthedamnthing.Thankfully,itdidn’tfeeldeep.Immediately she started on the ropes, her arms achingwhile she twisted

themasfarasshecouldtoangleagainstthebindings.Theyshouldhaveusedironshackles.Therewasasuddenreleaseof tensionaroundhermiddle,andshealmost

fell face-first into theswirlingblackwateras theropegave.Twoheartbeatslater, the rest of the ropeswere off, though she cringed as she plunged herhandsintothefilthywatertocutherfeetfromthechairlegs.Whenshestood,thewaterwasatherthighs.Andcold.Icy,icycold.She

felt things sliding against her as she splashed for the landing, struggling tokeepupright in thefiercecurrent.Ratswerebeingsweptpastbythedozen,theirsquealsof terrorbarelyaudibleover theroarof thewater.Bythetimeshe reached the stone steps, the water was already pooling there, too. Shetriedtheironhandle.Itwaslocked.Shetriedtoplungeoneofherbladesin

alongsidethethreshold,butitbouncedback.Thedoorwassealedsotightlythatnothingwasgettingthrough.Shewastrapped.Celaena looked down the length of the sewer. Rain was still pouring in

from above, but the streetlights were bright enough that she could see thecurvedwalls.Therehadtobesomeladdertothestreet—therehadtobe.She couldn’t see any—not near her.And the grateswere so highup that

she’dhave towaituntil thesewer filledentirelybefore tryingher luck.Butthecurrentwassostrongthatshe’dprobablybesweptaway.“Think,”shewhispered.“Think,think.”Waterrosehigheronthelanding,lappingnowatherankles.She kept her breathing calm. Panicking would accomplish nothing.

“Think.”Shescannedthesewer.Theremightbealadder,butitwouldbefartherdown.Thatmeantbraving

thewater—andthedark.Onherleft, thewaterroseendlessly,rushinginfromtheotherhalfofthe

city.Shelookedtoherright.Eveniftherewasn’tagrate,shemightmakeittotheAvery.Itwasavery,verybig“might.”Butitwasbetterthanwaitingheretodie.Celaena sheathedherbladesandplunged into the smelly,oilywater.Her

throatclosedup,butshewilledherself tokeepfromvomiting.Shewasnotswimmingthroughtheentirecapital’srefuse.Shewasnotswimmingthroughrat-infestedwaters.Shewasnotgoingtodie.Thecurrentwasfasterthansheexpected,andshepulledagainstit.Grates

passed overhead, ever nearer, but still too distant. And then there, on theright!Midway up the wall, several feet above the water line, was a smalltunnelopening.Itwasmadeforasolitaryworker.Rainwaterleakedoutoverthelipofthetunnel—somewhere,ithadtoleadtothestreet.Sheswamhardforthewall,fightingtokeepthecurrentfromsweepingher

past the tunnel.Shehit thewall and clung to it, easingdown the side.Thetunnelwashighupenoughthatshehadtoreach,herfingersachingas theydugintothestone.Butshehadagrip,andeventhoughpainlancedthroughhernails,shehauledherselfintothenarrowpassage.Itwassosmallinsidethatshehadtolieflatonherbelly.Anditwasfullof

mud and the gods knew what else, but there—far ahead—was a shaft oflamplight. An upward tunnel that led to the street. Behind her, the sewercontinued flooding, the roaring waters near deafening. If she didn’t hurry,she’dbetrapped.

Withtheceilingsolow,shehadtokeepherheaddown,herfacenearlyinthe putridmud as she stretched out her arms andpulled. Inch by inch, shedraggedherselfthroughthetunnel,staringatthelightahead.Then thewater reached the levelof the tunnel.Withinmoments, it swept

pastherfeet,pastherlegs,thenherabdomen,andthenherface.Shecrawledfaster,notneeding light to tellhowbloodyherhandswere.Eachbitofgritinsidethecutswaslikefire.Go,she thought toherselfwitheachthrustandpullofher arms, eachkickofher feet.Go,go, go. Thewordwas the onlything that kept her from screaming.Because once she started screaming…thatwaswhenshe’dconcedetodeath.Thewater in the passagewas a few inches deep by the time she hit the

upward tunnel, and she nearly sobbed at the sight of the ladder. It wasprobably fifteen feet to the surface. Through the circular holes in the largegrateshespiedahoveringstreetlamp.Sheforgotthepaininherhandsassheclimbed the rusted ladder, willing it not to break. Water filled the tunnelbottom,swirlingwithdebris.Shewasquicklyat the top,andevenallowedherselfa little smileas she

pushedagainsttheroundgrate.Butitdidn’tbudge.Shebalancedherfeetonthericketyladderandpushedwithbothhands.It

stilldidn’tmove.Sheangledherbodyontheupperrungsothatherbackandshoulders braced against thegrate and threwherself into it.Nothing.Not agroan,notahintofmetalgivingway.Ithadtoberustedshut.Shepoundedagainstituntilshefeltsomethingcrackinherhand.Hervisionflashedwithpain, black-and-white sparks dancing, and she made sure the bone wasn’tbrokenbeforepoundingagain.Nothing.Nothing.The water was close now, its muddy froth so near that she could reach

downandtouchit.Shethrewherselfintothegrateonelasttime.Itdidn’tmove.If people were off the streets until the mandatory flooding was over…

Rainwaterpouredintohermouth,hereyes,hernose.Shebangedagainstthemetal,prayingforanyonetohearherovertheroaroftherain,foranyonetoseethemuddy,bloodiedfingersstrainingupwardfromanordinarycitygrate.Thewaterhitherboots.Sheshovedher fingers through thegrateholesandbeganscreaming.Shescreameduntilherlungsburned,screamedforhelp,foranyonetohear.

Andthen—“Celaena?”Itwasashout,anditwasclose,andCelaenasobbedwhensheheardSam’s

voice,nearlymuffledbytherainandroaringwatersbeneathher.Hesaidhe’dcomebyafterhelpingwithLysandra’sparty—hemusthavebeenonhiswaytoorfromDoneval’shouse.Shewriggledherfingersthroughthegratehole,poundingwithherotherhandagainstthegrate.“HERE!Inthesewer!”Shecould feel the rumbleof steps, and then…“Holygods.”Sam’s face

swam into view through the grate. “I’ve been looking for you for twentyminutes,”hesaid.“Holdon.”Hiscallusedfingerslatchedontotheholes.Shesawthemgowhitewithstrain,sawhisfaceturnred,then…Heswore.Thewaterhadreachedhercalves.“Getmethehelloutofhere.”“Shove with me,” he breathed, and as he pulled, she pushed. The grate

wouldn’t move. They tried again, and again. The water hit her knees. Bywhateverluck,thegratewasfarenoughawayfromDoneval’shousethattheguardscouldn’thearthem.“Getashighasyoucan,”hebarked.Shealreadywas,butshedidn’t say

anything. She caught the flash of a knife and heard the scrape of a bladeagainst thegrate.Hewas trying to loosen themetalbyusing thebladeasalever.“Pushontheotherside.”Shepushed.Darkwaterlappedatherthighs.Theknifesnappedintwo.Samsworeviolentlyandbeganyankingon thegratecoveragain.“Come

on,”hewhispered,moretohimselfthantoher.“Comeon.”Thewaterwas aroundherwaist now, andoverher chest amoment after

that. Rain continued streaming in through the grate, blinding her senses.“Sam,”shesaid.“I’mtrying!”“Sam,”sherepeated.“No,”hespat,hearinghertone.“No!”Hebeganscreamingforhelpthen.Celaenapressedherfacetooneofthe

holesinthegrate.Helpwasn’tgoingtocome—notfastenough.She’dnevergivenmuchthoughttohowshe’ddie,butdrowningsomehow

felt fitting. Itwas a river in her native country ofTerrasen that had almostclaimed her life nine years ago—and now it seemed thatwhatever bargainshe’dstruckwiththegodsthatnightwasfinallyover.Thewaterwouldhaveher,onewayoranother,nomatterhowlongittook.“Please,” Sam begged as he beat and yanked on the grate, then tried to

wedgeanotherdaggerunderthelid.“Pleasedon’t.”Sheknewhewasn’tspeakingtoher.Thewaterhitherneck.“Please,”Sammoaned,hisfingersnowtouchinghers.She’dhaveonelast

breath.Herlastwords.“Take my body home to Terrasen, Sam,” she whispered. And with a

gaspingbreath,shewentunder.

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CHAPTER8

“Breathe!”someonewasroaringastheypoundedonherchest.“Breathe!”And just like that, her body seized, and water rushed out of her. She

vomitedontothecobblestones,coughingsohardsheconvulsed.“Oh, gods,” Sam moaned. Through her streaming eyes, she found him

kneeling beside her, his head hung between his shoulders as he braced hispalmsonhisknees.Behindhim, twowomenwereexchangingrelieved,yetconfused,expressions.Oneofthemheldacrowbar.Besideherlaythegratecover,andaroundthemspilledwaterfromthesewer.Shevomitedagain.

She took three baths in a row and ate food only with the intention ofvomitingituptoclearoutanytraceofthevileliquidinsideher.Sheplungedher torn,achinghands intoavatofhard liquor,bitingdownherscreambutsavoring the disinfectant burning throughwhatever had been in that water.Oncethatprovedcalmingtoherrepulsion,sheorderedherbathtubfilledwiththesameliquorandsubmergedherselfinit,too.She’dneverfeelcleanagain.Evenafterherfourthbath—whichhadbeen

immediately after her liquor bath—she felt like grime coated every part ofher.Arobynnhadcooedandfussed,butshe’dorderedhimout.Sheorderedeveryone out. She’d take another two baths in the morning, she promisedherselfassheclimbedintobed.Therewasaknockonherdoor,andshealmostbarkedatthepersontogo

away, but Sam’s head popped in. The clock read past twelve, but his eyeswerestillalert.“You’reawake,”hesaid,slippinginsidewithoutsomuchasanodofpermission fromher.Not thatheneeded it.He’dsavedher life.Shewasinhiseternaldebt.On theway home, he’d told her that after Lysandra’s Bidding rehearsal,

he’dgonetoDoneval’shousetoseeifsheneededanyhelp.Butwhenhegotthere,thehousewasquiet—exceptfortheguardswhokeptsniggeringaboutsomethingthathadhappened.He’dbeensearchingthesurroundingstreetsforanysignofherwhenheheardherscreaming.Shelookedathimfromwhereshelayinbed.“Whatdoyouwant?”Notthe

mostgraciouswords tosomeonewhohadsavedher life.But,hell, shewassupposed tobebetter than him.Howcould she say shewas the bestwhenshe’dneededSamtorescueher?Thethoughtmadeherwanttohithim.Hejustsmiledslightly.“Iwantedtoseeifyouwerefinallydonewithall

thewashing.There’snohotwaterleft.”Shefrowned.“Don’texpectmetoapologizeforthat.”“DoIeverexpectyoutoapologizeforanything?”Inthecandlelight, thelovelypanesofhisfaceseemedvelvet-smoothand

inviting.“Youcouldhaveletmedie,”shemused.“I’msurprisedyouweren’tdancingwithgleeoverthegrate.”Heletoutalowlaughthattraveledalongherlimbs,warmingher.“Noone

deservesthatsortofdeath,Celaena.Notevenyou.Andbesides,Ithoughtwewerebeyondthat.”She swallowed hard, but was unable to break his gaze. “Thank you for

savingme.”His brows rose. She’d said it once on theirway back, but it had been a

quick, breathless string of words. This time, it was different. Though herfingersached—especiallyherbrokennails—shereachedforhishand.“And…AndI’msorry.”Shemadeherselflookathim,evenashisfeaturescrossedinto incredulity. “I’m sorry for involving you in what happened in Skull’sBay.AndforwhatArobynndidtoyoubecauseofit.”“Ah,” he said, as if he somehow understood some great puzzle. He

examinedtheirlinkedhands,andshequicklyletgo.The silencewas suddenly toocharged,his face toobeautiful in the light.

She lifted her chin and found him looking at the scar along her neck. Thenarrow ridge would fade—someday. “Her name was Ansel,” she said, herthroattightening.“Shewasmyfriend.”Samslowlysatonthebed.Andthenthewholestorycameout.Samonlyaskedquestionswhenheneededclarification.Theclockchimed

oneby the timeshefinished tellinghimabout thefinalarrowshe’dfiredatAnsel,andhow,evenwithherheartbreaking,she’dgivenherfriendanextraminute before releasing what would have been a killing shot. When shestoppedspeaking,Sam’seyeswerebrightwithsorrowandwonder.“So,thatwasmysummer,”shesaidwithashrug.“Agrandadventurefor

CelaenaSardothien,isn’tit?”Buthemerelyreachedoutandranhisfingersdownthescaronherneck,as

ifhecouldsomehowerasethewound.“I’msorry,”hesaid.Andsheknewhemeantit.“So am I,” shemurmured. She shifted, suddenly aware of how little her

nightgownconcealed.Asifhe’dnoticed,too,hishanddroppedfromherneckandheclearedhisthroat.“Well,”shesaid,“Isupposeourmissionjustgotalittlemorecomplicated.”“Oh?Andwhyisthat?”Sheshookofftheblushhistouchhadbroughttoherfaceandgavehima

slow,wickedsmile.Philiphadno ideawhohe’d tried todispatch,orof theworld of pain thatwas headed hisway.You didn’t try to drownAdarlan’sAssassin in a sewer and get away with it. Not in a thousand lifetimes.“Because,”shesaid,“mylistofpeopletokillisnowonepersonlonger.”

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CHAPTER9

Shesleptuntilnoon, took the twobathsshe’dpromisedherself,and thenwenttoArobynn’sstudy.Hewasnursingacupofteaassheopenedthedoor.“I’msurprisedtoseeyououtofthebathtub,”hesaid.TellingSamthestoryabouthermonthintheRedDeserthadremindedher

ofwhyshe’dwantedsobadly tocomehome this summer,andofwhat shehad accomplished. She had no reason now to tiptoe around Arobynn—notafterwhathe’ddone,andwhatshe’dbeenthrough.SoCelaenamerelysmiledattheKingoftheAssassinsassheheldopenthedoorfortheservantsoutside.Theycarriedinaheavytrunk.Thenanother.Andanother.“DoIdareask?”Arobynnmassagedhistemples.Theservantshurriedout,andCelaenashutthedoorbehindthem.Withouta

word,sheopenedthelidsofthetrunks.Goldshoneinthenoontimesun.SheturnedtoArobynn,clingingtothememoryofwhatithadfeltliketosit

ontheroofaftertheparty.Hisfacewasunreadable.“Ithinkthiscoversmydebt,”shesaid,forcingherselftosmile.“Andthen

some.”Arobynnremainedseated.She swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. Why had she thought this was a

goodidea?“Iwanttokeepworkingwithyou,”shesaidcarefully.He’dlookedather

like this before—on the night he’d beaten her. “But you don’t own meanymore.”Hissilvereyesflickedtothetrunks,thentoher.Inamomentofsilencethat

lastedforever,shestoodstillashetookherin.Thenhesmiled,abitruefully.“Canyoublamemeforhopingthatthisdaywouldnevercome?”She almost sagged with relief. “I mean it: I want to keep working with

you.”Sheknewinthatmomentthatshecouldn’ttellhimabouttheapartmentand

that she was moving out—not right now. Small steps. Today, the debt.Perhapsinafewweeks,shecouldmentionthatshewasleaving.Perhapshewouldn’tevencarethatshewasgettingherownhome.“AndI’llalwaysbehappytoworkwithyou”hesaid,butremainedseated.

He took a sip from his tea. “Do I want to know where that money came

from?”Shebecameawareofthescaronherneckasshesaid,“TheMuteMaster.

Paymentforsavinghislife.”Arobynn picked up the morning paper. “Well, allow me to extend my

congratulations.”Helookedatherover the topof thepaper.“You’renowafreewoman.”She tried not to smile. Perhaps shewasn’t free in the entire sense of the

word,butatleasthewouldn’tbeabletowieldthedebtagainstheranymore.Thatwouldsufficefornow.“GoodluckwithDonevaltomorrownight,”headded.“Letmeknowifyou

needanyhelp.”“Aslongasyoudon’tchargemeforit.”Hedidn’treturnhersmile,andsetdownthepaper.“Iwouldneverdothat

toyou.”Somethinglikehurtflickeredinhiseyes.Fightinghersuddendesiretoapologize,shelefthisstudywithoutanother

word.Thewalkbacktoherbedroomwaslong.She’dexpectedtocrowwithglee

whenshegavehimthemoney,expectedtostrutaroundtheKeep.Butseeingthewayhe’dlookedathermadeallthatgoldfeel…cheap.Agloriousstarttohernewfuture.

ThoughCelaenaneverwantedtosetfootinthevileseweragain,shefoundherselfbacktherethatafternoon.Therewasstillariverflowingthroughthetunnel, but the narrow walkway alongside it was dry, even with the rainshowerthatwasnowfallingonthestreetabovethem.Anhourbefore,Samhadjustshowedupatherbedroom,dressedandready

tospyonDoneval’shouse.Nowhecreptbehindher,sayingnothingastheyapproachedtheirondoorsherememberedalltoowell.Shesetdownhertorchbesidethedoorandranherhandsalongtheworn,rustysurface.“We’llhavetogetinthiswaytomorrow,”shesaid,hervoicebarelyaudible

above the gurgle of the sewer river. “The front of the house is too well-guardednow.”Samtracedafingerthroughthegroovebetweenthedoorandthethreshold.

“Asidefromfindingaway tohaulabatteringramdownhere, Idon’t thinkwe’regettingthrough.”Sheshothimadarklook.“Youcouldtryknocking.”Samlaughedunderhisbreath.“I’msuretheguardswouldappreciatethat.

Maybethey’dinvitemeinforanale,too.Thatis,aftertheyfinishedpumping

my gut full of arrows.” He patted the firm plane of his stomach. He waswearingthesuitArobynnhadforcedhimtobuy,andshetriednottolooktoocloselyathowwellitdisplayedhisform.“Sowe can’t get in this door,” shemurmured, sliding her hand along it

again.“Unlesswefigureoutwhentheservantsdumpthetrash.”“Unreliable,” he countered, still studying the door. “The servants might

emptythetrashwhenevertheyfeellikeit.”She swore and glanced about the sewer. What a horrible place to have

almost died. She certainly hoped that she’d run into Philip tomorrow. Thatarrogant asswouldn’t seewhatwas coming until shewas right in front ofhim.Hehadn’tevenrecognizedherfromthepartytheothernight.Shesmiledslowly.WhatbetterwaytogetbackatPhilipthantobreakin

throughtheverydoorhe’drevealedtoher?“Thenoneofuswilljusthavetositouthereforafewhours,”shewhispered,stillstaringatthedoor.“Withthelandingoutside thedoor, the servants need to take a few steps to reach thewater.”Celaena’ssmilegrew.“AndI’msurethatifthey’reluggingabunchoftrash,theyprobablywon’tthinktolookbehindthem.”Sam’s teeth flashed in the torchlight as he smiled. “And they’ll be

preoccupiedlongenoughforsomeonetoslipinandfindagoodhidingspotinthecellartowaitouttherestofthetimeuntilseventhirty.”“What a surprise they’ll have tomorrow,when they find their cellar door

unlocked.”“Ithinkthat’llbetheleastoftheirsurprisestomorrow.”Shepickeduphertorch.“Itcertainlywillbe.”Hefollowedherbackdown

thesewerwalkway.They’dfoundagrateinashadowyalley,farenoughawayfrom the house that no one would suspect them. Unfortunately, it meant alongwalkbackthroughthesewers.“IheardyoupaidoffArobynnthismorning,”hesaid,hiseyesonthedark

stonesbeneaththeirfeet.Hestillkepthisvoicesoft.“Howdoesitfeeltobefree?”Sheglancedathimsidelong.“NotthewayIthoughtitwould.”“I’msurprisedheacceptedthemoneywithoutafight.”Shedidn’tsayanything.Inthedimlight,Samtookaraggedbreath.“IthinkImightleave,”hewhispered.Shealmosttripped.“Leave?”Hewouldn’t look at her. “I’m going down to Eyllwe—to Banjali, to be

precise.”“For amission?” Itwas common forArobynn to send them all over the

continent,butthewaySamwasspeakingfelt…different.

“Forever,”hesaid.“Why?”Hervoicesoundedalittleshrillinherears.Hefacedher.“WhatdoIhavetotiemehere?Arobynnalreadymentioned

thatitmightbeusefultofirmlyestablishourselvesinthesouth,too.”“Arobynn—” she seethed, fighting to keep her voice to awhisper. “You

talkedtoArobynnaboutthis?”Samgaveherahalfshrug.“Casually.It’snotofficial.”“But—butBanjaliisathousandmilesaway.”“Yes, but Rifthold belongs to you and Arobynn. I’ll always be … an

alternative.”“I’d rather be an alternative in Rifthold than ruler of the assassins in

Banjali.”Shehatedthatshehadtokeephervoicesosoft.Shewasgoingtosplattersomeoneagainstawall.Shewasgoingtoripdownthesewerwithherbarehands.“I’mleavingattheendofthemonth,”hesaid,stillcalm.“That’stwoweeksaway!”“DoIhaveanyreasonwhyIshouldstayhere?”“Yes!” she exclaimed as loudly as she could while still maintaining a

hushedtone.“Yes,youdo.”Hedidn’treply.“Youcan’tgo.”“GivemeareasonwhyIshouldn’t.”“Becausewhatwasthepointinanythingifyoujustdisappearforever?”she

hissed,splayingherarms.“Thepointinwhat,Celaena?”Howcouldhebesocalmwhenshewasso

frantic?“ThepointinSkull’sBay,andthepointingettingmethatmusic,andthe

point in… the point in tellingArobynn that you’d forgive him if he neverhurtmeagain.”“Yousaidyoudidn’tcarewhatIthought.OrwhatIdid.OrifIdied,ifI’m

notmistaken.”“Ilied!AndyouknowIlied,youstupidbastard!”He laughed quietly. “Youwant to know how I spent this summer?” She

went still.He ran a hand throughhis brownhair. “I spent every single dayfightingtheurgetoslitArobynn’sthroat.AndheknewIwantedtokillhim.”I’llkillyou!SamhadscreamedatArobynn.“ThemomentIwokeupafterhebeatme,IrealizedIhadtoleave.Because

IwasgoingtokillhimifIdidn’t.ButIcouldn’t.”Hestudiedherface.“Notuntilyoucameback.NotuntilIknewyouwereallright—untilIsawthatyouweresafe.”Breathingbecamevery,veryhard.

“Heknewthat,too,”Samwenton.“Sohedecidedtoexploitit.Hedidn’trecommend me for missions. Instead, he made me help Lysandra andClarisse.Hemademeescortthemaroundthecityonpicnicsandtoparties.Itbecameagamebetween the twoofus—howmuchofhishorseshit I couldtakebeforeIsnapped.Butwebothknewhe’dalwayshavethewinninghand.He’d always have you. Still, I spent every day this summer hoping you’dcomebackinonepiece.Morethanthat—Ihopedyou’dcomebackandtakerevengeforwhathe’ddonetoyou.”Butshehadn’t.She’dcomebackandletArobynnshowerherwithgifts.“Andnowthatyou’refine,Celaena,nowthatyou’vepaidoffyourdebt,I

can’tstayinRifthold.Notafterallthethingshe’sdonetous.Sheknewitwasselfish,andhorrible,butshewhispered,“Pleasedon’tgo.”Heletoutanunevenbreath.“You’llbefinewithoutme.Youalwayshave

been.”Maybeonce,butnotnow.“HowcanIconvinceyoutostay?”“Youcan’t.”Shethrewdownthetorch.“Doyouwantmetobeg,isthatit?”“No—never.”“Thentellme—”“Whatmorecan I say?”heexploded,hiswhisper roughandharsh.“I’ve

alreadytoldyoueverything—I’vealreadytoldyouthatifIstayhere,ifIhavetolivewithArobynn,I’llsnaphisdamnedneck.”“Butwhy?Whycan’tyouletitgo?”Hegrabbedhershouldersandshookher.“BecauseIloveyou!”Hermouthfellopen.“Iloveyou,”herepeated,shakingheragain.“Ihaveforyears.Andhehurt

youandmademewatchbecausehe’salwaysknownhowIfelt,too.ButifIaskedyoutopick,you’dchooseArobynn,andI.Can’t.Take.It.”Theonlysoundsweretheirbreathing,anunevenbeatagainsttherushingof

thesewerriver.“You’readamnedidiot,”shebreathed.“You’reamoronandanassanda

damnedidiot.”Helookedlikeshehadhithim.Butshewenton,andgraspedbothsidesofhisface,“BecauseI’dpickyou.”Andthenshekissedhim.

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CHAPTER10

She’d never kissed anyone.And as her lipsmet his and hewrapped hisarmsaroundherwaist,pullinghercloseagainsthim,shehonestlyhadnoideawhy she’d waited so long. His mouth was warm and soft, his bodywondrously solid against hers, his hair silken as she threaded her fingersthroughit.Still,shelethimguideher,forcedherselftoremembertobreatheasheeasedherlipsapartwithhisown.When she felt the brush of his tongue against hers, she was so full of

lightningshethoughtshemightdiefromtherushofit.Shewantedmore.Shewantedallofhim.Shecouldn’tholdhimtightenough,kisshimfastenough.Agrowlrumbled

inthebackofhisthroat,sofullofneedshefeltitinhercore.Lowerthanthat,actually.Shepushedhimagainstthewall,andhishandsroamedalloverherback,

hersides,herhips.Shewantedtobaskinthefeeling—wantedtoripoffhersuitsoshecouldfeelhiscallusedhandsagainstherbareskin.Theintensityofthatdesiresweptheraway.She didn’t give a damn about the sewers. Or Doneval, or Philip, or

Arobynn.Sam’s lips left her mouth to travel along her neck. They grazed a spot

beneathherearandherbreathhitched.No,shedidn’tgiveadamnaboutanythingrightnow.

It was nighttime when they left the sewers, hair disheveled and mouthsswollen. Hewouldn’t let go of her hand during the longwalk back to theKeep, andwhen theygot there, she ordered the servants to senddinner forthemtoherroom.Thoughtheystayeduplongintothenight,doingaminimalamountoftalking,theirclothesremainedon.Enoughhadhappenedtodaytochangeherlife,andshewasinnoparticularmoodtoalteryetanothermajorthing.Butwhathadhappenedinthesewer…Celaenalayawakethatnight,longafterSamhadleftherroom,staringat

nothing.

Helovedher.Foryears.Andhe’denduredsomuchforhersake.For the life of her, she couldn’t understandwhy.She’d beennothing but

horrible to him, andhad repaid anykindness on his partwith a sneer.Andwhatshefeltforhim…Shehadn’tbeeninlovewithhimforyears.UntilSkull’sBay,shewouldn’t

havemindedkillinghim.Butnow…No,shecouldn’tthinkaboutthisnow.Andshecouldn’tthink

about it tomorrow, either. Because tomorrow, they’d infiltrate Doneval’shouse.Itwasstillrisky,butthepayoff…Shecouldn’tturndownthatmoney,not now that she would be supporting herself. And she wouldn’t let thebastard Doneval get away with his slave-trade agreement, or blackmailingthosewhodaredtostandagainstit.ShejustprayedSamwouldn’tgethurt.In thesilenceofherbedroom,shesworeanoath to themoonlight that if

Samwerehurt,noforceintheworldwouldholdherbackfromslaughteringeveryoneresponsible.

After lunch thenextafternoon,Celaenawaited in theshadowsbeside thesewerdoortothecellar.Awaysdownthetunnel,Samalsowaited,hisblacksuitmakinghimalmostinvisibleinthedarkness.Withthehouseholdlunchjustending,itwasagoodbetthatCelaenawould

soon have her best chance to slip inside. She’d been waiting for an houralready, each noisewhetting the edge she’d been riding since dawn. She’dhavetobequickandsilentandruthless.Onemistake,oneshout—orevenamissingservant—mightruineverything.Aservanthadtocomedownheretodepositthetrashatsomepointsoon.

Shepulleda littlepocketwatchoutofhersuit.Carefully,she litamatchtoglanceattheface.Twoo’clock.ShehadfivehoursuntilsheneededtocreepintoDoneval’sstudytoawait theseven-thirtymeeting.Andshewaswillingtobethewouldn’tenter thestudyuntil then;amanlike thatwouldwant togreethisguestatthedoor,toseethelookonhispartner’sfaceasheledhimthrough theopulent halls. Suddenly, sheheard the first, interior door to thesewers groan, and footsteps and grunts sounded. Her trained ear heard thenoisesofoneservant—female.Celaenablewoutthematch.Shepressedherselfintothewallasthelocktotheouterdoorsnappedopen,

andtheheavydoorslidagainsttheground.Shecouldhearnootherfootsteps,saveforthewomanwhohauledavatofgarbageontothelanding.Theservantwasalone.Thecellarabovewasempty,too.

The woman, too preoccupied with depositing the metal pail of garbage,didn’tthinktolooktotheshadowsbesidethedoor.Shedidn’tevenpauseasCelaenaslippedpasther.Celaenawasthroughbothdoors,upthestairs,andintothecellarbeforesheevenheardtheplopandsplatterofthetrashlandinginthewater.AsCelaena rushed toward thedarkest cornerof thevast, dimly lit cellar,

she took in as many details as she could. Countless barrels of wine andshelves crammed full of food and goods from across Erilea. One staircaseleadingup.Nootherservantstobeheard,saveforsomewhereaboveher.Thekitchen,probably.Theouterdoorslammedshut,thelocksounding.ButCelaenawasalready

crouchedbehindagiantkegofwine.Theinteriordooralsoshutandlocked.Celaena slid on the smooth blackmask she’d broughtwith her, tossing thehoodofhercloakoverherhair.Thesoundoffootstepsandlightpanting,andthentheservantreappearedatthetopofthesewerstairs,emptygarbagepailcreakingasitswungfromonehand.Shewalkedrightby,hummingtoherselfasshemountedthestairsthatledtowardthekitchen.Celaenaloosedabreathwhenthewoman’sfootstepsfaded,thengrinnedto

herself. IfPhiliphadbeensmart,hewouldhaveslither throat in thesewerthatnight.Perhapswhenshekilledhim,she’dlethimknowexactlyhowshegotintothehouse.When shewas absolutely certain that the servantwasn’t returningwith a

secondpailofgarbage,Celaenahurriedtowardthesmallsetofstepsthatleddowntothesewer.QuietasajackrabbitintheRedDesert,sheunlockedthefirst door, crept through, then unlocked the second. Samwouldn’t sneak inuntil right before the meeting—or else someone might come down anddiscoverhimpreparingthecellarforthefirethatwouldserveasadistraction.And if someone found the twounlockeddoorsbefore then, it could just beblamedontheservantwho’ddumpedthetrash.Celaena carefully shut both doors, making sure the locks remained

disabled, and then returned to her place in the shadows of the cellar’s vastwinecollection.Thenshewaited.

Atseven,she left thecellarbeforeSamcouldarrivewithhis torchesandoil.Theungodlyamountofalcoholstockedinsidewoulddotherest.Shejusthopedhemadeitoutbeforethefireblewthecellartobits.Sheneededtobeupstairsandhiddenbeforethathappened—andbeforethe

exchangewasmade.Once the fire started a fewminutes after seven thirty,someoftheguardswouldbecalleddownstairsimmediately,leavingDonevalandhispartnerwithfarfewermentoprotectthem.Theservantswereeatingtheireveningmeal,andfromthelaughterinside

the sub-level kitchen, none of them seemed aware of the deal that was tooccur three flights above them.Celaena crept past the kitchen door. In hersuit, cloak, andmask, shewasamere shadowon thepale stonewalls.Sheheldherbreaththeentirewayuptheservants’narrowspiralstaircase.Withhernewsuit,itwasfareasiertokeeptrackofherweapons,andshe

slid a longdagger out of the hidden flap in her boot. Shepeereddown thesecondfloorhallway.Thewoodendoorswereall shut.Noguards,no servants,nomembersof

Doneval’shousehold.Sheeasedafootonto thewoodenfloorboards.Wherethehellweretheguards?Swiftandquietasacat,shewasat thedoor toDoneval’sstudy.Nolight

shone from beneath the door. She saw no shadows of feet, and heard nosound.Thedoorwaslocked.Aminorinconvenience.Shesheathedherdaggerand

pulledouttwonarrowbitsofmetal,wedgingandjammingthemintothelockuntil—click.Thenshewasinside,doorlockedagain,andshestaredintotheinkyblack

oftheinterior.Frowning,Celaenafishedthepocketwatchoutofhersuit.Shelitamatch.Shestillhadenoughtimetolookaround.Celaena flicked out the match and rushed to the curtains, shutting them

tight against thenightoutside.Rain still plinked faintly against the coveredwindows.Shemovedtothemassiveoakdeskinthecenteroftheroomandlittheoillampatopit,dimmingituntilonlyafaintblueflamegaveoffaflickerof light. She shuffled through the papers on the desk. Newspapers, casualletters,receipts,thehouseholdexpenses…Sheopenedeverydrawerinthedesk.Moreofthesame.Wherewerethose

documents?Swallowingherviolentcurse,Celaenaputafisttohermouth.Sheturnedin

place. An armchair, an armoire, a hutch … She searched the hutch andarmoire,but theyhadnothing. Justemptypapersand ink.Herears strainedforanysoundofapproachingguards.She scanned the books on the bookcase, tapping her fingers across the

spines,tryingtohearifanywerehollowedout,tryingtohearif—Afloorboardcreakedbeneathher feet.Shewasdownonherknees inan

instant,rappingonthedark,polishedwood.Sheknockedallaroundthearea,untilshefoundahollowsound.Carefully, heart hammering, she dug her dagger between the floorboards

andwedgeditupward.Papersstaredbackather.Shepulled themout, replaced the floorboard,andwasbackat thedeska

momentlater,spreadingthepapersbeforeher.She’donlyglanceatthem,justtobesureshehadtherightdocuments…Her hands trembled as she flipped through the papers, one after another.

Mapswithredmarksinrandomplaces,chartswithnumbers,andnames—listafter list of names and locations. Cities, towns, forests, mountains, all inMelisande.Theseweren’t justMelisandersopposed to slavery—thesewere locations

for planned safe houses to smuggle slaves to freedom. This was enoughinformationtogetallthesepeopleexecutedorenslavedthemselves.AndDoneval, thatwretchedbastard,wasgoingtouse this information to

forcethosepeopletosupporttheslavetrade—orbeturnedovertotheking.Celaenagatheredupthedocuments.She’dneverletDonevalgetawaywith

this.Never.Shetookasteptowardthetrickfloorboard.Thensheheardthevoices.

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CHAPTER11

She had the lamp off and the curtains opened in a heartbeat, swearingsilentlyas she tucked thedocuments intoher suit andhid in thearmoire. ItwouldonlytakeafewmomentsbeforeDonevalandhispartnerfoundthatthedocumentsweremissing. But thatwas all she needed—she just had to getthem in here, away from the guards, long enough to take themboth down.Thefirewouldstartinthecellaranyminutenow,hopefullydistractingmanyof the other guards, and hopefully happening before Doneval noticed thepapersweregone.Sheleftthearmoiredooropenacrack,peeringout.Thestudydoorunlockedandthenswungopen.“Brandy?”Donevalwassayingtothecloakedandhoodedmanwhotrailed

inbehindhim.“No,” the man said, removing his hood. He was of average height and

plain,hisonlynotablefeatureshissun-kissedfaceandhighcheekbones.Whowashe?“Eagertogetitoverwith?”Donevalchuckled,buttherewasahitchtohis

voice.“Youcould say that,” theman repliedcoolly.He lookedabout the room,

andCelaenadidn’tdaremove—orbreathe—ashisblueeyespassedoverthearmoire.“Mypartnersknowtostartlookingformeinthirtyminutes.”“I’llhaveyououtinten.Ihavetobeatthetheatertonight,anyway.There’s

ayoungladyI’mparticularlykeentosee,”Donevalsaidwithabusinessman’scharm.“Itakeitthatyourassociatesarepreparedtoactquicklyandgivemearesponsebydawn?”“Theyare.But showmeyourdocuments first. Ineed to seewhatyou’re

offering.”“Of course, of course,”Doneval said, drinking from the glass of brandy

that he’d poured for himself. Celaena’s hands became slick and her faceturnedsweatyunderthemask.“Doyoulivehere,orareyouvisiting?”Whenthemandidn’trespond,Donevalsaidwithagrin,“Eitherway,Ihopeyou’vestoppedbyMadamClarisse’sestablishment.I’veneverseensuchfinegirlsinallmylife.”ThemangaveDonevaladistinctlydispleasedstare.HadCelaenanotbeen

heretokillthem,shemighthavelikedthestranger.

“Not one for chitchat?” Doneval teased, setting down the brandy andwalking toward the floorboard.Fromtheslight tremble inDoneval’shands,shecould tell thathis talkingwasallnervousbabble.Howhadsuchamancomeintocontactwithsuchincrediblydelicateandimportantinformation?Donevalkneltbeforetheloosefloorboardandpulleditup.Heswore.Celaena flicked the swordoutof thehiddencompartment inher suit and

moved.

Shewasoutoftheclosetbeforetheyevenlookedather,andDonevaldiedaheartbeatafter that.Hisbloodsprayedfromthespine-severingwoundshegavehimthroughthebackofhisneck,andtheothermanletoutashout.Shewhirledtowardhim,theswordflickingblood.Anexplosionrockedthehouse,sostrongthatshelostherfooting.WhatinhellhadSamdetonateddownthere?Thatwasall themanneeded—hewasout the studydoor.His speedwas

admirable;hemovedlikesomeoneusedtoalifetimeofrunning.Shewasthroughthethresholdalmost instantly.Smokewasalreadyrising

from the stairs. She turned left after the man, only to run into Philip, thebodyguard.Shereboundedawayasheswipedwithaswordforherface.Behindhim,

themanwas still running,andheglancedoverhis shoulderoncebeforehesprinteddownthestairs.“What have youdone?”Philip spat, noticing the blood on her blade.He

didn’tneed toseewhose facewasunder themask to identifyher—hemusthaverecognizedthesuit.Shedeployedtheswordinherotherarm,too.“Getthehelloutofmyway.”

The mask made her words low and gravely—the voice of a demon, not ayoungwoman.Sheslashedtheswordsinfrontofher,adeadlywhinecomingoffofthem.“I’mgoingtoripyoulimbfromlimb,”Philipgrowled.“Justtryit.”Philip’sfacetwistedinrageashelaunchedhimselfather.Shetookthefirstblowonherleftblade,herarmachingattheimpact,and

Philipbarelymovedawayfastenoughtoavoidherpunchingtherightbladestraightthroughhisgut.Hestruckagain,acleverthrusttowardherribs,butsheblockedhim.He pressed both her blades. Up close, she could see his weaponwas of

impressivequality.

“Iwantedtomakethis last,”Celaenahissed.“ButI thinkit’sgoingtobequick.Farcleanerthanthedeathyoutriedtogiveme.”Philip shoved her backwith a roar. “You haveno ideawhat you’ve just

done!”Sheswungherswordsinfrontofheragain.“IknowexactlywhatI’vejust

done.AndIknowexactlywhatI’mabouttodo.”Philip charged, but the hallway was too narrow and his blow too

undisciplined.Shegotpasthisguard instantly.Hisbloodsoakedherglovedhand.Herswordwhinedagainstboneasshewhippeditoutagain.Philip’s eyes went wide and he staggered back, clutching the slender

woundthatwentupthroughhisribsandintohisheart.“Fool,”hewhispered,slumpingtotheground.“DidLeighferhireyou?”Shedidn’tsayanythingashestruggledforbreath,bloodbubblingfromhis

lips.“Doneval …,” Philip rasped, “… loved his country…” He took a wet

breath,hateandgriefmingling inhiseyes.“Youdon’tknowanything.”Hewasdeadamomentlater.“Maybe,”shesaidasshelookeddownathisbody.“ButIknewenoughjust

then.”

It had taken less than two minutes—that was it. She knocked out twoguards as she catapulted down the stairs of the burning house and out thefrontdoor,disarminganotherthreewhenshevaultedovertheironfenceandintothestreetsofthecapital.Whereinhellhadthemangone?Therewereno alleys from thehouse to the river, sohehadn’t gone left.

Whichmeanthehadgoneeitherstraightthroughthealleyaheadofherortotheright.Hewouldn’thavegone to theright—thatwas themainavenueofthecity,wherethewealthylived.Shetookthealleystraightahead.She sprinted so fast she could hardly breathe, snapping her swords back

intotheirhiddencompartment.Noonenoticedher;mostpeopleweretoobusyrushingtowardtheflames

nowlickingtheskyaboveDoneval’shouse.WhathadhappenedtoSam?She spotted the man then, sprinting down an alley that led toward the

Avery.Shealmostmissedhim,becausehewasaround thecornerandgonethe next instant.He’dmentioned his partners—was hewas headed to themnow?Wouldhebethatfoolish?

Shesplashedthroughpuddlesandleaptovertrashandgrabbedthewallofabuildingasshehauledherselfaroundthecorner.Rightintoadeadend.The man was trying to scale the large brick wall at the other end. The

buildingssurroundingthemhadnodoors—andnowindowslowenoughforhimtoreach.Celaenapoppedoutbothofherswordsassheslowedtoastalkinggait.Themanmadeonelastleapforthetopofthewall,butcouldn’treach.He

fellhardagainstthecobblestonestreets.Sprawledontheground,hetwistedtowardher.His eyeswerebright ashepulledout apileofpapers fromhiswornjacket.WhatsortofdocumentshadhebeenbringingtoDoneval?Theirofficialbusinesscontract?“Gotohell,”hespat,andamatchflared.Thepaperswereinstantlyalight,

andhethrewthemtotheground.Sofastshecouldhardlyseeit,hegrabbedavialfromhispocketandswallowedthecontents.Shelungedtowardhim,butshewastoolate.Bythetimeshegrabbedhim,hewasdead.Evenwithhiseyesclosed,the

rage remainedon his face.Hewas gone. Irrevocably gone.But forwhat—somebusinessdealgonesour?Easinghimtotheground,shejumpedswiftlytoherfeet.Shestompedon

thepapers,extinguishingtheflameinseconds.Buthalfofthemhadalreadyburned,leavingonlyscraps.In themoonlight, she knelt on the damp cobblestones and picked up the

remnantsofthedocumentshe’dbeensowillingtodiefor.Itwasn’tmerelyatradeagreement.Likethepapersshehadinherpocket,

thesecontainednamesandnumbersand locationsof safehouses.But thesewereinAdarlan—evenstretchingasfarnorthastheborderwithTerrasen.She whipped her head to the body. It didn’t make any sense; why kill

himself to keep this information secret,when he’d planned to share itwithDonevalanduse it forhisownprofit?Heaviness rushed throughherveins.Youknownothing,Philiphadsaid.Somehow, it suddenly felt very true. How much had Arobynn known?

Philip’s words sounded in her ears again and again. It didn’t add up.Somethingwaswrong—somethingwasoff.Noonehadtoldherthesedocumentswouldbethisextensive,thisdamning

tothepeopletheylisted.Herhandsshaking,sheshiftedhisbodyintoasittingposition so he wouldn’t be face-first on the filthy ground. Why had hesacrificedhimselftokeepthisinformationsafe?Nobleornot,foolishornot,shecouldn’tletitgo.Shestraightenedhiscoat.Thenshepickeduphishalf-destroyeddocuments,litamatch,andletthem

burnuntiltheywerenothingbutashes.Itwastheonlythingshehadtooffer.

She foundSam slumped against thewall of another alley. She rushed tohimwherehekneltwithahandoverhischest,pantingheavily.“Areyouhurt?”shedemanded,scanningthealleyforanysignofguards.

Anorangeglowspreadbehindthem.ShehopedtheservantshadgottenoutofDoneval’shouseintime.“I’mfine,”Samrasped.Butinthemoonlight,shecouldseethegashonhis

arm.“Theguardsspottedmeinthecellarandshotatme.”Hegrabbedatthebreastofhissuit.“Oneofthemhitmerightintheheart.IthoughtIwasdead,butthearrowclatteredrightout.Itdidn’teventouchmyskin.”He peeled open the gash in the front of his suit, and a glimmer of

iridescencesparkled.“Spidersilk,”hemurmured,hiseyeswide.Celaenasmiledgrimlyandpulledoffthemaskfromherface.“Nowonder this damned suitwas so expensive,”Sam said, letting out a

breathylaugh.Shedidn’tfeeltheneedtotellhimthetruth.Hesearchedherface.“It’sdone,then?”Sheleaneddowntokisshim,aswiftbrushofhermouthagainsthis.“It’sdone,”shesaidontohislips.

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CHAPTER12

TheraincloudshadvanishedandthesunwasrisingwhenCelaenastrodeinto Arobynn’s study and stopped in front of his desk.Wesley, Arobynn’sbodyguard,didn’teventrytostopher.Hejustshutthestudydoorsbehindherbeforeresuminghissentrypositioninthehalloutside.“Doneval’s partner burned his own documents before I could see them,”

shesaidtoArobynnbywayofgreeting.“Andthenpoisonedhimself.”She’dslipped Doneval’s documents under his bedroom door last night, but haddecidedtowaittoexplaineverythingtohimuntilthatmorning.Arobynnlookedupfromhisledger.Hisfacewasblank.“Wasthatbefore

orafteryoutorchedDoneval’shouse?”Shecrossedherarms.“Doesitmakeadifference?”Arobynn looked at the window and the clear sky beyond. “I sent the

documentstoLeighferthismorning.Didyoulookthroughthem?”She snorted. “Of course I did. Right in between killing Doneval and

fightingmywayoutofhishouse,Ifoundthetimetositdownforacupofteaandreadthem.”Arobynnstillwasn’tsmiling.“I’veneverseenyouleavesuchamessinyourwake.”“AtleastpeoplewillthinkDonevaldiedinthefire.”Arobynnslammedhishandsontohisdesk.“Withoutanidentifiablebody,

howcananyonebesurehe’sdead?”Sherefusedtoflinch,refusedtobackdown.“He’sdead.”Arobynn’s silver eyes hardened. “Youwon’t be paid for this. I know for

certainLeighferwon’tpayyou.Shewantedabodyandbothdocuments.Youonlygavemeoneofthethree.”She felt her nostrils flare. “That’s fine. Bardingale’s allies are safe now,

anyway.Andthetradeagreementisn’thappening.”Shecouldn’tmentionthatshe hadn’t even seen a trade agreement document among the papers—notwithoutrevealingthatshe’dreadthedocuments.Arobynnletoutalowlaugh.“Youhaven’tfigureditoutyet,haveyou?”Celaena’sthroattightened.Arobynnleanedbackinhischair.“Honestly,Iexpectedmorefromyou.All

the years I spent training you, and you couldn’t piece together what was

happeningrightbeforeyoureyes.”“Justspititout,”shegrowled.“Therewasnotradeagreement,”Arobynnsaid,triumphlightinghissilver

eyes. “At least, not between Doneval and his source in Rifthold. The realmeetingsabout theslave-tradenegotiationshavebeengoingon in theglasscastle—between the king andLeighfer. Itwas a key point of persuasion inconvincinghimtoletthembuildtheirroad.”She kept her face blank, kept herself from flinching. The man who

poisonedhimself—hehadn’tbeentheretotradedocumentstosellout thoseopposedtoslavery.HeandDonevalhadbeenworkingto—Donevalloveshiscountry,Philiphadsaid.Donevalhadbeenworkingtosetupasystemofsafehousesandforman

allianceofpeopleagainst slaveryacross theempire.Doneval,badhabitsornot,hadbeenworkingtohelptheslaves.Andshe’dkilledhim.Worse than that, she’d given the documents over to Bardingale—who

didn’twanttostopslaveryatall.No,shewantedtoprofitfromitandusehernewroadtodoit.AndsheandArobynnhadconcoctedtheperfectlietogetCelaenatocooperate.Arobynnwasstillsmiling.“LeighferhasalreadyseentoitthatDoneval’s

documentsaresecured.Ifit’lleaseyourconscience,shesaidshewon’tgivethemtotheking—notyet.Notuntilshe’shadachancetospeaktothepeopleon this list and…persuade them to support her business endeavors.But iftheydon’t,perhapsthosedocumentswillfindtheirwayintotheglasscastleafterall.”Celaena fought to keep from trembling. “Is this punishment for Skull’s

Bay?”Arobynnstudiedher.“WhileImightregretbeatingyou,Celaena,youdid

ruinadealthatwouldhavebeenextremelyprofitableforus.”“Us,”likeshewas a part of this disgusting mess. “You might be free of me, but youshouldn’tforgetwhoIam.WhatI’mcapableof.”“AslongasIlive,”shesaid,“I’llneverforgetthat.”Sheturnedonherheel,

stridingforthedoor,butstopped.“Yesterday,”shesaid,“IsoldKasidatoLeighferBardingale.”She’dvisited

Bardingale’s estate in the morning of the day she was set to infiltrateDoneval’s house. The woman had been more than happy to purchase theAsterionhorse.Shehadn’toncementionedherformerhusband’simpendingdeath.And last night, after Celaena had killed Doneval, she’d spent a while

staring at the signature at the end of the transfer of ownership receipt, sostupidlyrelievedthatKasidawasgoingtoagoodwomanlikeBardingale.“And?”Arobynnasked.“WhyshouldIcareaboutyourhorse?”Celaenalookedathimlongandhard.Alwayspowergames,alwaysdeceit

andpain.“Themoneyisonitswaytoyourvaultatthebank.”Hesaidnothing.“Asofthismoment,Sam’sdebttoyouispaid,”shesaid,ashredofvictory

shining through her growing shame and misery. “From right now untilforever,he’safreeman.”Arobynnstaredback, thenshrugged.“Isupposethat’sagoodthing.”She

feltthefinalblowcoming,andsheknewsheshouldrun,butshestoodlikeanidiot and listened as he said, “Because I spent all themoney you gavemewhen I was at Lysandra’s Bidding last night.My vault feels a little emptybecauseofit.”Ittookamomentforthewordstosinkin.Themoneyshehadsacrificedsomuchtoget…He’dusedittowinLysandra’sBidding.“I’mmoving out,” shewhispered. He just watched her, his cruel, clever

mouthformingaslightsmile.“I’vepurchasedanapartment,andI’mmovingthere.Today.”Arobynn’ssmilegrew.“Docomebackandvisitussometime,Celaena.”Shehadtobiteherliptokeepitfromwobbling.“Whydidyoudoit?”Arobynnshruggedagain.“Whyshouldn’t IenjoyLysandraafterall these

yearsofinvestinginhercareer?AndwhydoyoucarewhatIdowithmyownmoney?Fromwhat I’veheard,youhaveSamnow.Bothofyouare freeofme.”Ofcoursehe’dfoundoutalready.Andofcoursehe’dtrytomakethisabout

her—trytomakeitherfault.Whyshowerherwithgiftsonlytodothis?WhydeceiveheraboutDonevalandthentortureherwithit?Whyhadhesavedherlifenineyearsagojusttotreatherthisway?He’d spent her money on a person he knew she hated. To belittle her.

Months ago, it would have worked; that sort of betrayal would havedevastatedher.Itstillhurt,butnow,withDonevalandPhilipandothersdeadbyherhand,withthosedocumentsnowinBardingale’spossession,andwithSam steadfastly at her side … Arobynn’s petty, vicious parting shot hadnarrowlymissedthemark.“Don’tcomelookingformeforagood,longwhile,”shesaid.“BecauseI

mightkillyouifIseeyoubeforethen,Arobynn.”Hewavedahandather.“Ilookforwardtothefight.”

She left.Asshestrode throughhis studydoors, shealmost slammed intothethreetallmenwhowerewalkingin.Theyalltookonelookatherfaceandthenmutteredapologies.Sheignoredthem,andignoredWesley’sdarkstareasshestrodepasthim.Arobynn’sbusinesswashisown.Shehadherownlifenow.Her boot heels clicked against the marble floor of the grand entrance.

Someoneyawnedfromacrossthespace,andCelaenafoundLysandraleaningagainstthebanisterofthestaircase.Shewaswearingawhitesilknightgownthatbarelycoveredhermoreprivateareas.“You’veprobablyalreadyheard,but Iwent fora recordprice,”Lysandra

purred,stretchingoutthebeautifullinesofherbody.“Thankyouforthat;restassuredthatyourgoldwentalong,longway.”Celaenafrozeandslowlyturned.Lysandrasmirkedather.Fastaslightning,Celaenahurledadagger.The blade imbedded itself into thewooden railing a hair’s breadth from

Lysandra’shead.Lysandrabeganscreaming,butCelaenajustwalkedoutofthefrontdoors,

acrossthelawnoftheKeep,andkeptwalkinguntilthecapitalswallowedherup.

Celaenasatontheedgeofherroof,lookingoutacrossthecity.TheconvoyfromMelisandehadalreadyleft,takingthelastoftheraincloudswiththem.SomeofthemworeblacktomournDoneval’sdeath.LeighferBardingalehadridden Kasida, prancing down the main avenue. Unlike those in mourningcolors,theladyhadbeendressedinsaffronyellow—andwassmilingbroadly.Ofcourse, itwas justbecausetheKingofAdarlanhadagreedtogivethemthe funds and resources to build their road.Celaena had half amind to goafterher—toget thosedocumentsbackandrepayBardingaleforherdeceit.AndtakebackKasidawhileshewasatit,too.Butshedidn’t.She’dbeenfooledandhadlost—badly.Shedidn’twantto

beapartofthistangledweb.NotwhenArobynnhadmadeitperfectlyclearthatshecouldneverwin.To distract her from that miserable thought, Celaena had then spent the

wholedaysendingservantsbetweentheKeepandherapartment,fetchingallthe clothes and books and jewelry that nowbelonged to her and her alone.Thelateafternoonlightshiftedintoadeepgold,settingallthegreenrooftopsglowing.“Ithoughtyoumightbeuphere,”Samsaid,stridingacrosstheflatroofto

whereshesatatopthewallthatlinedtheedge.Hesurveyedthecity.“Someview;Icanseewhyyoudecidedtomove.”Shesmiledslightly, turning to lookathimoverhershoulder.Hecameto

standbehindher,andreachedoutatentativehandtorunthroughherhair.Sheleaned into the touch. “I heard what he did—about both Doneval andLysandra,” Sam murmured. “I never imagined he’d sink that low—or useyourmoneylikethat.I’msorry.”“ItwaswhatIneeded.”Shewatchedthecityagain.“ItwaswhatIneeded

tomakemetellhimIwasmovingout.”Sam gave a nod of approval. “I’ve just sort of… leftmy belongings in

yourmainroom.Isthatallright?”Shenodded.“We’llfindspaceforitlater.”Samfellsilent.“So,we’refree,”hesaidatlast.Sheturnedfullytolookathim.Hisbrowneyeswerevivid.“Ialsoheardthatyoupaidoffmydebt,”hesaid,hisvoicestrained.“You—

yousoldyourAsterionhorsetodoit.”“Ihadnochoice.”Shepivoted fromher spoton the roofandstood.“I’d

neverleaveyoushackledtohimwhileIwalkedaway.”“Celaena.” He said her name like a caress, slipping a hand around her

waist.Hepressedhisforeheadagainsthers.“HowcanIeverrepayyou?”Sheclosedhereyes.“Youdon’thaveto.”He brushed his lips against hers. “I love you,” he breathed against her

mouth. “And from today onward, I want to never be separated from you.Whereveryougo,Igo.EvenifthatmeansgoingtoHellitself,whereveryouare,that’swhereIwanttobe.Forever.”Celaenaputherarmsaroundhisneckandkissedhimdeeply,givinghim

hersilentreply.Beyondthem,thesunsetover thecapital, turningtheworldintocrimson

lightandshadows.

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THEASSASSINANDTHEEMPIRE

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AFTER

Curledintothecornerofaprisonwagon,CelaenaSardothienwatchedthesplotches of shadows and light play on the wall. Trees—just beginning toshiftintotherichhuesofautumn—seemedtopeeratherthroughthesmall,barredwindow.Sherestedherheadagainst themustywoodenwall, listeningtothecreak

of the wagon, the clink of the shackles around her wrists and ankles, therumbling chatter and occasional laughter of the guards who had beenescortingthewagonalongitsroutefortwodaysnow.Butwhile shewas awareof it all, a deafening sort of silencehad settled

overher likea cloak. It shutout everything.Sheknewshewas thirsty, andhungry, and that her fingers were numbwith cold, but she couldn’t feel itkeenly.Thewagon hit a rut, jostling her so hard that her head knocked into the

wall.Eventhatpainfeltdistant.Thefrecklesoflightalongthepanelsdancedlikefallingsnow.Likeash.Ash from a world burned into nothing—lying in ruins around her. She

could taste the ash of that deadworld on her chapped lips, settling on herleadentongue.She preferred the silence. In the silence she couldn’t hear the worst

questionofall:hadshebroughtthisuponherself?Thewagonpassedunderaparticularly thickcanopyof trees,blottingout

the light. For a heartbeat, the silence peeled back long enough for thatquestiontowormitswayintoherskull,intoherskin,intoherbreathandherbones.Andinthedark,sheremembered.

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CHAPTER1

ElevenDaysEarlier

CelaenaSardothienhadbeenwaitingforthisnightforthepastyear.SittingonthewoodenwalkwaytuckedintothesideofthegildeddomeoftheRoyalTheater, she breathed in themusic rising from the orchestra far below.Herlegsdangledover therailingedge,andsheleanedforwardtoresthercheekonherfoldedarms.The musicians were seated in a semicircle on the stage. They filled the

theater with such wondrous noise that Celaena sometimes forgot how tobreathe. She had seen this symphonyperformed four times in the past fouryears—but she’d always gone with Arobynn. It had become their annualautumntradition.Though she knew she shouldn’t, she let her eyes drift to the private box

where,untillastmonth,she’dalwaysbeenseated.Was it from spite or sheer blindness thatArobynnHamel now sat there,

Lysandraathisside?HeknewwhatthisnightmeanttoCelaena—knewhowmuch she’d looked forward to it every year. And though Celaena hadn’twantedtogowithhim—andneverwantedanythingtodowithhimagain—tonighthe’dbroughtLysandra.Asifthisnightdidn’tmeananythingtohimatall.Evenfromtherafters,shecouldseetheKingoftheAssassinsholdingthe

hand of the young courtesan, his leg resting against the skirts of her rose-coloredgown.Amonth afterArobynnhadwon theBidding forLysandra’svirginity,itseemedthathewasstillmonopolizinghertime.Itwouldn’tbeasurpriseifhe’dworkedoutsomethingwithhermadamtokeepLysandrauntilhetiredofher.Celaenawasn’tsureifshepitiedLysandraforit.Celaena returned her attention to the stage. She didn’t know why she’d

comehere,orwhyshe’dtoldSamthatshehad“plans”andcouldn’tmeethimfordinnerattheirfavoritetavern.In the past month, she hadn’t seen or spoken to Arobynn, nor had she

wantedto.Butthiswasherfavoritesymphony,themusicsolovelythat,tofilltheyearlongwaitbetweenperformances,she’dmasteredafairportionofitonthepianoforte.

Thesymphony’s thirdmovement finished, andapplause thunderedacrosstheshimmeringarcofthedome.Theorchestrawaitedfortheclappingtodiedownbeforeitsweptintothejoyousallegrothatledtothefinale.Atleastintherafters,shedidn’thavetobotherdressingupandpretending

to fit inwith thebejeweledcrowdbelow.Shehadeasily snuck in from theroof,andnoonehadlookeduptoseetheblack-cladfigureseatedalongtherailing, nearly hidden from view by the crystal chandeliers that had beenraisedanddimmedfortheperformance.Uphere,shecoulddowhatsheliked.Shecouldrestherheadonherarms,

orswingherlegsintimewiththemusic,orgetupanddanceifshewantedto.Sowhat if she’dnever again sit in that belovedbox, so lovelywith its redvelvet seats andpolishedwoodenbanisters?Themusic braided through thetheater,andeachnotewasmorebrilliantthanthelast.She’dchosentoleaveArobynn.She’dpaidoffherdebttohim,andSam’s

debttohim,andhadmovedout.She’dwalkedawayfromherlifeasArobynnHamel’sprotégée.Thathadbeenherdecision—andoneshedidn’tregret,notafterArobynnhadsosorelybetrayedher.He’dhumiliatedandliedtoher,andusedherbloodmoneytowinLysandra’sBiddingjusttospiteher.Thoughshestill fanciedherselfAdarlan’sAssassin,partofherwondered

how long Arobynn would allow her to keep the title before he namedsomeoneelsehis successor.Butnoonecould truly replaceher.Whether ornotshebelongedtoArobynn,shewasstillthebest.She’dalwaysbethebest.Wouldn’tshe?She blinked, realizing she’d somehow stopped hearing the music. She

shouldchangespots—movetoaplacewherethechandeliersblockedoutherviewofArobynnandLysandra.She stood, her tailbone aching from sittingforsolongonthewood.Celaena took a step, the floorboards sagging under her black boots, but

paused.Thoughitwasasshe’drememberedit,everynoteflawless,themusicfelt disjointed now. Even though she could play it from memory, it wassuddenly likeshe’dneverheard itbefore,or likeher internalbeatwasnowsomehowofffromtherestoftheworld.Celaenaglancedagainatthefamiliarboxfarbelow—whereArobynnwas

nowdrapingalong,muscledarmalongthebackofLysandra’sseat.Heroldseat,theoneclosesttothestage.Itwasworthit,though.Shewasfree,andSamwasfree,andArobynn…

Hehaddonehisbesttohurther,tobreakher.Forgoingtheseluxurieswasacheappricetopayforalifewithouthimlordingoverher.The music worked itself into the frenzy of its climax, becoming a

whirlwind of sound that she found herself walking through—not toward anewseat,buttowardthesmalldoorthatledontotheroof.Themusicroared,eachnoteapulseofairagainstherskin.Celaenathrew

thehoodofhercloakoverherheadassheslippedoutthedoorandintothenightbeyond.

Itwas nearing elevenwhenCelaenaunlocked the door to her apartment,breathinginthealreadyfamiliarscentsofhome.She’dspentmuchofthepastmonth furnishing the spacious apartment—hidden on the upper floor of awarehouseintheslums—thatshenowsharedwithSam.He’d offered again and again to pay for half of the apartment, but each

time,sheignoredhim.Itwasn’tbecauseshedidn’twanthismoney—thoughshetrulydidn’t—butratherbecause,for thefirst timeever, thiswasaplacethatwashers.And thoughshecareddeeply forSam,shewanted tokeep itthatway.Sheslippedinside,takinginthegreatroomthatgreetedher:totheleft,a

shiningoakdiningtablelargeenoughtofiteightupholsteredchairsaroundit;toherright,aplushredcouch,twoarmchairs,andalow-lyingtablesetbeforethedarkenedfireplace.Thecoldfireplacetoldherenough.Samwasn’thome.Celaenamighthavegoneintotheadjacentkitchentodevourtheremaining

halfoftheberrytartSamhadn’tfinishedatlunch—mighthavekickedoffherbootsandreclinedbeforethefloor-to-ceilingwindowtotakeinthestunningnighttimeviewofthecapital.Shemighthavedoneanynumberofthingshadshenotspiedthenoteatopthesmalltablebesidethefrontdoor.I’vegoneout,itsaidinSam’shandwriting.Don’twaitup.Celaenacrumpledthenoteinherfist.Sheknewexactlywherehe’dgone—

andexactlywhyhedidn’twanthertowaitup.Becauseifshewereasleep,thenshemostlikelywouldn’tseethebloodand

bruisesonhimwhenhestaggeredin.Swearing viciously, Celaena threw the crumpled note on the ground and

stalkedoutoftheapartment,slammingthedoorshutbehindher.

IftherewasaplaceinRiftholdwherethescumofthecapitalcouldalwaysbefound,itwastheVaults.

Onarelativelyquietstreetoftheslums,Celaenaflashedhermoneytothethugsstandingoutside the irondoorandentered thepleasurehall.Theheatand reekhitheralmost immediately,but shedidn’t let it crackhermaskofcoldcalmasshedescendedintoawarrenofsubterraneanchambers.Shetookonelookdownat theteemingcrowdaroundthemainfightingpitandknewexactlywhowascausingthemtocheer.Sheswaggereddownthestonesteps,herhandsineasyreachoftheswords

anddaggerssheathedatthebeltslunglowoverherhips.MostpeoplewouldhaveoptedtowearevenmoreweaponstotheVaults—butCelaenahadbeenhereoftenenoughtoanticipatethethreatstheusualclienteleposed,andsheknewshecouldlookafterherself justfine.Still,shekeptherhoodoverherhead,concealingmostofherfaceinshadow.Beingayoungwomaninaplacelikethiswasn’twithoutitsobstacles—especiallywhenagoodnumberofmencameherefortheotherentertainmentofferedbytheVaults.As she reached the bottom of the narrow stairs, the reek of unwashed

bodies,staleale,andworse thingshitherfull-on. Itwasenoughto turnherstomach,andshewasgratefulthatshehadn’teatenanythingrecently.She slipped through the crowdpacked around themain pit, trying not to

look to the exposed rooms on either side—to the girls and women whoweren’tfortunateenoughtobesoldintoanupper-classbrothellikeLysandra.Sometimes,whenCelaenawas feeling particularly inclined tomake herselfmiserable,she’dwonderiftheirfatewouldhavebeenhershadArobynnnottakenherin.She’dwonderifshe’dgazeintotheireyesandseesomeversionofherselfstaringback.Soitwaseasiernottolook.Celaenapushedpastthemenandwomenassembledaroundthesunkenpit,

keepingalertforgraspinghandseagertopartherfromhermoney—oroneofherexquisiteblades.Sheleanedagainstawoodenpillarandstaredintothepit.Sammovedsofastthehulkingmaninfrontofhimdidn’tstandachance,

dodging each knock-out blow with power and grace—some of it natural,some learned from years of training at the Assassins’ Keep. Both of themwereshirtless,andSam’stonedchestgleamedwithsweatandblood.Nothisblood, she noticed—theonly injuries she could seewere his split lip and abruiseonhischeek.His opponent lunged, trying to tackle Sam to the sandy floor. But Sam

whirled,andasthegiantstumbledpast,Samdrovehisbarefootintohisback.Themanhit the sandwith a thud thatCelaena felt through the filthy stonefloor.Thecrowdcheered.

Sam could have rendered theman unconscious in a heartbeat. He couldhavesnappedhisneckjustnow,orendedthefightanynumberofways.Butfromthehalf-wild,self-satisfiedgleaminSam’seyes,Celaenaknewhewasplaying with his opponent. The injuries on his face had probably beenintentionalmistakes—tomakeitlooklikeasomewhatevenfight.Fighting in theVaultswasn’t only aboutknockingoutyouropponent—it

wasaboutmakingashowoutofit.Thecrowdnearsavagewithelation,Samprobablyhadbeengiving themonehellofaperformance.And, judgingbythe blood on Sam, it seemed like this performance was probably one ofseveralencores.Alowgrowlrippledthroughher.TherewasonlyoneruleintheVaults:no

weapons,justfists.Butyoucouldstillgethorriblyhurt.Hisopponentstaggeredtohisfeet,butSamhadfinishedwaiting.Thepoorbrutedidn’tevenhavetimetoraisehishandsasSamlashedout

witha roundhousekick.His foot slammed into theman’s facehardenoughfortheimpacttosoundovertheshoutsofthecrowd.Theopponentreeledsideways,bloodspurtingfromhismouth.Samstruck

again,apunchtothegut.Themandoubledover,onlytomeetSam’skneetohisnose.Hisheadsnappedskyward,andhestumbledback,back,back—Thecrowdscreamed its triumphasSam’s fist, coated inbloodand sand,

connectedwith theman’s exposed face. Even before he finished swinging,Celaenaknewitwasaknockoutpunch.Themanhitthesandanddidn’tmove.Panting,Samliftedhisbloodiedarmstothesurroundingcrowd.Celaena’searsnearlyshatteredattheansweringroar.Shegrittedherteeth

asthemasterofceremoniesstrodeontothesand,proclaimingSamthevictor.Itwasn’t fair, really.Nomatterwhat opponents they threw hisway, any

personthatwentupagainstSamwouldlose.CelaenahadhalfamindtohopintothepitandchallengeSamherself.ThatwouldbeaperformancetheVaultswouldneverforget.Shegrippedherarms.Shehadn’thadacontract inthemonthsinceshe’d

leftArobynn,andthoughsheandSamcontinuedtrainingasbesttheycould… Oh, the urge to jump into that pit and take them all down wasoverwhelming.Awicked smile spreadacrossher face. If they thoughtSamwasgood,thenshe’dreallygivethecrowdsomethingtoscreamfor.Sam spottedher leaning against thepillar.His triumphant grin remained,

butshesawaglimmerofdispleasureflashinhisbrowneyes.Sheinclinedherheadtowardtheexit.Thegesturetoldhimallheneededto

know: unless hewantedher to get into the pit with him, he was done for

tonight,andshe’dmeethimonthestreetwhenhehadcollectedhisearnings.Andthentherealfightwouldbegin.

“Should I be relieved or worried that you haven’t said anything?” Samaskedherastheystrodethroughthebackstreetsofthecapital,weavingtheirwayhome.Celaena dodged a puddle that could have been either rainwater or urine.

“I’vebeenthinkingofwaystobeginthatdon’tinvolvescreaming.”Samsnorted,andshegroundherteeth.Abagofcoinsjangledathiswaist.

Although thehoodofhiscloakwaspulledupoverhishead, shecouldstillclearlyseehissplitlip.Shefistedherhands.“Youpromisedyouwouldn’tgobackthere.”Samkepthiseyesonthenarrowalleyaheadofthem,alwaysalert,always

watchingforanysourceofdanger.“Ididn’tpromise.IsaidI’dthinkaboutit.”“PeopledieintheVaults!”Shesaiditlouderthanshemeantto,herwords

echoingoffthealleywalls.“People die because they’re fools in search of glory.They’re not trained

assassins.”“Accidentsstillhappen.Anyofthosemencouldhavesnuckinablade.”He let out a quick, harsh laugh, full of puremale arrogance. “You really

thinksolittleofmyabilities?”They turneddownanother street,whereagroupofpeoplewere smoking

pipes outside a dimly lit tavern. Celaena waited until they were past thembeforespeaking.“Riskingyourselfforafewcoinsisabsurd.”“Weneedwhatevermoneywecanget,”Samsaidquietly.Shetensed.“Wehavemoney.”Somemoney,lessandlesseachday.“It won’t last forever. Not when we haven’t been able to get any other

contracts.Andespeciallynotwithyourlifestyle.”“Mylifestyle!”shehissed.Butitwastrue.Shecouldroughit,butherheart

lay in luxury—in fine clothes and delicious food and exquisite furnishings.She’d taken forgrantedhowmuchof thathadbeenprovided forher at theAssassins’Keep.Arobynnmighthavekeptadetailedlistoftheexpensessheowedhim,but he’dnever charged them for their food, or their servants, ortheircarriages.Andnowthatshewasonherown…“TheVaultsareeasyfights,”Samsaid.“Twohoursthere,andIcanmake

decentmoney.”“TheVaults are a festeringpile of shit,” she snapped. “We’re better than

that.Wecanmakeourmoneyelsewhere.”Shedidn’t knowwhere, orhow,exactly,butshecouldfindsomethingbetterthanfightingintheVaults.Samgrabbedherarm,makingherstoptofacehim.“Thenwhatifweleft

Rifthold?”Thoughherownhoodcoveredmostofherfeatures,sheraisedherbrowsathim.“What’skeepingushere?”Nothing.Everything.Unabletoanswerhim,Celaenashookoffhisgraspandcontinuedwalking.Itwasanabsurdidea,really.LeavingRifthold.Wherewouldtheyevengo?Theyreachedthewarehouseandwerequicklyupthericketywoodenstairs

attheback,theninsidetheapartmentonthesecondfloor.She didn’t say anything to him as she tossed off her cloak and boots, lit

somecandles,andwentintothekitchentodownapieceofbreadslatheredinbutter. And he didn’t say anything as he strode into the bathing room andwashed himself. The running water was a luxury the previous owner hadspentafortuneon—andhadbeenthebiggestpriorityforCelaenawhenshewaslookingforplacestolive.Benefitslikerunningwaterwereplentifulinthecapital,butnotwidespread

elsewhere. If they left Rifthold,what sorts of thingswould she have to gowithout?She was still contemplating that when Sam padded into the kitchen, all

tracesofbloodandsandwashedaway.Hisbottomlipwasstillswollen,andhehadabruiseonhischeek,nottomentionhisrawknuckles,buthelookedtobeinonepiece.Samslidintooneofthechairsatthekitchentableandcuthimselfapiece

ofbread.Buyingfoodforthehousetookupmoretimethanshe’drealizeditwould, and she’d been debating hiring a housekeeper, but … that’d costmoney.Everythingcostmoney.Samtookabite,pouredaglassofwaterfromtheewershe’dleftsittingon

theoaktable,andleanedbackinhischair.Behindhim,thewindowabovethesink revealed the glittering sprawl of the capital and the illuminated glasscastletoweringoverthemall.“Areyoujustnotgoingtospeaktomeeveragain?”Sheshothimaglare.“Movingisexpensive.IfweweretoleaveRifthold,

thenwe’dneedalittlemoremoneysowecouldhavesomethingtofallbackon if we can’t get work right away.” Celaena contemplated it. “One morecontract each,” she said. “Imight not beArobynn’s protégée anymore, butI’mstillAdarlan’sAssassin,andyou’re…well,you’reyou.”Hegaveheradark look, and, despite herself, Celaena grinned. “Onemore contract,” sherepeated,“andwecouldmove.It’dhelpwiththeexpenses—giveusenough

ofacushion.”“Orwecouldsaytohellwithitandgo.”“I’mnotgivingupeverythingjusttoslumitsomewhere.Ifweleave,we’ll

doitmyway.”Sam crossed his arms. “You keep saying if—but what else is there to

decide?”Again:nothing.Everything.She took a long breath. “Howwill we establish ourselves in a new city

withoutArobynn’ssupport?”TriumphflashedinSam’seyes.Sheleashedherirritation.Shehadn’tsaid

outright that shewas agreeing tomove, but her questionwas confirmationenoughforbothofthem.Beforehecouldanswer,shewenton:“We’vegrownuphere,andyetinthe

pastmonth,wehaven’tbeenable togetanyhires.Arobynnalwayshandledthosethings.”“Intentionally,”Samgrowled. “Andwe’ddo just fine, I think.We’renot

going to need his support.When wemove, we’re leaving theGuild, too. Idon’twanttobepayingduesfortherestofmylife,andIdon’twantanythingtodowiththatconnivingbastardeveragain.”“Yes,butyouknowthatweneedhisblessing.Weneedtomake…amends.

And need him to agree to let us leave the Guild peacefully.” She almostchokedonit,butmanagedtogetthewordsout.Samshotoutofhisseat.“DoIneedtoremindyouwhathedidtous?What

he’sdonetoyou?Youknowthatthereasonwecan’tfindanyhiresisbecauseArobynnmadesurewordgotoutthatweweren’ttobeapproached.”“Exactly.Anditwillonlygetworse.TheAssassins’Guildwouldpunishus

forbeginningourownestablishmentelsewherewithoutArobynn’sapproval.”Whichwastrue.Whilethey’dpaidtheirdebtstoArobynn,theywerestill

membersoftheGuild,andstillobligatedtopaythemdueseveryyear.Everyassassin in theGuild answered toArobynn.Obeyedhim.Celaena andSamhadbothbeendispatchedmorethanoncetohuntdownGuildmemberswhohadgonerogue,refusedtopaytheirdues,orbrokensomesacredGuildrule.Thoseassassinshadtriedtohide,butithadonlybeenamatteroftimebeforethey’dbeenfound.Andtheconsequenceshadn’tbeenpleasant.CelaenaandSamhadbroughtArobynnandtheGuildalotofmoneyand

earned them a fair amount of notoriety, so their decisions and careers hadbeencloselymonitored.Evenwiththeirdebtspaid,they’dbeaskedtopayapartingfee,iftheywerelucky.Ifnot…well,it’dbeaverydangerousrequesttomake.

“So,”shewenton,“unlessyouwant towindupwithyour throatcut,weneedtogetArobynn’sapprovaltobreakfromtheGuildbeforeweleave.Andsince you seem in such a hurry to get out of the capital,we’ll go see himtomorrow.”Sampursedhislips.“I’mnotgoingtogrovel.Nottohim.”“NeitheramI.”Shestalkedtothekitchensink,bracingherhandsoneither

side of it as she looked out thewindow. Rifthold. Could she truly leave itbehind? Shemight hate it at times, but… thiswas her city. Leaving that,startingoverinanewcitysomewhereonthecontinent…Couldshedoit?Footstepsthuddedonthewoodenfloor,awarmbreathcaressedherneck,

andthenSam’sarmsslippedaroundherwaistfrombehind.Herestedhischinonthecrookbetweenhershoulderandneck.“I just want to bewith you,” hemurmured. “I don’t carewherewe go.

That’sallIwant.”She closed her eyes, and leaned her head against his.He smelled of her

lavender soap—herexpensive lavender soap that she’d oncewarned him toneveruseagain.Heprobablyhadnoideawhatsoapshe’devenbeenscoldinghim about. She’d have to start hiding her beloved toiletries and leave outsomething inexpensive forhim.Samwouldn’tbeable to tell thedifference,anyway.“I’m sorry I went to the Vaults,” he said onto her skin, planting a kiss

beneathherear.Ashiverwentdownherspine.Thoughthey’dbeensharingthebedroomfor

thepastmonth, theyhadn’tyetcrossed that final thresholdof intimacy.Shewantedto—andhecertainlywantedto—butsomuchhadchangedsoquickly.Something thatmonumental couldwait a while longer. It didn’t stop themfromenjoyingeachother,though.Samkissedherear,histeethgrazingherearlobe,andherheartstumbleda

beat.“Don’tusekissingtoswindlemeintoacceptingyourapology,”shegotout,

evenasshetiltedherheadtothesidetoallowhimbetteraccess.Hechuckled,hisbreathcaressingherneck.“Itwasworthashot.”“IfyougototheVaultsagain,”shesaidashenibbledonherear,“I’llhop

inandbeatyouunconsciousmyself.”She felthimsmileagainsther skin. “Youcould try.”Hebither ear—not

hardenoughtohurt,butenoughtotellherthathe’dnowstoppedlistening.Shewhirledinhisarms,glaringupathim,athisbeautifulfaceilluminated

by the glow of the city, at his eyes, so dark and rich. “And you used mylavendersoap.Don’teverdothat—”

But then Sam’s lips found hers, and Celaena stopped talking for a goodwhileafterthat.Yetas theystoodthere, theirbodies twiningaroundeachother, therewas

stillonequestionthatremainedunasked—onequestionneitherofthemdaredvoice.WouldArobynnHamelletthemleave?

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER2

WhenCelaenaandSamenteredtheAssassins’Keepthenextday,itwasasifnothinghadchanged.Thesametremblinghousekeepergreetedthematthedoorbeforescuttlingaway,andWesley,Arobynn’sbodyguard,wasstandinginhisfamiliarpositionoutsidetheKingoftheAssassins’study.Theystroderightuptothedoor,Celaenausingeverystep,everybreath,to

take in details. Two blades strapped toWesley’s back, one at his side, twodaggerssheathedathiswaist,theglintofoneshininginhisboot—probablyonemorehiddenintheotherboot,too.Wesley’seyeswerealert,keen—notasignofexhaustionorsicknessoranythingthatshecouldusetoheradvantageifitcametoafight.ButSamjuststrolledrightuptoWesley,anddespitehowquiethe’dbeen

ontheirlongwalkoverhere,heheldoutahandandsaid,“Goodtoseeyou,Wesley.”WesleyshookSam’shandandgaveahalfsmile.“I’dsayyoulookgood,

boyo,but thatbruisesaysotherwise.”Wesley lookedatCelaena,who liftedherchinandhuffed.“Youlookmoreorlessthesame,”hesaid,achallenginggleaminhiseyes.He’dneverlikedher—neverbotheredtobenice.Asifhe’dalwaysknown that sheandArobynnwouldwinduponopposite sides, andthathe’dbethefirstlineofdefense.She strode right past him. “And you still look like a jackass,” she said

sweetly, and opened the doors to the study. Sam muttered an apology asCelaenaenteredtheroomandfoundArobynnwaitingforthem.TheKingof theAssassinswatchedthemwithasmile,hishandssteepled

on the desk in front of him. Wesley shut the door behind Sam, and theysilentlytookseatsinthetwochairsbeforeArobynn’smassiveoakdesk.OneglanceatSam’sdrawnfacetoldherthathe,too,wasrememberingthe

lasttimethetwoofthemhadbeeninheretogether.ThatnighthadendedwithbothofthembeatenintounconsciousnessatArobynn’shands.Thathadbeenthe night that Sam’s loyalty had switched—when he’d threatened to killArobynnforhurtingher.Ithadbeenthenightthatchangedeverything.Arobynn’s smile grew, a practiced, elegant expression disguised as

benevolence.“AsoverjoyedasIamtoseeyouingoodhealth,”hesaid,“doIeven want to know what brings the two of you back home?”Home—this

wasn’t her home now, and Arobynn knew it. The word was just anotherweapon.Sambristled,butCelaenaleanedforward.They’dagreedthatshewoulddo

thetalking,sinceSamwasmorelikelytolosehistemperwhenArobynnwasinvolved.“We have a proposal for you,” she said, keeping perfectly still. Coming

face-to-face with Arobynn, after all his betrayals, made her stomach twist.Whenshe’dwalkedoutofthisofficeamonthago,she’dswornthatshe’dkillhim if he bothered her again. And Arobynn, surprisingly, had kept hisdistance.“Oh?”Arobynnleanedbackinhischair.“We’re leavingRifthold,” she said, her voice cool and calm. “Andwe’d

like to leave the Guild, too. Ideally, we’d establish our own business inanothercityonthecontinent.NothingthatwouldrivaltheGuild,”sheaddedsmoothly,“justaprivatebusinessforustomakeendsmeet.”Shemightneedhisapproval,butshedidn’thavetogrovel.ArobynnlookedfromCelaenatoSam.HissilvereyesnarrowedonSam’s

splitlip.“Lovers’quarrel?”“A misunderstanding,” Celaena said before Sam could snap a retort. Of

course Arobynn would refuse to immediately give them an answer. Samgrippedthewoodenarmsofhischair.“Ah,”Arobynnreplied,still smiling.Stillcalm,andgraceful,anddeadly.

“And where, exactly, are you living now? Somewhere nice, I hope. Itwouldn’tdotohavemybestassassinslivinginsqualor.”He’dmakethemplaythisgameofexchangingnicetiesuntilhewantedto

answer their question. Beside her, Sam was rigid in his seat. She couldpracticallyfeelthehotrageripplingoffofhimasArobynnsaidmyassassins.Anotherrazor-sharpuseofwords.Shebitdownonherownrisinganger.“Youlookwell,Arobynn,”shesaid.Ifhedidn’tanswerherquestions,then

she certainly wouldn’t answer his. Especially ones about their currentlocation,thoughheprobablyalreadyknew.Arobynn waved a hand, leaning back in his seat. “This Keep feels too

emptywithoutyouboth.”Hesaiditwithsuchconviction—asifthey’dleftjusttospitehim—thatshe

wonderedifhemeantit,ifhe’dsomehowforgottenwhathe’ddonetoherandhowhe’dtreatedSam.“Andnowthatyou’retalkingofmovingawayfromthecapitalandleaving

theGuild…”Arobynn’s facewasunreadable.Shekeptherbreathingeven,keptherheartbeatfromracing.Anonanswertoherquestion.

Shekepther chinhigh. “Then is it acceptable to theGuild ifwe leave?”Everywordbalancedontheedgeofablade.Arobynn’s eyes glittered. “You are free tomove away.”Move away.He

hadn’tsaidanythingaboutleavingtheGuild.Celaenaopenedhermouthtodemandaclearerstatement,butthen—“Giveusadamnedanswer.”Sam’s teethwerebared,his facewhitewith

anger.ArobynnlookedatSam,hissmilesodeadlythatCelaenafoughttheurgeto

reachforadagger.“Ijustdid.Youtwoarefreetodowhateveryouwant.”Shehadseconds,perhaps,beforeSamtrulyexploded—beforehe’dstarta

brawl that would ruin everything. Arobynn’s smile grew, and Sam’s handscasuallydropped tohis sides—his fingers so, sonear thehiltsofhis swordanddagger.Shit.“We’rewillingtoofferthismuchtoleavetheGuild,”Celaenainterrupted,

desperate for anything toget them fromcoming toblows.Gods above, shewasachingforafight,butnotthisone—notwithArobynn.Thankfully,bothArobynnandSam turned toheras shenamed thesum.“Thatprice ismorethansatisfactoryforustoleaveandsetupourownbusinesselsewhere.”Arobynn looked at her for a too-long moment before he made her a

counteroffer.Samshottohisfeet.“Areyouinsane?”Celaenawastoostunnedtomove.Thatmuchmoney…Hehadtoknow,

somehow,howmuchshehad left in thebank.Becausepayinghimwhatheasked would wipe it out entirely. The only money they’d have would beSam’s meager savings, and whatever she could get from the apartment—whichmightbehardtosell,givenitslocationandunusuallayout.Shecounteredhisofferwithanother,buthejustshookhisheadandstared

upatSam.“You twoaremybest,”Arobynnsaidwithmaddeningcalm.“Ifyouleave,thentherespectandthemoneyyou’dprovidetheGuildwouldbelost.Ihavetoaccountforthat.Thispriceisgenerous.”“Generous,”Samhissed.But Celaena, her stomach churning, lifted her chin. She could keep

throwing figures at him until shewas blue in the face, but he’d obviouslypickedthisnumberforareason.Hewouldnotbudge.Itwasonelastslapintheface—onefinaltwistoftheknifemeantonlytopunishher.“I accept,” she said, giving him a bland smile. Sam whipped his head

around,butshekepthereyesonArobynn’selegantface.“I’llhavethefundstransferredtoyouraccountimmediately.Andoncethat’sdone,we’releaving

—andIexpecttoneverbebotheredbyyouortheGuildagain.Understood?”Celaenarosetoherfeet.Shehadtogetfarawayfromhere.Comingback

hadbeen amistake.She shovedherhands inherpockets tohidehow theywerestartingtotremble.Arobynngrinnedather,andsherealizedhealreadyknew.“Understood.”

“Youhadno right toaccepthisoffer,”Samraged,his face setwith suchfury that people along the broad city avenue practically jumped out of hisway.“Norighttodothatwithoutconsultingme.Youdidn’tevenbargain!”Celaena peered into the shop windows as she walked by. She loved the

shoppingdistrict in theheart of the capital—the clean sidewalks linedwithtrees, the main avenue leading right up to the marble steps of the RoyalTheater,thewayshecouldfindanythingfromshoestoperfumestojewelrytofineweapons.“Ifwepaythat,thenwedefinitelyneedtofindacontractbeforeweleave!”Ifwepaythat.Shesaid,“Iampayingthat.”“Likehellyouare.”“It’smymoney,andIcandowhatIwantwithit.”“Youpaid foryourdebt andminealready—I’mnot lettingyougivehim

anothercopper.Wecanfindsomewayaroundpayingthispartingfee.”Theywalkedpastthecrowdedentranceofapopularteacourt,wherefinely

dressedwomenwerechattingwitheachotherinthewarmautumnsun.“Istheissuethathedemandedsomuchmoney,orthatI’mpayingit?”Sampulledupshort,andthoughhedidn’tlooktwiceattheteacourtladies,

they certainly looked at him. Even with anger rolling off him, Sam wasbeautiful.Andtooangrytonoticethatthiswasnotthespottoargue.Celaenagrabbedhisarm,yankinghimalong.Shefelttheeyesoftheladies

onherasshedidso.Shecouldn’thelpaflickerofsmugnessastheytookinher dark blue tunicwith its exquisite gold embroidery along the lapels andcuffs, her fitted ivory pants, and her knee-high brown boots, made withbutter-softleather.Whilemostwomen—especiallythewealthyornoble-bornones—opted to wear dresses and miserable corsets, pants and tunics werecommon enough that her fine clothing wouldn’t have escaped theappreciationofthewomenidlingoutsidetheteacourts.“The issue,” Sam said through his teeth, “is that I’m sick of playing his

games,andI’djustassooncuthisthroataspaythatmoney.”“Thenyou’reafool.IfweleaveRiftholdonbadterms,we’llneverbeable

tosettleanywhere—notifwewanttokeepourcurrentoccupation.Andevenifwedecided tofindhonestprofessions instead, I’dalwayswonder ifheortheGuildwould showuponeday anddemand thatmoney.So if I have togivehimevery lastcopper inmybankaccount toensure that Icansleep inpeacefortherestofmylife,sobeit.”They reached the enormous intersection at the heart of the shopping

district, where the domed Royal Theater rose above streets packed withhorsesandwagonsandpeople.“Wheredowedraw the line?”Samaskedher quietly. “Whendowe say

enough?”“Thisisthelasttime.”He let out a derisive snort. “I’m sure it is.” He turned down one of the

avenues—intheoppositedirectionfromhome.“Whereareyougoing?”He looked over his shoulder. “I need to clear my head. I’ll see you at

home.” She watched him cross the busy avenue, watched until he wasswallowedupbythehustleofthecapital.Celaenabeganwalking,too,whereverherfeettookher.Shepassedbythe

stepsoftheRoyalTheaterandkeptwalking,theshopsandvendorsblurringtogether.Thedaywasblossomingintoatrulylovelyexampleofautumn—theairwascrisp,butthesunwaswarm.Insomeways,Samwasright.Butshe’ddraggedhimintothismess—she’d

been the onewho had started things in Skull’s Bay. Though he claimed tohavebeeninlovewithherforyears,ifshe’donlykeptherdistancethesepastfewmonths,hewouldn’tbeinthissituation.Perhaps,ifshe’dbeensmart,shewouldhave justbrokenhisheartand lethimremainwithArobynn.Havinghimhateherwaseasierthanthis.Shewas…responsibleforhimnow.Andthatwasterrifying.Shecaredforhimmorethanshe’devercaredforanyone.Nowthatshe’d

ruined the career he’d worked for his whole life, she’d hand over all hermoney to make sure that he could at least be free. But she couldn’t justexplainthatshepaidforeverythingbecauseshefeltguilty.He’dresentthat.Celaenapausedherwalkingandfoundherselfattheotherendofthebroad

avenue,acrossthestreetfromthegatestotheglasscastle.Shehadn’trealizedshe’dwalked so far—or been so lost in her thoughts. She usually avoidedcomingthisclosetothecastle.Theheavilyguardedirongatesledtoalong,tree-linedpaththatsnakedup

totheinfamousbuildingitself.Shecranedherheadbacktotakeinthetowersthatbrushedthesky,theturretssparklinginthemidmorningsun.Ithadbeen

built atop the original stone castle, and was the crowning achievement inAdarlan’sempire.Shehatedit.Evenfromthestreet,shecouldseepeoplemillingaboutthedistantcastle

grounds—uniformed guards, ladies in voluminous dresses, servants clad intheclothesoftheirstation…Whatsortoflivesdidtheylead,dwellingwithintheshadowoftheking?Hereyesrosetothehighestgraystonetower,whereasmallbalconyjutted

out, covered with creeping ivy. It was so easy to imagine that the peoplewithinhadnothingtoworryabout.Butinsidethatshiningbuilding,decisionsweremadedailythatalteredthe

course of Erilea. Inside that building, it had been decreed that magic wasoutlawed, and that labor camps like Calaculla and Endovier were to beestablished. Inside that building, the murderer who called himself kingdwelled,themanshefearedaboveallothers.If theVaultsweretheheartofRifthold’sunderworld,thentheglasscastlewasthesoulofAdarlan’sempire.She felt like it watched her, a giant beast of glass and stone and iron.

Staringat itmadeherproblemswithSamandArobynnfeelinconsequential—likegnatsbuzzingbeforethegapingmawofacreaturepoisedtodevourtheworld.A chill wind blew past, ripping strands of hair from her braid. She

shouldn’thaveletherselfwalksoclose,eveniftheoddsofeverencounteringthe king were next to none. Just the thought of him sent a wretched fearsplinteringthroughher.Heronlyconsolationwas thatmostpeople fromthekingdomsconquered

by the king probably felt the sameway.When he’dmarched into Terrasennineyearsago,hisinvasionhadbeenswiftandbrutal—sobrutalthatitmadeevenCelaenasicktorecallsomeoftheatrocitiesthathadbeencommittedtosecurehisrule.Shuddering,sheturnedonherheelandheadedhome.

Samdidn’treturnuntildinner.Celaenawas sprawledon the couchbefore the roaring fireplace, book in

hand,whenSamstrodeintotheapartment.Hishoodstillcoveredhalfofhisface,andthehiltoftheswordstrappedtohisbackglintedintheorangelightoftheroom.Ashelockedthedoorbehindhim,shecaughtthedullgleamofthe gauntlets strapped to his forearms—thick, embroidered leather that

concealed hidden daggers. He moved with such precise efficiency andcontrolledpowerthatsheblinked.Sometimesitwassoeasytoforgetthattheyoungmanshesharedtheapartmentwithwasalsoatrained,ruthlesskiller.“Ifoundaclient.”Hepulledoffhishoodandleanedagainstthedoor,his

armscrossedoverhisbroadchest.Celaenashutthebookshe’dbeengobblingdownandset itonthecouch.

“Oh?”Hisbrowneyeswerebright,thoughhisfacewasunreadable.“They’llpay.

A lot. And theywant to keep it from reaching theAssassins’Guild’s ears.There’sevenacontractinitforyou.”“Who’stheclient?”“I don’t know. The man I spoke to had the usual disguises—hood,

unremarkable clothing. He could have been acting on behalf of someoneelse.”“WhydotheywanttoavoidusingtheGuild?”Shemovedtoperchonthe

armofthecouch.ThedistancebetweenherandSamfelttoolarge,toofulloflightning.“Because they want me to kill Ioan Jayne and his second-in-command,

RourkeFarran.”Celaenastaredathim.“IoanJayne.”ThebiggestCrimeLordinRifthold.Samnodded.Aroaringfilledherears.“He’stoowell-guarded,”shesaid.“AndFarran…

Thatmanisapsychopath.He’sasadist.”Samapproachedher. “You said that inorder tomove to another city,we

need money. And since you’re insisting on paying off the Guild, then wereallyneedmoney.Sounlessyouwant towindupas thieves, I suggestwetakeit.”Shehadtotiltherheadbacktolookathim.“Jayneisdangerous.”“Then it’s good thatwe’re thebest, isn’t it?”Thoughhegaveher a lazy

smile,shecouldseethetensioninhisshoulders.“Weshouldfindanothercontract.There’sboundtobesomeoneelse.”“Youdon’tknowthat.Andnooneelsewouldpaythismuch.”Henamed

thefigure,andCelaena’sbrowsrose.They’dbeverycomfortableafter that.Theycouldliveanywhere.“You’resureyoudon’tknowwhotheclientis?”“Areyoulookingforexcusestosayno?”“I’mtryingtomakesurethatwe’resafe,”shesnapped.“Doyouknowhow

many people have tried to take out Jayne and Farran? Do you know howmanyofthemarestillalive?”

Samranahandthroughhishair.“Doyouwanttobewithme?”“What?”“Doyouwanttobewithme?”“Yes.”Rightnow,thatwasallshewanted.Ahalfsmiletuggedatonecornerofhislips.“Thenwe’lldothis,andwe’ll

haveenoughmoneytotieupourlooseendsinRiftholdandsetourselvesupsomewhereelseonthecontinent.Ifyouasked,I’dstillleavetonightwithoutgivingArobynnortheGuildacopper,butyou’reright:Idon’twanttospendtherestofourliveslookingoverourshoulders.Itshouldbeacleanbreak.Iwant thatforus.”Her throat tightened,andshelookedtowardthefire.Samhookedafingerunderherchinandtiltedherheaduptohimagain.“SowillyougoafterJayneandFarranwithme?”Hewassobeautiful—sofullofallthethingsthatshewanted,allthatshe

hopedfor.Howhadshenevernoticedthatuntilthisyear?Howhadshespentsolonghatinghim?“I’ll think about it,” she rasped. It wasn’t just bravado. She did need to

thinkaboutit.EspeciallyiftheirtargetswereJayneandFarran.Sam’ssmilegrewandheleaneddowntobrushakisstohertemple.“Better

thanano.”Theirbreathmingled.“I’msorryforwhatIsaidearliertoday.”“AnapologyfromCelaenaSardothien?”Hiseyesdancedwithlight.“DoI

dream?”Shescowled,butSamkissedher.Shewrappedherarmsaroundhisneck,

openinghermouthtohis,andalowgrowlescapedfromhimastheirtonguesmet.Herhandstangledinthestrapthatheldhisswordagainsthisback,andshewithdrewlongenoughtounclaspthescabbardbuckleacrosshischest.His sword clattered to thewooden floorbehind them.Sam lookedher in

theeyesagain,and itwasenough forher tograbhimcloser.Hekissedherthoroughly,lazily,asifhehadalifetimeofkissestolookforwardto.Shelikedthat.Alot.Heslidonearmaroundherbackandtheotherbeneathherknees,sweeping

her up in a fluid, graceful movement. Though she’d never tell him, shepracticallyswooned.Hecarriedher from the living roomand into thebedroom,gentlysetting

herdownon thebed.Hewithdrewonly longenough to remove thedeadlygauntlets from his wrists, followed by his boots, cloak, jerkin, and shirtbeneath.Shetookinhisgoldenskinandmuscledchest,theslenderscarsthatpepperedhistorso,herheartbeatingsofastshecouldhardlybreathe.Hewashers.Thismagnificent,powerfulcreaturewashers.

Sam’s mouth found hers again, and he eased her farther onto the bed.Down,down,hiscleverhandsexploringevery inchofheruntil shewasonherbackandhebracedhimselfonhisforearmstohoveroverher.Hekissedherneck,andshearchedupintohimasheranhishanddowntheplaneofhertorso,unbuttoningher tunic ashewent.Shedidn’twant toknowwherehehadlearnedtodothesethings.Becauseifsheeverlearnedthenamesofthosegirls…Herbreathhitchedashereachedthe lastbuttonandpulledheroutof the

jacket. He looked down at her body, his breathing ragged. They had gonefurther than this before, but there was a question in his eyes—a questionwrittenovereveryinchofhisbody.“Nottonight,”shewhispered,hercheeksflaringwithheat.“Notyet.”“I’m in no rush,” he said, bending down to graze his nose along her

shoulder.“It’sjust…”Godsabove,sheshouldstoptalking.Shedidn’towehiman

explanation,andhedidn’tpush itwithher,but…“If I’monlygoing todothisonce,thenIwanttoenjoyeverystep.”Heunderstoodwhatshemeantbythis—this relationship between them, this bond that was forming, sounbreakable and unyielding that it made the entire axis of her world shifttowardhim.Thatterrifiedhermorethananything.“Icanwait,”hesaidthickly,kissinghercollarbone.“Wehaveallthetime

intheworld.”Maybehewasright.AndspendingallthetimeintheworldwithSam…Thatwasatreasureworthpayinganythingfor.

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CHAPTER3

Dawncreptintotheirroom,fillingitwithgoldenlightthatcaughtinSam’shairandmadeitshinelikebronze.Proppedononeelbow,Celaenawatchedhimsleep.His bare torso was still gloriously tanned from the summer—suggesting

daysspenttraininginoneofthecourtyardsoftheKeep,ormaybeloungingonthebanksoftheAvery.Scarsofvaryinglengthswerescatteredacrosshisbackand shoulders—someof themslender andeven, someof them thickerandjagged.Alifespent trainingandbattling…Hisbodywasamapofhisadventures,orproofofwhatgrowingupwithArobynnHamelwaslike.She ran a finger down the groove of his spine. She didn’t want to see

another scar added to his flesh. She didn’t want this life for him. He wasbetterthanthat.Deservedbetter.Whentheymoved,maybetheycouldn’tleavebehinddeathandkillingand

allthatcamewithit—notatfirst,butsomeday,farinthefuture,perhaps…Shebrushed thehair fromhis eyes.Someday, theywouldboth laydown

theirswordsanddaggersandarrows.AndbyleavingRifthold,byleavingtheGuild, they’d take the first step toward that day, even if they had to keepworkingasassassinsforafewmoreyearsatleast.Sam’s eyes opened, and, finding herwatching him, he gave her a sleepy

smile.Ithitherlikeapunchtothegut.Yes—forhim,shecouldsomedaygiveup

beingAdarlan’sAssassin,giveupthenotorietyandfortune.Hepulledherdown,wrappinganarmaroundherbarewaistand tucking

herinclosetohim.Hisnosegrazedherneck,andhebreathedherindeeply.“Let’stakedownJayneandFarran,”shesaidsoftly.Sampurredaresponseontoherskinthattoldherhewasonlyhalfawake—

andthathismindwasonanythingbutJayneandFarran.Shedughernailsintohisback,andhegruntedhisannoyance,butmadeno

movetoawaken.“We’lleliminateFarranfirst—toweakenthechainofcommand.It’dbetoo

riskytotakethembothoutatonce—toomanythingscouldgowrong.Butifwe take out Farran first, even if it means Jayne’s guards will be on alert,they’llstillbeintotalchaos.Andthat’swhenwe’lldispatchJayne.”Itwasa

solidplan.Shelikedthisplan.TheymerelyneededafewdaystofigureoutFarran’sdefensesandhowtogetaroundthem.Sammumbledanotherresponsethatsoundedlikeanythingyouwant,just

gobacktosleep.Celaenalookedupattheceilingandsmiled.

Afterbreakfast,andaftershe’dgonetothebanktotransferahugesumofmoneytoArobynn’saccount(aneventthatleftbothCelaenaandSamrathermiserable and on edge), they spent the day gathering information on IoanJayne.AsthebiggestCrimeLordinRifthold,Jaynewaswell-protected,andhisminionswereeverywhere:orphanspiesinthestreets,harlotsworkingintheVaults,barkeepsandmerchantsandevensomecityguards.Everyoneknewwherehishousewas:asprawlingthree-storybuildingof

white stoneononeof thenicest streets inRifthold.Theplacewas sowell-watched that itwas too risky to domore thanwalk past. Even stopping toobserve for a fewminutesmight spark the interest of one of the disguisedhenchmenloiteringonthestreet.It seemed absurd that Jayne would have his house on this street. His

neighborswerewell-offmerchants andminor nobility.Did they knowwholivednextdoorandwhatsortofevilwentonbeneaththeemerald-tiledroof?Theyhadastrokeofgoodluckastheymeanderedpastthehouse,looking

for all theworld like awell-dressed, handsome couple on amorningwalkthrough the capital. Just as they were passing by, Farran, Jayne’s Second,swaggeredoutthedoor,headingfortheblackcarriageparkedoutfront.CelaenafeltSam’sarmtenseunderherhand.Hekept lookingahead,not

daringtostareatFarranfortoolongincasesomeonenoticed.ButCelaena,pretendingthatshe’ddiscoveredapullinherforest-greentunic,wasabletoglanceoverafewtimes.She’d heard about Farran. Most everyone had. If she had a rival for

notoriety,itwashim.Tall,broad-shouldered,andinhislatetwenties,Farranhadbeenbornand

abandonedinthestreetsofRifthold.He’dbegunworkingforJayneasoneofhis orphan spies, and over the years had clawed his way up the ranks ofJayne’s twisted court, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake until he wasappointed Second. Looking at him now,with his fine gray clothes and hisgleamingblackhairslickedintosubmission,itwasimpossibletotellthathe’doncebeenoneoftheviciouslittlebeaststhatroamedtheslumsinferalpacks.

Ashewalkeddownthestairstothecarriagethatawaitedhimintheprivatedrive,Farran’sstepsweresmooth,calculated—hisbodyripplingwithbarelyrestrainedpower.Evenfromacrossthestreet,Celaenacouldseehowhisdarkeyesshone,hispalefacesetinasmilethatmadeashivergodownherspine.ThebodiesFarranhadleft inhiswake,sheknew,hadn’tbeenleft inone

piece. Somewhere in the years he’d spent rising from orphan to Second,Farranhaddevelopedatasteforsadistictorture.IthadearnedhimhisspotatJayne’sside—andkepthisrivalsfromchallenginghim.Farranslunghimselfintothecarriage.Themovementwassoeasythathis

well-tailoredclothesbarelyshiftedoutofplace.Thecarriagestarteddownthedriveway,turnedontothestreet,andCelaenalookedupasitambledpast.OnlytoseeFarranlookingoutthewindow—staringrightather.Sam pretended not to notice. Celaena kept her face utterly blank—the

disinterestofawell-bredladywhohadnoideathatthepersonstaringatherlikeacatwatchingamousewasactuallyoneofthemosttwistedmenintheempire.Farrangaveherasmile.Therewasnothinghumaninit.Andthatwaswhytheirclienthadofferedakingdom’sransomforFarran’s

andJayne’sdeaths.Shebobbedherheadinademuredeflectionofhisattention,andFarran’s

grinonlygrewbefore thecarriagecontinuedpast andwas swallowedup intheflowofcitytraffic.Samloosedabreath.“I’mgladwe’retakinghimoutfirst.”Adark,wickedpartofherwishedtheopposite…wishedshecouldseethat

felinegrinvanishwhenFarranfoundoutthatCelaenaSardothienhadkilledJayne.ButSamwasright.Shewouldn’tsleeponewinkiftheytookoutJaynefirst,knowingFarranwouldexpendallhisresourceshuntingthemdown.They made a long, slow circle around the streets surrounding Jayne’s

house.“It’dbeeasiertocatchFarranonhiswaysomewhere,”Celaenasaid,alltoo

awareofhowmanyeyesweretrackingthemonthesestreets.“Thehouseistoowell-guarded.”“I’llprobablyneedtwodaystofigureitout,”Samsaid.“You’llneed?”“I figured you’d want the glory of taking out Jayne. So I’ll dispatch

Farran.”“Whynotworktogether?”His smile faded. “Because I want you to stay out of this for as long as

possible.”

“Just because we’re together doesn’t mean I’ve become some weaklingninny.”“I’mnotsayingthat.ButcanyoublamemeforwantingtokeepthegirlI

loveawayfromsomeonelikeFarran?Andbeforeyoubegintorattleoffyouraccomplishments, letme tell you that Ido know howmany people you’vekilledandthescrapesyou’vegottenoutof.ButIfoundthisclient,sowe’redoingitmyway.”Iftherehadn’tstillbeeneyesoneverycorner,Celaenamighthavehithim.

“Howdareyou—”“Farranisamonster,”Samsaid,notlookingather.“Yousaidsoyourself.

Andifanythinggoeswrong,thelastplaceIwantyoutobeisinhishands.”“We’dbesaferifweworkedtogether.”A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I don’t need you looking out for me,

Celaena.”“Isthisbecauseofthemoney?BecauseI’mpayingforthings?”“It’s because I’m responsible for this hire, andbecauseyou don’t always

gettomaketherules.”“At least letmedosomeaerial spotting foryou,” shesaid.Shecould let

Sam take onFarran—she could become secondary for thismission.Hadn’tshejustacceptedthatshecouldsomedayletgoofbeingAdarlan’sAssassin?Hecouldhavethespotlight.“Noaerialspotting,”Samsaidsharply.“You’llbeontheothersideofthe

city—farawayfromthis.”“Youknowhowridiculousthatis,don’tyou?”“I’vehadjustasmuchtrainingasyou,Celaena.”Shemighthavepushedit—mighthavekeptarguinguntilhegavein—but

shecaughttheflickerofbitternessinhiseyes.Shehadn’tseenthatbitternessinmonths,notsinceSkull’sBay,whenthey’dbeenallbutenemies.Samhadalwaysbeen forced towatchwhile glorywasheapeduponher, and alwaystakenwhatevermissionsshedidn’tdeigntoaccept.Whichwasabsurd,really,givenhowtalentedhewas.Ifdeath-dealingcouldbecalledatalent.Andwhile she loved strutting around, callingherselfAdarlan’sAssassin,

withSamthatsortofarrogancenowsometimesfeltlikecruelty.Sothoughitkilledapartofhertosayit,andthoughitwentagainstallher

training toagree,Celaenanudgedhimwithashoulderandsaid,“Fine.YoutakedownFarranbyyourself.ButIgettodispatchJayne—andthenwe’lldoitmyway.”

Celaena had her weekly dancing lessonwithMadame Florine, who alsotrainedallof thedancersat theRoyalTheater, soshe leftSamto finishhisscoutingassheheadedtotheoldwoman’sprivatestudio.Four hours later, sweaty and aching and utterly spent,Celaenamade her

waybackhomeacrossthecity.She’dknownthesternMadameFlorinesinceshe was a child: she taught all of Arobynn’s assassins the latest populardances.ButCelaenalikedtotakeextralessonsbecauseoftheflexibilityandgrace the classical dances instilled. She’d always suspected the terseinstructorhadbarelytoleratedher—buttohersurprise,MadameFlorinehadrefusedtotakeanypayforlessonsnowthatshe’dleftArobynn.She’dhave to find anotherdance instructor once theymoved.More than

that,astudiowithadecentpianoforteplayer.Andthecitywouldhavetohavealibrary,too.Agreat,wonderfullibrary.

Orabookshopwithaknowledgeableownerwhocouldmakesureherthirstforbookswasalwayssated.Andagoodclothier.Andperfumer.Andjeweler.Andconfectionary.Herfeetdraggedasshewalkedupthewoodenstepstoherapartmentabove

thewarehouse. She blamed it on the lesson.Madame Florinewas a brutaltaskmistress—she didn’t accept limp wrists or sloppy posture or anythingexceptCelaena’sverybest.Thoughshedidalwaysturnablindeyetothelasttwentyminutesoftheirlesson,whensheallowedCelaenatotell thestudenton the pianoforte to play her favoritemusic and set herself loose, dancingwithwildabandon.AndnowthatCelaenahadnopianoforteofherownintheapartment,MadameFlorineevenletherremainafterthelessontopractice.Celaena found herself atop the stair landing, staring at the silvery-green

door.Shecould leaveRifthold. If itmeantbeingfreefromArobynn,shecould

leave behind all these things she loved. Other cities on the continent hadlibraries and bookshops and fine outfitters. Perhaps not as wonderful asRifthold’s,andperhapsthecity’sheartwouldn’tbeatwiththefamiliarrhythmthatsheadored,but…forSam,shecouldleave.Sighing,Celaenaunlockedthedoorandwalkedintotheapartment.ArobynnHamelwassittingonthecouch.“Hello,darling,”hesaid,andsmiled.

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CHAPTER4

Aloneinthekitchen,Celaenapouredherselfacupoftea,tryingtokeepherhandsfromshaking.He’dprobablygottentheaddressfromtheservantswhohadhelpedbringover her things.To findhimhere, havingbroken intoherhome… How long had he been sitting inside? Had he gone through herthings?ShepouredanothercupofteaforArobynn.Cupsandsaucersinhand,she

walkedbackintothelivingroom.Hehadhislegscrossed,onearmsprawledacrossthebackofthesofa,andseemedtohavemadehimselfquiteathome.Shesaidnothingasshegavehimthecupandthentookaseatinoneofthe

armchairs.Thehearthwasdark,andthedayhadbeenwarmenoughthatSamhadleftoneofthelivingroomwindowsopen.AbrinybreezeofftheAveryflowed into the apartment, rustling the crimson velvet curtains and teasingthroughherhair.She’dmissthatsmell,too.Arobynntookasip,thenpeeredintohisteacuptolookattheamberliquid

inside.“WhocanIthankfortheimpeccabletasteintea?”“Me.Butyoualreadyknowthat.”“Hmm.” Arobynn took another sip. “You know, I did know that.” The

afternoonlightcaughtinhisgrayeyes,turningthemtoquicksilver.“WhatIdon’tknowiswhyyouandSamthinkit’sagoodideatodispatchIoanJayneandRourkeFarran.”Of course he knew. “It’s none of your business. Our client wanted to

operate outside of theGuild, and now that I’ve transferred it themoney toyouraccount,SamandIarenolongerapartofit.”“Ioan Jayne,”Arobynn repeated, as if she somehowdidn’t knowwhohe

was.“IoanJayne.Areyouinsane?”Sheclenchedherjaw.“Idon’tseewhyIshouldtrustyouradvice.”“EvenIwouldn’ttakeonJayne.”Arobynn’sgazeburned.“AndI’msaying

thatas someonewhohas spentyears thinkingofways toput thatman inagrave.”“I’mnotplayinganotheroneofyourmindgames.”Shesetdownher tea

androsefromherseat.“Getoutofmyhouse.”Arobynn just staredup at her as if shewere a sullen child. “Jayne is the

undisputedCrimeLordinRiftholdforareason.AndFarranishisSecondfor

a damn good reason, too. Youmight be excellent, Celaena, but you’re notinvincible.”Shecrossedherarms.“Maybeyou’retryingtodissuademebecauseyou’re

worriedthatwhenIkillhim,Iwillhavetrulysurpassedyou.”Arobynn shot to his feet, towering over her. “The reason I’m trying to

dissuade you, you stupid, ungrateful girl, is because Jayne and Farran arelethal.Ifaclientofferedmetheglasscastleitself,Iwouldn’ttouchanofferlikethat!”Shefelthernostrilsflare.“Afterallthatyou’vedone,howcanyouexpect

me tobelieveaword thatcomesoutofyourmouth?”Herhandhadstarteddriftingtowardthedaggeratherwaist.Arobynn’seyesremainedonherface,buthewasaware—hekneweverymovementherhandsmadeanddidn’thavetolookathertotrackthem.“Getoutofmyhouse,”shegrowled.Arobynn gave her a half smile and looked around the apartment with

deliberatecare.“Tellmesomething,Celaena:doyoutrustSam?”“Whatsortofaquestionisthat?”Arobynncasuallyslidhishandsintothepocketsofhissilvertunic.“Have

you told him the truth aboutwhere you came from? I have a feeling that’ssomethinghe’dliketoknow.Perhapsbeforehededicateshislifetoyou.”Shefocusedonkeepingherbreathingeven,andpointedatthedooragain.

“Go.”Arobynn shrugged, waving a hand as if to dismiss the questions he’d

raised,andwalkedtowardthefrontdoor.Shewatchedhiseverymove,tookineverystepandshiftofhisshoulders,notedwhathelookedat.Hereachedfor the brass doorknob, but turned to her. His eyes—those silver eyes thatwouldprobablyhauntherfortherestofherlife—werebright.“NomatterwhatIhavedone,Ireallydoloveyou,Celaena.”Thewordhitherlikeastonetothehead.He’dneversaidthatwordtoher

before.Ever.Alongsilencefellbetweenthem.Arobynn’sneckshiftedasheswallowed.“IdothethingsthatIdobecause

I’mafraid…andbecauseIdon’tknowhowtoexpresswhatIfeel.”Hesaiditso quietly that she barely heard it. “I did all of those things because IwasangrywithyouforpickingSam.”WasittheKingoftheAssassinswhospoke,orthefather,ortheloverwho

hadnevermanifestedhimself?Arobynn’scarefullycultivatedmask fell, and thewoundshe’dgivenhim

flickered in thosemagnificenteyes.“Staywithme,”hewhispered.“Stay inRifthold.”

Sheswallowed,andfounditparticularlyhardtodoso.“I’mgoing.”“No,”hesaidsoftly.“Don’tgo.”No.Thatwaswhatshe’dsaidtohimthatnighthe’dbeatenher,inthemoment

beforehe’dstruckher,whenshe thoughthewasgoing tohurtSaminstead.And then he’d beaten her so badly she’d been knocked unconscious. Thenhe’dbeatenSam,too.Don’t.That was what Ansel had said to her in the desert, when Celaena had

pressed the sword into the back of her neck, when the agony of Ansel’sbetrayalhadbeenalmostenoughtomakeCelaenakillthegirlshe’dcalledafriend.ButthatbetrayalstillpaledincomparisontowhatArobynnhaddoneto her when he’d tricked her into killing Doneval, a man who could havefreedcountlessslaves.Hewasusingwordsaschainstobindheragain.He’dhadsomanychances

over the years to tell her that he loved her—he’d known howmuch she’dcravedthosewords.Buthehadn’tspokenthemuntilheneededtousethemasweapons. And now that she had Sam, Sam who said those words withoutexpectinganythinginreturn,Samwholovedherforreasonsshewouldneverunderstand…Celaenatiltedherheadtotheside,theonlywarningshegavethatshewas

stillreadytoattackhim.“Getoutofmyhouse.”Arobynnjustnoddedslowlyandleft.

TheBlackCygnet tavernwaspackedwall-to-wall, as itwasmostnights.SeatedwithSam at a table in themiddle of the busy room,Celaena didn’tparticularlyfeellikeeatingthebeefstewinfrontofher.Orliketalking,eventhoughSamhad toldher all about the informationhe’dgatheredonFarranandJayne.Shehadn’tmentionedArobynn’ssurprisevisit.A cluster of giggling young women sat nearby, tittering about how the

CrownPrincewasgoneonaholidaytotheSuriancoast,andhowtheywishedthey could join the prince and his dashing friends, and on and on untilCelaenacontemplatedchuckingherspoonatthem.But theBlackCygnetwasn’t a violent tavern. It catered to a crowdwho

came to enjoy good food, goodmusic, and good company. There were nobrawls,nodarkdealings,andcertainlynoprostitutesmillingabout.PerhapsthatwaswhatbroughtherandSambackherefordinnermostnights—itfelt

sonormal.Itwasanotherplaceshe’dmiss.When theyarrivedhomeafterdinner, theapartment feeling strangelynot

hersnowthatArobynnhadbrokenin,Celaenawentstraighttothebedroomandlitafewcandles.Shewasreadyforthisdaytobeover.ReadytodispatchJayneandFarran,andthenleave.Samappearedinthedoorway.“I’veneverseenyousoquiet,”hesaid.She looked at herself in themirror above the dresser. The scar from her

fightwithAnselhadfadedfromhercheek,andtheoneonherneckwaswellonitswaytodisappearing,too.“I’mtired,”shesaid.Itwasn’talie.Shebeganunbuttoninghertunic,her

handsfeelingstrangelyclumsy.WasthiswhyArobynnhadvisited?Becausehe’dknownhe’dimpactherlikethis?Shestraightened,hatingthethoughtsomuchthatshewantedtoshatterthemirrorinfrontofher.“Didsomethinghappen?”Shereachedthefinalbuttonofhertunic,butdidn’ttakeitoff.Sheturned

tofacehim,lookinghimupanddown.Couldsheevertellhimeverything?“Talk tome,” he said, his brown eyes holding only concern.No twisted

agendas,nomindgames…“Tellmeyourdeepestsecret,”shesaidsoftly.Sam’seyesnarrowed,buthepushedoffthethresholdandtookaseatonthe

edgeofthebed.Heranahandthroughhishair,settingtheendsstickingupatoddangles.Afteralongmoment,hespoke.“TheonlysecretI’vebornemyentirelife

isthatIloveyou.”Hegaveheraslightsmile.“ItwastheonethingIbelievedI’d go to the gravewithout voicing.”His eyeswere so full of light that italmoststoppedherheart.She found herself walking toward him, then placing one hand along his

cheekandthreadingtheotherthroughhishair.Heturnedhisheadtokissherpalm, as if thephantomblood that coatedherhandsdidn’tbotherhim.Hiseyesfoundhersagain.“What’syours,then?”Theroomfelttoosmall,theairtoothick.Sheclosedhereyes.Ittookhera

minute,andmorenervethansherealized,buttheanswerfinallycame.Ithadalways been there—whispering to her in her sleep, behind every breath, adarkweightthatshecouldn’teverescape.“Deepdown,”shesaid,“I’macoward.”Hisbrowsrose.“I’m a coward,” she repeated. “And I’m scared. I’m scared all the time.

Always.”

Heremovedherhandfromhischeektokissthetipsofherfingers.“Igetscared, too,” he murmured onto her skin. “You want to hear somethingridiculous?Whenever I’mscaredoutofmywits, I tellmyself:Myname isSamCortland…andIwillnotbeafraid.I’vebeendoingitforyears.”Itwasherturntoraiseherbrows.“Andthatactuallyworks?”Helaughedontoherfingers.“Sometimesitdoes,sometimesitdoesn’t.But

itusuallymakesmefeelbettertosomedegree.Oritjustmakesmelaughatmyselfabit.”Itwasn’tthesortoffearshe’dbeentalkingabout,but…“Ilikethat,”shesaid.Helacedhisfingerswithhersandpulledherontohislap.“Ilikeyou,”he

murmured,andCelaenalethimkissheruntilshe’dagainforgottenthedarkburdenthatwouldalwayshaunther.

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CHAPTER5

Rourke Farran was a busy, busyman. Celaena and Samwere waiting ablockawayfromJayne’shousebeforedawnthenextmorning,bothofthemwearing nondescript clothing and cloaks with hoods deep enough to covermostoftheirfeatureswithoutgivingalarm.Farranwasoutandaboutbeforethesunhad fully risen.They trailedhiscarriage through thecity,observinghimateachstop.Itwasawonderheevenhadtimetoindulgeinhissadisticdelights,becauseJayne’sbusinesscertainlytookupplentyofhisday.Hetookthesameblackcarriageeverywhere—moreproofofhisarrogance,

since it made him an easily marked target. Unlike Doneval, who wasconstantlyguarded,Farranseemedtodeliberatelygowithoutguards,daringanyonetotakehimon.Theyfollowedhimtothebank,tothediningroomsandtavernsownedby

Jayne,tothebrothelsandtheblack-marketstallshiddenincrumblingalleys,then back to the bank again. He made several stops at Jayne’s house inbetween,too.AndthenhesurprisedCelaenaoncebygoingintoabookshop—nottothreatentheownerorcollectdues,buttobuybooks.She’dhatedthat,forsomereason.Especiallywhen,despiteSam’sprotests,

she’d quickly snuck inwhile the bookseller was in the back and spied thereceipt ledgerbehind thedesk.Farranhadn’tboughtbooksabout tortureordeathoranythingwicked.Oh,no.They’dbeenadventurenovels.Novelsthatshe had read and enjoyed. The idea of Farran reading them too felt like aviolation,somehow.The day slipped by, and they learned little except for how brazenly he

traveledabout.Samshouldhavenotroubledispatchinghimtomorrownight.When the sunwas shifting into thegoldenhuesof late afternoon,Farran

pulledupatthenondescriptirondoorthatleddownintotheVaults.Attheendofthestreet,CelaenaandSamwatchedhimastheypretendedto

bewashingdungofftheirbootsatapublicspigot.“It seems fitting that Jayne owns the Vaults,” Sam said quietly over the

gushingwater.Celaenagavehimaglare—orshewouldhave, if thehoodhadn’tbeenin

theway. “Whydoyou think I got somad about you fighting there? If youevergotintoanytroublewiththepeopleattheVaults,everpissedthemoff,

you’resignificantenoughthatFarranhimselfwouldcometopunishyou.”“IcanhandleFarran.”Sherolledhereyes.“Ididn’texpecthimactuallytomakeavisit, though.

Seemstoodirtyhere,evenforhim.”“Shouldwe takea look?”The streetwasquiet.TheVaults camealiveat

night,butduring theday, therewasn’t anyone in thealleyexcept for a fewstumblingdrunksandthehalf-dozenguardsalwayspostedoutside.Itwasarisk,shesupposed—goingintotheVaultsafterFarran—but…If

Farrantrulyrivaledherfornotoriety,itwouldbeinterestingtogetasenseofwhathewasreallylikebeforeSamendedhislifetomorrownight.“Let’sgo,”shesaid.

Theyflashedsilverattheguardsoutside,thentossedittotheguardsinside,and they were in. The thugs asked no questions, and didn’t demand theyremovetheirweaponsortheirhoods.TheirusualclientelewanteddiscretionwhilepartakinginthetwisteddelightsoftheVaults.From the top of the stairs just inside the front door, Celaena instantly

spottedFarransittingatoneof thescarredandburnedwoodentables in thecenteroftheroom,talkingtoamansherecognizedasHelmson,themasterofceremonies during the fights.A small lunchtime crowd had gathered at theothertables,thoughthey’dallclearedaringaroundFarran.Atthebackofthechamber,thepitsweredarkandquiet,slavesworkingtoscrapeoffthebloodandgorebeforethenight’srevelries.Celaenatriednottolooktoolongattheshacklesandbrokenpostureofthe

slaves.Itwasimpossibletotellwherethey’dcomefrom—ifthey’dbegunasprisonersofwarorhadjustbeenstolenfromtheirkingdoms.Shewonderedifitwasbettertowindupasaslavehere,oraprisonerinabrutallaborcamplikeEndovier.Bothseemedlikesimilarversionsofalivinghell.Compared to the teeming crowds the other night, the Vaults were

practically deserted today. Even the prostitutes in the exposed chambersflankingthesidesofthecavernousspacewererestingwhiletheycould.Manyofthegirlssleptintangledheapsonthenarrowcots,barelyhiddenfromviewbytheshabbycurtainsdesignedtogivetheillusionofprivacy.Shewantedtoburnthisplaceintonothingbutashes.Andthenleteveryone

knowthatthiswasn’tthesortofthingAdarlan’sAssassinstoodfor.Perhapsafter they’d takenoutFarran and Jayne, she’ddo just that.One final bit ofgloryandretributionfromCelaenaSardothien—onelastchancetomakethemrememberherforeverbeforesheleft.

Samkeptclosetoherastheyreachedthebottomofthestairsandstrodetothe bar tucked into the shadows beneath.Awisp of aman stood behind it,pretending to wipe down the wooden surface while his watery blue eyesstayedfixedonFarran.“Twoales,”Samgrowled.Celaenathumpedasilvercoindownonthebar,

andthebarkeep’sattentionsnappedtothem.Shewasgrosslyoverpaying,butthe barkeep’s slender, scabbed hands vanished the silver in the blink of aneye.There were enough people still inside the Vaults that Celaena and Sam

couldblendin—mostlydrunkswhonever left thepremisesandpeoplewhoseemed toenjoy thissortofwretchedenvironmentwhileeating their lunch.CelaenaandSampretended todrink theirales—sloshing thealcoholon thegroundwhennoonewaslooking—andwatchedFarran.TherewasalockedwoodenchestrestingonthetablebesideFarranandthe

squatmasterofceremonies—achestthatCelaenahadnodoubtwasfulloftheVaults’earningsfromthenightbefore.Farran’sattentionwasfixedwithfelineintensity on Helmson, the chest seemingly forgotten. It was practically aninvitation.“Howmaddoyouthinkhe’dbeifIstolethatchest?”Celaenapondered.“Don’tevenentertaintheidea.”Sheclickedhertongue.“Spoilsport.”Whatever Farran andHelmsonwere discussing, itwas over quickly.But

insteadofgoingbackupthestairs,Farranwalkedovertothewarrenofgirls.He prowled past every alcove and stone chamber, and the girls allstraightened. Sleeping ones were hastily awakened, any sign of sleepvanished by the timeFarran stalked past.He looked themover, inspecting,makingcommentstothemanwhohoveredbehindhim.Helmsonnoddedandbowedandbarkedordersatthegirls.Evenfromacrosstheroom,theterroronthegirls’faceswasevident.BothCelaenaandSamstruggledtokeepfromgoingrigid.Farrancrossed

thelargechamberandinspectedthedensontheotherside.Bythattime,thegirls there were prepared. When Farran had finished, he looked over hisshoulderandnoddedtoHelmson.Helmsonsaggedwithwhatcouldonlyberelief,butthenpaledandquickly

found somewhere else to be as Farran snapped his fingers at one of thesentriesnearasmalldoor.Immediately,thedooropenedandashackled,dirty,muscularmanwasdraggedoutbyanothersentry.Theprisoner lookedhalf-dead already, but themoment he saw Farran, he started begging, thrashingagainstthesentry’sgrip.

Itwashard tohear,butCelaenadiscernedenoughfromtheman’s franticpleadingtogetthegistofit:hewasafighterintheVaults,owedJaynemoremoneythanhecouldeverrepay,andhadtriedtocheathiswayoutofit.Although the prisoner promised to repay Jaynewith interest, Farran just

smiled,lettingthemanbabbleuntilatlasthepausedforashudderingbreath.ThenFarran jerked his chin toward a door hidden behind a ragged curtain,andhissmilegrewasthesentrydraggedthestill-pleadingmantowardit.Asthe door opened, Celaena caught a glimpse of a stairwell that sweptdownward.Without so much as a look in the direction of the patrons discreetly

watchingfromtheir tables,Farranledthesentryandhisprisoner insideandshutthedoor.WhateverwasabouttohappenwasJayne’sversionofjustice.Sureenough,fiveminuteslater,ascreampiercedthroughtheVaults.Itwasmoreanimalthanhuman.She’dheardscreamslikethatbefore—had

witnessedenoughtortureattheKeeptoknowthatwhenpeoplescreamedlikethat,itmeantthatthepainwasjustbeginning.Bytheend,whenthatsortofpainhappened,thevictimshadusuallyblownouttheirvocalcordsandcouldonlyemithoarse,shatteredshrieks.Celaenagrittedher teeth sohardher jawhurt.Thebarkeepgavea sharp

wavetotheminstrelsinthecorner,andtheyimmediatelystartedupasongtocover the noise. But screams still echoed up from beneath the stone floor.Farranwouldn’tkillthemanrightaway.No,hispleasurecamefromthepainitself.“It’stimetoleave,”Celaenasaid,notinghowtightlySamgrippedhismug.“Wecan’tjust—”“Wecan,”shesaidsharply.“Believeme,I’dliketoburstinthere,too.But

thisplace isdesignedlikeadeath trap,andI’venodesire tomakemyfinalstandhere,orrightnow.”Samwasstillstaringat thestairwelldoor.“Whenthetimecomes,”sheadded,puttingahandonhisarm,“you’llmakesurehepayshisdebt.”Samturnedtoher,hisfaceconcealedwithintheshadowsofthehood,but

shecouldreadtheaggressioninhisbodywellenough.“He’llpayhisdebtforallof this,”Samsnarled.Andthat’swhenCelaenanoticed thatsomeof thegirlswereweeping,someshook,somejuststaredatnothing.Yes,Farranhadvisitedbefore,hadusedthatroomtodoJayne’sdirtywork—whileremindingeveryoneelsenottocrosstheCrimeLord.Howmanyhorrorshadthesegirlswitnessed—oratleastheard?ThescreamswerestillrisingupfrombelowwhentheylefttheVaults.

She had intended to lead them home, but Sam insisted on going to thepublicparkbuiltalongawell-offneighborhoodbesidetheAveryRiver.Aftermeanderingalongtheneatgravelwalkways,heslumpedontoabenchfacingthewater.Hepulledoffhishoodandrubbedhisfacewithhisbroadhands.“We’renotlikethat,”hewhisperedthroughhisfingers.Celaena sank onto thewooden bench. She knew exactlywhat hemeant.

The same thought hadbeen echoing throughher head as theywalkedhere.Theyhadbeen taughthow tokill andmaimand torture—sheknewhow toskinamanandkeephimalivewhiledoingit.Sheknewhowtokeepsomeoneawakeandcoherentduringlonghoursoftorment—knewwheretoinflictthemostpainwithouthavingsomeonebleedout.Arobynn had been so, so clever about it, too. He’d brought in themost

despicable people—rapists, murderers, rogue assassins who had butcheredinnocents—andhe’dmadeher read all of the informationhe’dgatheredonthem.Madeherreadaboutalloftheawfulthingsthey’ddoneuntilshewasso enraged she couldn’t think straight, until she was aching to make themsuffer.He’dhonedherangerintoalethalblade.Andshe’dlethim.Before Skull’sBay, she’d done it all and had rarely questioned it. She’d

pretendedthatshehadsomemoralcode,liedtoherselfandsaidthatsinceshedidn’tenjoyit,itmeantthatshehadsomeexcuse,but…shehadstillstoodinthatchamberbeneaththeAssassins’Keepandseenthebloodflowtowardthedrainintheslopedfloor.“Wecan’tbelikethat,”Samsaid.She took his hands, easing them away from his face. “We’re not like

Farran.Weknowhowtodoit,butwedon’tenjoyit.That’sthedifference.”HisbrowneyesweredistantashewatchedthegentlecurrentoftheAvery

making its way toward the nearby sea. “When Arobynn ordered us to dothingslikethat,weneversaidno.”“Wehadnochoice.Butwedonow.”OncetheyleftRifthold,they’dnever

havetomakeachoicelikethatagain—theycouldcreatetheirowncodes.Sam lookedather,hisexpressionsohauntedandbleak itmadeher sick.

“But there was always that part. That part that did enjoy it when it wassomeonewhotrulydeservedit.”“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, therewas always that part.Butwe still had a

line, Sam—we still stayed on the other side of it. Lines don’t exist forsomeonelikeFarran.”Theyweren’t likeFarran—Samwasn’t like Farran. She knew that in her

bones.Samwouldneverbe likeFarran.He’dneverbe likeher, either.Shesometimeswonderedifheknewjusthowdarkshecouldturn.

Samleanedagainsther,restinghisheadonhershoulder.“Whenwedie,doyouthinkwe’llbepunishedforthethingswe’vedone?”Shelookedatthefarbankoftheriver,wherearowoframshacklehouses

anddockshadbeenbuilt. “Whenwedie,” shesaid,“Idon’t think thegodswillevenknowwhattodowithus.”Samglancedather,ahintofamusementshininginhiseyes.Celaena smiled at him, and the world, for one flickering heartbeat, felt

right.

The dagger whined as Celaena sharpened it, the reverberations shootingthrough her hands. Seated beside her on the floor of the great room, Sampored over amap of the city, tracing streetswith his fingers.The fireplacebeforethemcasteverythingintoflickeringshadows,awelcomewarmthonachillnight.TheyhadreturnedtotheVaultsintimetoseeFarranenteringhiscarriage

again.Sotheyspenttherestoftheafternoonstalkinghim—moretripstothebankandotherlocations,morestopsbackatJayne’shouse.She’dgoneoffonher own for two hours to trail Jayne—to get another subtle glimpse at thehouse and seewhere theCrimeLordwent. Itwas two uneventful hours offiguringoutwherehisspieshidonthestreets,sinceJaynedidn’temergefromthebuildingatall.IfSamplannedtodispatchFarrantomorrownight,theyagreedthatthebest

time todo itwouldbewhenhe tookacarriagefromthehouse towhereverelsehehaddealings,eitherforhimselforJayne.Afteralongdayofrunningerrands for Jayne, Farran was sure to be drained, his defenses sloppy. Hewouldn’tknowwhatwascominguntilhislifebloodspilled.Sam would be wearing the special suit that the Master Tinkerer from

Melisandehadmadeforhim,whichinitselfwasitsownarmory.Thesleevespossessed concealed built-in swords, the boots were specially designed forclimbing, and, thanks to Celaena, Sam’s suit was equipped with animpenetrablepatchofSpidersilkrightoverhisheart.Celaena had her own suit, of course—used only sparingly now that the

convoyfromMelisandehadreturnedhome.Ifeithersuitneededrepairs,it’dbe near impossible to find someone in Rifthold skilled enough. ButdispatchingFarranwasdefinitely anoccasionworth the risk. In addition tothe suit’s defenses, Samwould also be equippedwith the extra blades anddaggers that Celaena was now sharpening. She tested an edge against herhand, smilinggrimlyasher skinstung.“Sharpenough tocutair,” shesaid,

sheathingitandsettingitdownbesideher.“Well,”Samsaid,eyesstillflittingacrossthemap,“let’shopeIdon’thave

togetcloseenoughtouseit.”Ifallwentaccordingtoplan,Samwouldonlyneedtofirefourarrows:one

eachtodisablethecarriagedriverandthefootman,oneforFarran—andonemorejusttomakesureFarranwasdead.Celaenapickedupanotherdaggerandbegansharpeningthataswell.She

jerkedherchintowardthemap.“Escaperoutes?”“Adozenplannedalready,”Samsaid,andshowedher.WithJayne’shouse

asastartingpoint,Samhadpickedmultiplestreetsineverydirectionwherehecouldfirehisarrows—whichledtomultipleescaperoutesthatwouldgetSamawayasquicklyaspossible.“RemindmeagainwhyI’mnotgoing?”Thedaggerinherhandsletouta

longwhine.“Becauseyou’llbehere,packing?”“Packing?”Shestilledthesharpeningknifeinherhand.He returned his attention to the map. Then he said, very carefully, “I

secureduspassageonashiptothesoutherncontinent,leavinginfivedays.”“Thesoutherncontinent.”Samnodded,still focusingon themap.“Ifwe’regoing togetawayfrom

Rifthold,thenwe’regoingtogetawayfromthisentirecontinent,too.”“Thatwasn’twhatwediscussed.Wedecided tomove to another city on

thiscontinent.Andwhat if there’sanotherAssassins’Guildon thesoutherncontinent?”“Thenwe’llasktojointhem.”“I’mnotgoingtogroveltojoinsomeno-nameguildandbesubservientto

somewould-beinfamousassassins!”Sam looked up. “Is this really about your pride, or is it because of the

distance?”“Both!”Sheslammeddownthedaggerandthehoningstoneontherug.“I

waswillingtomovetoaplacelikeBanjaliorBellhavenorAnielle.Nottoanentirelynewcontinent—aplacewehardlyknowanythingabout!Thatwasn’tpartoftheplan.”“Atleastwe’dbeoutofAdarlan’sempire.”“Idon’tgiveadamnabouttheempire!”Hesatback,proppinghimselfonhishands.“Can’tyoujustadmitthatthis

isaboutArobynn?”“No.Youdon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”“Because ifwesail for thesoutherncontinent, thenhewillnever findus

again—andIdon’tthinkyou’requitereadytoacceptthat.”“MyrelationshipwithArobynnis—”“Iswhat? Over? Is that why you didn’t tell me that he came to visit

yesterday?”Herheartskippedabeat.Samwenton.“WhileyouweretrailingJaynetoday,heapproachedmein

thestreet,andseemedsurprisedthatyouhadn’tsaidanythingabouthisvisit.Healsotoldmetoaskaboutwhatreallyhappenedbeforehefoundyouhalf-deadonthatriverbankwhenwewerechildren.”Samleanedforward,bracingahandonthefloorashebroughthisfaceclosetohers.“AndyouknowwhatItoldhim?”Hisbreathwashotonhermouth.“ThatIdidn’tcare.Buthejustkepttryingtobaitme,tomakemenottrustyou.Soafterhewalkedaway,Iwentrighttothedocksandfoundthefirstshipthatwouldtakeusawayfromthisdamnedcontinent.Awayfromhim,becauseeventhoughwe’reoutoftheGuild,hewillneverleaveusalone.”Sheswallowedhard.“Hesaidthosethingstoyou?About…aboutwhereI

camefrom?”Sammusthaveseensomethinglikefearinhereyes,becausehesuddenly

shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “Celaena, when you’re good andreadytotellmethetruth,you’lldoit.Andnomatterwhatitis,whenthatdaycomes,I’llbehonoredthatyoutrustmeenoughtodoso.Butuntilthen,it’snotmybusiness,and it’snotArobynn’sbusiness. It’snotanyone’sbusinessbutyourown.”Celaena leanedher foreheadagainsthis, and someof the tightness inhis

body—andhers—meltedaway.“Whatifmovingtothesoutherncontinentisamistake?”“Thenwe’llmove somewhere else.We’ll keepmoving untilwe find the

placewherewe’remeanttobe.”Sheshuthereyesandtookasteadyingbreath.“WillyoulaughifIsaythat

I’mscared?”“No,”hesaidsoftly,“never.”“MaybeIshouldtryyourlittletrick.”Shetookanotherbreath.“Myname

isCelaenaSardothien,andIwillnotbeafraid.”Hedidlaughthen,atickleofbreathonhermouth.“Ithinkyouhavetosay

itwithabitmoreconvictionthanthat.”She opened her eyes and found himwatching her, his face amixture of

prideandwonderandsuchopenaffectionthatshecouldseethatfar-offlandwherethey’dfindahome,seethatfuturethatawaitedthem,andthatglimmerofhope thatpromisedhappiness she’dnever consideredordaredyearn for.

Andeventhoughthesoutherncontinentwasadrasticchangeintheirplans…Samwasright.Anewcontinentforanewbeginning.“Iloveyou,”Samsaid.Celaenawrappedherarmsaroundhimandheldhimclose,breathinginhis

scent.Heronlyreplywas,“Ihatepacking.”

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CHAPTER6

Thenextnight,theclockonthemantelseemedtobestuckatnineo’clock.Ithad tobe,because therewasnoway inhell thataminutecould take thislong.Shebeentryingtoreadforthepasttwohours—tryingandfailing.Evenan

utterlysinfulromancenovelhadn’theldherinterest.Andneitherhadplayingcards, or digging out her atlas and reading about the southern continent, oreatingallthecandyshe’dhiddenfromSaminthekitchen.Ofcourse,shewassupposed to be organizing the belongings shewanted to pack.When she’dcomplained toSamaboutwhat a chore it’dbe,he’devengone so far as totake all their empty trunks out of the closet. And then pointed out that hewouldnot be travelingwith her dozens of shoes, and she could have themshippedtoheroncetheyfoundtheirhome.Aftersayingthat,he’dwiselylefttheapartmenttokillFarran.Shedidn’tknowwhyshehesitated topack—she’dcontacted thesolicitor

thatmorning.Hehadtoldhertheapartmentmightbehardtosell,butshewasgladtodothedealingsovera longdistance,andshetoldhimshe’dcontacthimassoonasshefoundhernewhome.Anewhome.Celaenasighedastheclockarmsshifted.Awholeminutehadpassed.Ofcourse,withFarran’sschedulebeingsomewhaterratic,Sammighthave

towaitafewhoursforhimtoleavethehouse.Ormaybehe’dalreadydonethe job and needed to lie low for awhile, just in case someone traced himbackhere.Celaenacheckedthedaggerbesideheronthecouch,thenglancedaround

theroomforthehundredthtimethatevening,makingsureall theconcealedweaponswereintheirproperplaces.Shewouldn’tcheckonSam.He’dwanted todo thisonhisown.Andhe

couldbeanywherenow.Thetrunkslaybythewindow.Maybe she should start packing. Once they dispatched Jayne tomorrow

night, they’d need to be ready to leave the city as soon as that ship wasavailabletoboard.BecausewhileshecertainlywantedtheworldtoknowthatCelaenaSardothienhadmadethekill,gettingfarfromRiftholdwouldbein

theirbestinterest.Notthatshewasrunningaway.Theclockarmsshiftedagain.Anotherminute.Groaning,Celaenastoodandwalkedtothebookshelfalongthewall,where

shebeganpullingoutbooksandstackingthemintothenearestemptytrunk.She’dhavetoleaveherfurnitureandmostofhershoesbehindfornow,buttherewas noway in hell shewas going tomove to the southern continentwithoutallofherbooks.

Theclockstruckeleven,andCelaenaheadedinto thestreets,wearing thesuit the Master Tinkerer had made for her, plus several other weaponsstrappedtoherbody.Sam should have been back by now. And even though there was still

anotherhouruntilthetimewhenthey’dagreedshe’dlookforhimifhehadn’treturned, if he was truly in trouble, then she certainly wasn’t going to sitaroundforanotherminute—Thethoughtsenthersprintingdownalleys,headingtowardJayne’shouse.The slumswere silent, but nomore so than usual.Whores and barefoot

orphansandpeoplestrugglingtomakeafewhonestcoppersglancedatherassheranpast,nomorethanashadow.Shekeptanearoutforanysnippetsofconversation that might suggest Farran was dead, but overheard nothinguseful.Sheslowedtoastalkinggait,herstepsnear-silenton thecobblestonesas

sheneared thewealthyneighborhood inwhichJayne’shousestood.Severalaffluent couples were walking around, heading back from the theater, buttherewerenosignsofadisturbance…ThoughifFarranhadbeenkilled,thensurely Jayne would try to keep the assassination hidden for as long aspossible.She made a long circuit through the neighborhood, checking on all the

pointswhereSamhadplannedtobe.Notaspotofbloodorsignofastruggle.SheevendaredtowalkacrossthestreetfromJayne’shouse.Thehousewasbrightly litandalmostmerry,andtheguardswereat theirposts,all lookingbored.PerhapsSamhad foundout thatFarranwasn’t leaving thehouse tonight.

She might very well have missed him on his way home. He wouldn’t bepleasedwhenhelearnedshe’dgoneouttofindhim,buthewouldhavedonethesameforher.

Sighing,Celaenahurriedbackhome.

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CHAPTER7

Samwasn’tattheapartment.Buttheclockatopthemantelreadoneinthemorning.Celaena stoodbefore the embers of the fireplace and stared at the clock,

wonderingifshewassomehowreadingitwrong.But it continued ticking, andwhen shecheckedherpocketwatch, it also

readone.Thentwominutespastthehour.Thenfiveminutes…Shethrewmorelogsonthefireandtookoffherswordsanddaggers,but

remainedinthesuit.Justincase.She had no idea when she began pacing in front of the fire—and only

realized it when the clock chimed two and she found herself still standingbeforetheclock.Hewouldcomehomeanyminute.Anyminute.

Celaena jolted awake at the faint chime of the clock. She’d somehowwounduponthecouch—andsomehowfallenasleep.Fouro’clock.Shewouldgooutagaininaminute.Maybehe’dhiddenintheAssassins’

Keepfor thenight.Unlikely,but…itwasprobablythesafestplace tohideafteryou’dkilledRourkeFarran.Celaenaclosedhereyes.

The dawnwas blinding, and her eyes felt gritty and sore as she hurriedthrough the slums, then the wealthy neighborhoods, scanning everycobblestone,everyshadowedalcove,everyrooftopforanysignofhim.Thenshewenttotheriver.Shedidn’tdarebreatheasshewalkedupanddownthebanksthatbordered

theslums,searchingforanything.AnysignofFarran,or…or…Or.

Shedidn’t letherself finish that thought, thoughcripplingnauseagrippedherasshescannedthebanksanddocksandsewerdepositories.Hewouldbewaitingforherathome.Andthenhe’dchideherandlaughat

herandkissher.Andthenshe’ddispatchJaynetonight,andthenthey’dsetsailonthisriverandthenouttothenearbysea,andthenbegone.Hewouldbewaitingathome.He’dbehome.Home.

Noon.Itcouldn’tbenoon,butitwas.Herpocketwatchwasproperlywound,and

hadn’toncefailedherintheyearsshe’dhadit.Eachofherstepsupthestairstoherapartmentwasheavyandlight—heavy

and light, the sensation shifting with each heartbeat. She’d stop by theapartmentonlylongenoughtoseeifhe’dreturned.A roaring silence hovered around her, a cresting wave that she’d been

trying tooutrun forhours.Sheknewthat themoment thesilence finallyhither,everythingwouldchange.Shefoundherselfatopthelanding,staringatthedoor.Ithadbeenunlockedandleftslightlyajar.A strangled sort of noise broke out of her, and she ran the last few feet,

barelynoticingasshethrewopenthedoorandburstintotheapartment.Shewasgoingtoscreamathim.Andkisshim.Andscreamathimsomemore.Alotmore.Howdarehemakeher—ArobynnHamelwassittingonhercouch.Celaenahalted.TheKingoftheAssassinsslowlygottohisfeet.Shesawtheexpressionin

hiseyesandknewwhathewasgoingtosaylongbeforeheopenedhismouthandwhispered,“I’msorry.”Thesilencestruck.

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CHAPTER8

Herbodystartedmoving,walkingstraighttowardthefireplacebeforeshereallyknewwhatshewasgoingtodo.“They thought hewas still living in theKeep,” Arobynn said, his voice

pitchedatthathorriblewhisper.“Theylefthimasamessage.”Shereachedthemantelandgrabbedtheclockfromwhereitrested.“Celaena,”Arobynnbreathed.Shehurledtheclockacross theroomsoharditshatteredagainst thewall

behindthediningtable.Its fragments landed atop the buffet table against the wall, breaking the

decorativedishesdisplayedthere,scatteringthesilverteasetshe’dboughtforherself.“Celaena,”Arobynnsaidagain.Shestaredattheruinedclock,theruineddishesandteaset.Therewasno

endtothissilence.Therewouldneverbeanend,onlythisbeginning.“Iwant to see thebody.”Thewordscamefromamouthshewasn’t sure

belongedtoheranymore.“No,”Arobynnsaidgently.Sheturnedherheadtowardhim,baringherteeth.“Iwanttoseethebody.”Arobynn’ssilvereyeswerewide,andheshookhishead.“No,youdon’t.”Shehadtostartmoving,hadtostartwalkinganywhere,becausenowthat

shewasstandingstill…Onceshesatdown…Shewalkedoutthedoor.Downthesteps.Thestreetswerethesame,theskywasclear,thebrinybreezeofftheAvery

stillruffledherhair.Shehadtokeepwalking.Perhaps…perhapsthey’dsentthewrongbody.PerhapsArobynnhadmadeamistake.Perhapshewaslying.SheknewArobynn followedher, stayinga few feetbehindas she strode

acrossthecity.ShealsoknewthatWesleyjoinedthematsomepoint,alwayslookingafterArobynn,alwaysvigilant.Thesilencekeptflickeringinandoutofherears.Sometimesit’dstoplongenoughforhertohearthewhinnyofapassinghorse,ortheshoutofapeddler,orthegiggleofchildren.Sometimesnoneofthenoisesinthecapitalcouldbreakthrough.Therehadbeenamistake.Shedidn’t lookat theassassinsguardingtheirongates to theKeep,orat

thehousekeeperwhoopenedthegiantdoubledoorsofthebuilding,orattheassassinswhomilledaboutthegrandentranceandwhostaredatherwithfuryandgriefminglingintheireyes.SheslowedlongenoughforArobynn—trailedbyWesley—tostepinfront

ofher,toleadtherestoftheway.Thesilencepeeledback,and thoughts tumbled in. Ithadbeenamistake.

Andwhenshe figuredoutwhere theywerekeepinghim—where theywerehidinghim—she’dstopatnothingtofindhim.Andthenshe’dslaughterthemall.Arobynnledherdownthestonestairwellatthebackoftheentrancehall—

the stairs that led into the cellars and the dungeons and the secret councilroomsbelow.The scrape of boots on stone. Arobynn in front of her, Wesley trailing

behind.Down and down, then along the narrow, dark passageway. To the door

across from the dungeon entrance. She knew that door. Knew the roombehindit.Themortuarywheretheykepttheirmembersuntil—No,ithadbeenamistake.Arobynntookoutaringofkeysandunlockedthedoor,butpausedbefore

openingit.“Please,Celaena.It’sbetterifyoudon’t.”Sheelbowedpasthimandintotheroom.The square room was small and lit with two torches. Bright enough to

illuminate…Illuminate…Each step brought her closer to the body on the table. She didn’t know

wheretolookfirst.Atthefingersthatwentthewrongway,attheburnsandcareful,deepslices

inhisflesh,attheface,thefaceshestillknew,evenwhensomanythingshadbeendonetodestroyitbeyondrecognition.Theworldswayedbeneathherfeet,butshekeptuprightasshefinishedthe

walktothetableandlookeddownatthenaked,mutilatedbodyshehad—Shehad—Farranhad takenhis time.And though that facewas in ruins, itbetrayed

noneofthepainhemusthavefelt,noneofthedespair.This was some dream, or she had gone to Hell after all, because she

couldn’t exist in the world where this had been done to him, where she’dpaced like an idiot all night while he suffered, while Farran tortured him,whileherippedouthiseyesand—Celaenavomitedonthefloor.

Footsteps, then Arobynn’s hands were on her shoulder, on her waist,pullingheraway.Hewasdead.Samwasdead.

Shewouldn’tleavehimlikethis,inthiscold,darkroom.SheyankedoutofArobynn’sgrasp.Wordlessly,sheunfastenedhercloak

and spread it over Sam, covering the damage that had been so carefullyinflicted.Sheclimbedontothewoodentableandlaybesidehim,stretchinganarmacrosshismiddle,holdinghimclose.The body still smelled faintly like Sam. And like the cheap soap she’d

madehimuse,becauseshewassoselfishthatshecouldn’tlethimhaveherlavendersoap.Celaena buried her face in his cold, stiff shoulder. There was a strange,

musky scent all over him—a smell thatwas so distinctlynot Sam that shealmost vomited again. It clung to his golden-brownhair, to his torn, bluishlips.Shewouldn’tleavehim.Footstepsheadingtowardthedoor—thenthesnickofitclosingasArobynn

left.Celaenaclosedhereyes.Shewouldn’tleavehim.Shewouldn’tleavehim.

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CHAPTER9

Celaenaawoke inabed thathadoncebeenhers,butsomehowno longerfeltthatway.Therewassomethingmissingintheworld,somethingvital.Shearosefromthedepthsofslumber,andit tookhera longmomenttosortoutwhathadchanged.ShemighthavethoughtthatshewasawakeninginherbedintheKeep,still

Arobynn’s protégée, still Sam’s rival, still content to beAdarlan’sAssassinforever and ever. She might have believed it if she hadn’t noticed that somanyofherbelovedbelongingsweremissingfromthisfamiliarbedroom—belongingsthatwerenowinherapartmentacrossthecity.Samwasgone.Realityopenedwideandswallowedherwhole.Shedidn’tmovefromthebed.

Sheknew the daywas drifting alongbecause of the shifting light on thewallof thebedroom.Sheknew theworld still passedby,unaffectedby thedeathofayoungman,unawarethathe’deverexistedandbreathedandlovedher. She hated the world for continuing on. If she never left this bed, thisroom,maybeshe’dneverhavetocontinueonwithit.The memory of his face was already blurring. Had his eyes been more

goldenbrown, or soil brown?She couldn’t remember.And she’d never getthechancetofindout.Neverget toseethathalfsmile.Neverget tohearhis laugh,neverget to

hearhimsayhernamelikeitmeantsomethingspecial,somethingmorethanbeingAdarlan’sAssassinevercould.She didn’t want to go out into a world where he didn’t exist. So she

watchedthelightshiftandchange,andlettheworldpassbywithouther.

Someonewasspeakingoutsideherdoor.Threemenwithlowvoices.Therumbleofthemshookherfromsleeptofindtheroomwasdark,thecitylights

glowingbeyondthewindows.“JayneandFarranwillbeexpectingretaliation,”amansaid.Harding,one

ofArobynn’smoretalentedassassins,andafiercecompetitorofhers.“Theirguardswillbeonalert,”saidanother—Tern,anolderassassin.“Thenwe’ll takeout theguards,andwhile they’redistracted, someofus

willgo for JayneandFarran.”Arobynn.Shehada foggymemoryofbeingcarried—hours or years or a lifetime ago—up from that dark room thatsmelledofdeathandintoherbed.MuffledrepliesfromTernandHarding,then—“Westriketonight,”Arobynngrowled.“Farranlivesatthehouse,andifwe

timeitright,we’llkillthembothwhilethey’reintheirbeds.”“Getting to the second floor isn’t as simple as walking up the stairs,”

Hardingchallenged.“Eventheexteriorsareguarded.Ifwecan’tgetthroughthefront,thenthere’sasmallsecond-storywindowthatwecanleapthroughusingtheroofofthehousenextdoor.”“Aleaplikethatcouldbefatal,”Terncountered.“Enough,”Arobynn cut in. “I’ll decide how to break inwhenwe arrive.

Havetheothersreadytogointhreehours.Iwantusonourwayatmidnight.And tell them to keep their mouths shut. Someone must have tipped offFarranifheknewtosetatrapforSam.Don’teventellyourservantswhereyou’regoing.”Gruntedacquiescence,thenfootstepsasTernandHardingwalkedaway.Celaenakepthereyesclosedandherbreathingsteadyasthelockturnedin

herbedroomdoor.Sherecognizedtheeven,confidentgaitoftheKingoftheAssassins striding toward her bed. Smelled him as he stood over her,watching.Felthislongfingersastheystrokedthroughherhair,thenalonghercheek.Then the steps leaving, the door shutting—and locking. She opened her

eyes,theglowofthecityofferingenoughlightforhertoseethatthelockonthe door had been altered since she’d left—it now locked only from theoutside.Hehadlockedherin.Tokeepherfromgoingwiththem?Tokeepherfromhelpingtopayback

Farran for every inch of flesh he’d tortured, every bit of pain Sam hadendured?Farranwasamasteroftorture,andhe’dkeptSamallnight.Celaena sat up, her head spinning. She couldn’t remember the last time

she’deaten.Foodcouldwait.Everythingcouldwait.Because in three hours,Arobynn and his assassinswould venture out to

exactvengeance.They’drobherofherclaimtorevenge—thesatisfactionofslaughteringFarranandJayneandanyonewhostoodinherway.Andshehadnointentionoflettingthemdoit.She stalked to thedoorandconfirmed that itwas locked.Arobynnknew

hertoowell.Knewthatwhentheblanketofgriefhadbeenrippedaway…Evenifshecouldspringthelock,shehadnodoubtthattherewasatleast

oneassassinwatchingthehalloutsideherbedroom.Whichleftthewindow.Thewindowitselfwasunlocked—butthetwo-storydropwasformidable.

While she’dbeen sleeping, someonehad takenoff her suit andgivenher anightgown.She ripped apart the armoire for any sign of the suit—its bootswere designed for climbing—but all she found were two black tunics,matchingpants,andordinaryblackboots.Fine.Therewerenoweapons in sight, andshehadn’tbroughtany inwithher.

Butyearsoflivinginthisroomhaditsadvantages.Shekepthermotionsquietasshepulledupthe loosefloorboardswhereshe’dlongagohiddenasetoffourdaggers.Shesheathedtwoatherwaistandtuckedtheothertwointoherboots.Thenshefoundthetwinswordsshe’dkeptdisguisedaspartofthebedframe since shewas fourteen.Neither the daggers nor the sword had beengoodenoughtobringwithherwhenshemoved.Todaytheywoulddo.Whenshe’dfinishedstrappingthebladesacrossherback,sherebraidedher

hairandfittedonhercloak,throwingthehoodoverherhead.She’d kill Jayne first. And then she’d drag Farran to a place where she

could properly repay him and take however long she wanted. Days, even.Whenthatdebtwaspaid,whenFarranhadnomoreagonyorbloodtooffer,she’d place Sam in the embrace of the earth and send him to the afterlifeknowinghe’dbeenavenged.She eased open thewindow, scanning the front courtyard.The dew-slick

stones gleamed in the lamplight, and the sentries at the iron gate seemedfocusedonthestreetbeyond.Good.Thiswasherkill,herrevengetotake.Nooneelse’s.Ablackfirerippledinhergut,spreadingthroughherveinsasshehopped

ontothewindowsillandeasedoutside.Herfingersfoundpurchaseinthelargewhitestones,and,withoneeyeon

theguardsatthedistantgate,sheclimbeddownthesideofthehouse.Noonenoticedher,noonelookedherway.TheKeepwassilent,thecalmbeforethestormthatwouldbreakwhenArobynnandhisassassinsbegantheirhunt.Her landing was soft, no more than a whisper of boots against slick

cobblestones. The guards were so focused on the street that they wouldn’t

noticewhenshejumpedthefencenearthestablesaroundtheback.Creepingaroundtheexteriorof thehousewasassimpleasgettingoutof

her room,and shewaswellwithin the shadowsof the stableswhenahandreachedoutandgrabbedher.She was hurled into the side of the wooden building, and had a dagger

drawnbythetimethethumpfinishedechoing.Wesley’sface,setwithrage,seethedatherinthedark.“Whereinhelldoyouthinkyou’regoing?”hebreathed,notlooseninghis

griponhershouldersevenasshepressedherdaggertothesideofhisthroat.“Get out of my way,” she growled, hardly recognizing her own voice.

“Arobynncan’tkeepmelockedup.”“I’m not talking about Arobynn. Use your head and think, Celaena!” A

flickerofher—apartofherthathadsomehowvanishedsinceshe’dshatteredthatclock—realizedthatthismightbethefirsttimehe’deveraddressedherbyhername.“Getoutofmyway,” she repeated,pushing theedgeof thebladeharder

againsthisexposedthroat.“Iknowyouwantrevenge,”hepanted.“Ido,too—forwhathedidtoSam.

Iknowyou—”She flicked theblade, angling it enough thathe rearedback to avoidher

slicingadeeplineacrosshisthroat.“Don’tyouunderstand?”hepleaded,hiseyesgleaminginthedark.“It’sall

justa—”But the fire rose up inCelaena and shewhirled, using amove theMute

Master had taught her that summer, and Wesley’s eyes lost focus as sheslammedthepommelofherdaggerintothesideofhishead.Hedroppedlikeastone.Beforehe’devenfinishedcollapsing,Celaenawassprintingforthefence.

Amomentlater,shejumpeditandvanishedintothecitystreets.

Shewasfire,shewasdarkness,shewasdustandbloodandshadow.Shehurtledthroughthestreets,eachstepfasterthanthelastasthatblack

fireburned through thoughtandfeelinguntilall that remainedwasher rageandherprey.Shetookbackalleysandleaptoverwalls.She’dslaughterthemall.Faster and faster, sprinting for thatbeautifulhouseon itsquiet street, for

thetwomenwhohadtakenherworldapartpiecebypiece,bonebyshatteredbone.All she had to do was get to Jayne and Farran—everyone else was

collateral.Arobynnhadsaidthey’dbothbeintheirbeds.Thatmeantshehadtogetpastall thoseguardsat the frontgate, the frontdoor,andon the firstfloor…nottomentiontheguardsthatweresuretobeoutsidethebedrooms.But there was an easier way to get past all them. A way in that didn’t

involve possibly alerting Farran and Jayne if the guards at the front doorraised thealarm.Hardinghadmentioned somethingaboutawindowon thesecondfloorthathecouldleapthrough…Hardingwasagoodtumbler,butshewasbetter.Whenshewasafewstreetsaway,sheclimbedthesideofahouseuntilshe

wason the roofand runningagain, fastenough tomake the leapacross thegapbetweenhouses.She’d walked past Jayne’s house enough times in the past few days to

knowthatitwasseparatedfromitsneighborsbyalleysprobablyfifteenfeetwide.Sheleaptacrossanothergapbetweenroofs.Now that she thought of it, she knew there was a second-floor window

facingoneof thosealleys—and shedidn’tgiveadamnwhere thatwindowopenedto,justthatitwouldgetherinsidebeforetheguardsonthefirstfloorcouldnotice.TheemeraldroofofJayne’shousegleamed,andCelaenaskiddedtoahalt

on the roofnextdoor.Awide, flat stretchof thegabled roofstoodbetweenher and the long jump across the alley. If she aimed correctly and ran fastenough,shecouldmakethatleapandlandthroughthatsecond-floorwindow.Thewindowwasalreadythrownopen, thoughthecurtainshadbeendrawn,blockinganyviewofwhatwaswithin.Despite the fogof rage, years of trainingmadeher instinctively scan the

neighboring rooftops. Was it arrogance or stupidity that kept Jayne fromhavingguardsonthenearbyroofs?Eventheguardsonthestreetdidn’tlookupather.Celaena untied her cloak and let it slide to the ground behind her. Any

additionaldragmightbefatal,andshehadnointentionofdyinguntilJayneandFarranwerecorpses.Theroofonwhichshestoodwasthreestorieshighandfacedthesecond-

floorwindowacrossthealley.Shefactoredinthedistanceandhowfastshe’dbefalling,andmadesuretheswordscrossedtoherbackwereneatlytuckedin.Thewindowwaswide,butshestillneededtoavoidthebladescatchingon

thethreshold.Shebackedupasfarasshecouldtogiveherselfrunningspace.SomewhereonthatsecondfloorsleptJayneandFarran.Andsomewherein

thishouse,theyhaddestroyedSam.After she had killed them, perhaps she’d tear the house down stone by

stone.Perhapsshe’dtearthisentirecitydown,too.Shesmiled.Shelikedthesoundofthat.Thenshetookadeepbreathandbrokeintoarun.Theroofwasnolongerthanfiftyfeet—fiftyfeetbetweenherandthejump

thatwouldeither landher right through thatopenwindowa levelbelow,orsplatterheronthealleybetween.Shesprintedfortheever-nearingedge.Fortyfeet.Therewasnoroomforerror,noroomforfearorsorroworanythingexcept

thatblindingrageandcold,viciouscalculation.Thirtyfeet.Sheraced,straightasanarrow,eachpumpofher legsandarmsbringing

hercloser.Twenty.Ten.Thealleybelowloomed,thegaplookingfarbiggerthanshe’drealized.Five.Buttherewasnothingleftofhertoevenconsiderstopping.Celaenareachedtheedgeoftheroofandleapt.

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CHAPTER10

Thecoldkissofnight aironher face, theglitterof thewet streetsunderlamplight, the sheen of moonlight on the black curtains inside the openwindowasshearcedtowardit,handsalreadyreachingforherdaggers…Shetuckedherheadintoherchest,bracingforimpactassheburstthrough

thecurtains,rippingthemcleanofftheirhangings,hitthefloor,androlled.Right into ameeting room full of people. In a heartbeat, she took in the

details:asomewhatsmallroomwhereJayne,Farran,andotherssataroundasquare table, and a dozen guards now staring at her, already formed into awalloffleshandweaponrybetweenherandherprey.The curtainswere thick enough to have blockedout any lightwithin the

room—tomakeitlooklikeitwasdarkandemptyinside.Atrick.Itdidn’tmatter.She’dtakethemalldownanyway.Thetwodaggersinher

bootswere thrown before shewas even on her feet, and the guards’ dyingshoutsbroughtawickedgrintoherlips.Herswordswhined,bothinherhandsasthenearestguardchargedforher.Heimmediatelydied,aswordpunchedthroughhisribsandintohisheart.

Every object—every person—between her and Farranwas an obstacle or aweapon,ashieldoratrap.Shewhirled to the next guard, and her grin turned feral as she caught a

glimpseofJayneandFarranat theotherendof the room,seatedacross thetable.Farranwas smilingather, hisdarkeyesbright, but Jaynewasonhisfeet,gaping.Celaena buried one of her swords into the chest of a guard so she could

reachforherthirddagger.Jaynewas stillgapingwhen thatdagger imbedded itself to thehilt inhis

neck.Utterpandemonium.Thedoor flungopen, andmoreguardspoured in as

she retrievedher second sword from the chest cavityof the fallenguard. Itcouldn’thavebeenmorethantensecondssinceshe’dleaptthroughtheopenwindow.Hadtheybeenwaiting?Twoguardslungedforher,swordsslicingtheair.Hertwinbladesflashed.

Bloodsprayed.Theroomwasn’t large—only twentyfeetseparatedherfromFarran,who

remainedseated,watchingherwithwilddelight.Threemoreguardswentdown.Someone hurled a dagger at her, and she knocked it asidewith a blade,

sendingitrightintothelegofanotherguard.Unintentional,butlucky.Anothertwoguardsfell.Therewereonly a few left betweenher and the table—andFarran at the

otherside.Hedidn’tevenlookatJayne’scorpse,slumpedonthetablebesidehim.Guardswerestillrushinginfromthehall,buttheywereallwearingstrange

blackmasks,maskswithclearglasseyepieces,andsomesortofclothmeshoverthemouths…And then thesmokestarted,and thedoorshut,andassheguttedanother

guard,sheglancedatFarranintimetoseehimslideonamask.Sheknewthissmoke—knewthissmell.IthadbeenonSam’scorpse.That

musky,strange—Someone sealed the window, shutting out the air. Smoke everywhere,

foggingeverything.Hereyesstung,butshedroppedaswordtoreachforthatlastdagger, the

onethatwouldfinditshomeinFarran’sskull.Theworldjoltedtotheside.No.Shedidn’tknowif shesaid itor thought it,but thewordechoed through

thedarknessthatwasdevouringher.Another masked guard had reached her, and she straightened in time to

driveaswordintohisside.Bloodsoakedherhand,butshekepthergripontheblade.Kepthergriponthedaggerinherotherhandasshecockeditback,anglingforFarran’shead.But the smoke invaded every pore, every breath, every muscle. As she

archedherarm,ashudderwentthroughherbody,makinghervisiontwistandfalter.Sheswayedtotheside,losinghergriponthedagger.Aguardswipedfor

her,butmissed,slicingoffaninchfromherbraidinstead.Herhairbrokefreeinagoldenwaveasshecareenedtotheside,fallingso,soslowly,Farranstillsmilingather…Aguard’sfistslammedintohergut,knockingtheairoutofher.Shereeled

back,andanotherfistlikegranitemetherface.Herback,herribs,herjaw.Somanyblows,sofastthepaincouldn’tkeepup,andshewasfallingsoslowly,breathinginallthatsmoke…Theyhadbeenwaitingforher.Theinvitinglyopenwindow,thesmokeand

themasks,wereallapartofaplan.Andshehadfallenrightintoit.Shewasstillfallingastheblacknessconsumedher.

“Noneofyouaretotouchher,”acool,boredvoicewassaying.“She’stobekeptalive.”Therewerehandsonher,pryingherweaponsoutofhergrip,thensetting

herintoasittingpositionagainstthewall.Freshairpouredintotheroom,butshecouldhardlyfeelitonhertinglingface.Shecouldn’tfeelanything.Couldn’tmoveanything.Shewasparalyzed.Shemanagedtoopenhereyes,onlytofindFarrancrouchedinfrontofher,

thatfelinesmilestillonhisface.Thesmokehadclearedfromtheroom,andhismasklaydiscardedbehindhim.“Hello,Celaena,”hepurred.Someone had betrayed her. NotArobynn.Notwhen he hated Jayne and

Farran so much. If she’d been betrayed, it would have been one of thewretches in theGuild—someonewhowould have benefitedmost from herdeath.Itcouldn’tbeArobynn.Farran’sdarkgrayclotheswereimmaculate.“I’vebeenwaitingafewyears

tomeetyou,youknow,”hesaid,soundingrathercheerfuldespite thebloodandbodies.“Tobehonest,”hewenton,hiseyesdevouringeveryinchofherinaway

thatmadeherstomachstarttotwist,“I’mdisappointed.Youwalkedrightintoourlittletrap.Youdidn’tevenstoptothinktwiceaboutit,didyou?”Farransmiled.“Neverunderestimatethepoweroflove.Orisitrevenge?”Shecouldn’tconvinceherfingerstoshift.Evenblinkingwasaneffort.“Don’tworry—thenumbness from thegloriella is already fading, though

youwon’tbeabletomovemuchatall.Itshouldwearoffinaboutsixhours.Atleast,that’showlongitlastedonyourcompanionafterIcaughthim.It’saparticularlyeffective toolforkeepingpeoplesedatedwithout theconstraintsof shackles.Makes the processmuchmore…enjoyable, even if you can’tscreamasmuch.”Gods above. Gloriella—the same poison Ansel had used on the Mute

Master, somehowwarped into incense.Hemust have caught Sam, broughthimbackhere,usedthesmokeonhim,and…Hewasgoingtotortureher,too.Shecouldwithstandsometorture,butconsideringwhathadbeendonetoSam, she wondered how quickly she’d break. If she’d had control overherself,she’dhaverippedoutFarran’sthroatwithherteeth.

HeronlyglimmerofhopecamefromthefactthatArobynnandtheotherswould arrive soon, and even if one of her kind had betrayed her, whenArobynnfoundout…whenhesawwhateverFarranhadstartedtodotoher…He’dkeepFarranalive,ifonlysowhensherecovered,shecouldguthimherself.Guthim,andtakeadamnlongtimetodoit.Farran stroked thehair out of her eyes, tucking it behindher ears.She’d

shatterthathand,too.ThewaySam’shandshadbeenmethodicallyshattered.Behind Farran, guards began dragging the bodies away. No one touchedJayne’scorpse,stillsprawledonthetable.“You know,” Farranmurmured, “you’re really quite beautiful.”He ran a

finger downher cheek, then alongher jaw.Her ragebecame a living thingthrashinginsideofher,fightingforjustonechancetobreakfree.“IcanseewhyArobynnkeptyouasapet for somanyyears.”His fingerwent lower,slidingacrossherneck.“Howoldareyou,anyway?”She knew he didn’t expect an answer. His eyes met hers, dark and

ravenous.Shewouldn’t beg. If shewere to die likeSam, she’ddo sowithdignity.

With that rage still burning.Andmaybe…maybe she’d get the chance tobutcherhim.“I’mhalf-temptedtokeepyouformyself,”hesaid.Hebrushedhisthumb

over her mouth. “Instead of handing you over, perhaps I’ll take youdownstairs,andifyousurvive…”Heshookhishead.“Butthatwasn’tpartofthebargain,wasit?”Words boiled up in her, but her tongue didn’t move. She couldn’t even

openhermouth.“You’re dying to knowwhat the bargain was, aren’t you? Let’s see if I

remember correctly … We kill Sam Cortland,” Farran recited, “you goberserk and break in here, then you kill Jayne”—he gave a nod toward thehugebodyon the table—“and I takeJayne’splace.”Hishandswere rovingover her neck now, sensual caresses that promised unbearable agony.Witheachpassingsecond,someofthenumbnessdidindeedwearoff—buthardlyanycontrolofherbodyreturned.“PitythatIneedyoutotaketheblameforJayne’sdeath.Andifonlyhandingyouovertothekingwouldn’tmakesuchanicegift.”Theking.Hewasn’tgoingtotortureher,orkillher,butgivehertotheking

asabribetokeeproyaleyesfromlookingFarran’sway.Shecouldhavefacedtorture,enduredtheviolationsshecouldpracticallyseeinFarran’seyes,butifshewenttotheking…Sheshovedthethoughtaway,refusingtofollowitspath.

Shehadtogetout.Hemusthaveseenthepanicenterhereyes.Farransmiled,ahandclosing

around her throat. Too-sharp nails pricked her skin. “Don’t be afraid,Celaena,”hewhisperedintoherear,digginghisnailsindeeper.“Ifthekingletsyousurvive,I’minyoureternaldebt.You’vehandedmemycrown,afterall.”Therewasonewordonherlips,butshecouldn’tgetitout,nomatterhow

muchshetried.Who?Whohadbetrayedhersofoully?Shecouldunderstandhatingher,butSam

…EveryonehadadoredSam,evenWesley…Wesley.Hehadtriedtotellher:It’salljusta—Andhisfacehadn’tbeenset

with irritation, but with grief—grief and rage, directed not at her, but atsomeoneelse.HadArobynnsentWesleytowarnher?Harding, theassassinwho had been talking about the window, had always had an eye on herposition as Arobynn’s heir. And he’d practically spoon-fed her the detailsaboutwheretobreakin,howtobreakin…Ithadtobehim.MaybeWesleyhad figured it out just as she was breaking out of the Keep. Because thealternative…No,shecouldn’teventhinkofthealternative.Farranpulledback, looseninghis griponher throat. “I dowish I’dbeen

allowedtoplaywithyouforabit,butIsworenottoharmyou.”Hecockedhishead to the side, taking in the injuries she’dalreadysuffered.“I thinkafewbruisedribsandasplitlipareexcusable.”Hepulledoutapocketwatch.“Alas, it’s eleven, and you and I both have places to be.”Eleven.An hourbeforeArobynnwouldevenleavetheKeep.AndifHardinghadactuallybeenthe one to betray her, then he’d probably do his best to delay them evenfurther.Onceshewasbroughttotheroyaldungeons,whatoddsdidArobynnhaveofsuccessfullybreakingherout?Whenthegloriellaworeoff,whatoddsdidshehaveofbreakingout?Farran’seyeswerestillonhers,glitteringwithdelight.Andthen,without

warning,hisarmslashedthroughtheair.She heard the sound of a hand against flesh before she felt the stinging

throb in her cheek and mouth. The pain was faint. She was thankful thenumbnesswas still clinging to her, especially as the coppery tang of bloodfilledhermouth.Farrangracefullyrosefromhiscrouch.“Thatwasforgettingbloodonthe

carpet.”Despite the sidewaysangleofherhead, shemanaged toglareupathim,

even as her blood slid down her throat. Farran straightened his gray tunic,

thenleaneddowntoturnherheadforward.Hissmilereturned.“Youwouldhavebeendelightfultobreak,”hetoldher,andstrodefromthe

room, motioning to three tall, well-dressed men as he passed. Not pettyguards.She’dseen those threemenbefore.Somewhere—atsomepoint thatshecouldn’tquiterecall…Oneof themenapproached, smiling,despite thegorepooledaroundher.

Celaenaglimpsedtheroundedpommelofhisswordbeforeitconnectedwithherhead.

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CHAPTER11

Celaenaawokewithapulsingheadache.Shekepthereyesshut, lettinghersenses take inhersurroundingsbefore

she announced to theworld that shewas awake.Wherever shewas, itwasquiet,anddamp,andcold,andreekedofmildewandrefuse.Sheknewthreethingsbeforesheevenopenedhereyes.Thefirstwasthatatleastsixhourshadpassed,becauseshecouldwriggle

hertoesandherfingers,andthosemovementswereenoughtotellherthatallofherweaponshadbeenremoved.ThesecondwasthatbecauseatleastsixhourshadpassedandArobynnand

the others clearly had not found her, she was either in the royal dungeonsacrossthecityorinsomecellbeneathJayne’shouse,awaitingtransport.ThethirdwasthatSamwasstilldead,andevenherragehadbeenapawn

insomebetrayalsotwistedandbrutalshecouldn’tbegintowrapherachingheadaroundit.Samwasstilldead.Sheopenedhereyes,findingherselfindeedinadungeon,dumpedontoa

rottenpalletofhayandchainedtothewall.Herfeethadalsobeenshackledtothefloor,andbothsetsofchainshadjustenoughslackthatshecouldmakeittothefilthybucketinthecornertorelieveherself.Thatwasthefirstindignitysheallowedherselftosuffer.Once she’d taken care of her bladder, she looked about the cell. No

windows,andnotenoughspacebetweentheirondoorandthethresholdforanythingmorethanlighttosqueezethrough.Shecouldn’thearanything—notthroughthewalls,norcomingfromoutside.Her mouth was parched, her tongue leaden in her mouth. What she

wouldn’t give for amouthful ofwater towash away the lingering taste ofblood.Herstomachwaspainfullyempty, too,andthethrobbinginherheadsentsplintersoflightthroughherskull.She had been betrayed—betrayed by Harding or someone like him,

someonewhowouldbenefitfromherbeingpermanentlygone,withnohopeofevercomingback.AndArobynnstillhadn’trescuedher.He’dfindher,though.Hehadto.Shetestedthechainsonherwristsandankles,examiningwheretheywere

anchoredintothestonefloorandwalls,lookingovereverylink,studyingthelocks.Theywere solid.She felt all the stonesaroundher, tapping for loosebits or possibly a whole block that she could use as a weapon. Therewasnothing.Allthepinshadbeenpulledoutofherhair,robbingherofachancetoeventrytopickthelock.Thebuttonsonherblacktunicweretoosmallanddelicatetobeuseful.Perhaps if a guard came in, she could get him close enough to use the

chains against him—strangle him or knock him unconscious, or hold himhostagelongenoughforsomeonetoletherout.Perhaps—Thedoorgroanedopen,andamanfilledthethreshold,threeothersbehind

him.Histunicwasdarkandembroideredwithgoldenthread.Ifhewassurprised

toseeherawake,hedidn’trevealit.Royalguards.Thiswastheroyaldungeon,then.Theguardinthedoorwayplacedthefoodhewascarryingonthefloorand

slidthetraytowardher.Water,bread,ahunkofcheese.“Dinner,”hesaid,notsteppingonefootintheroom.Heandhiscompanionsknewthethreatofgettingtooclose.Celaena glanced at the tray.Dinner.How long had she been downhere?

Haditbeennearlyawholeday—andArobynnstillhadn’tcomeforher?HehadtohavefoundWesleyby thestables—andWesleywouldhave toldhimwhatshe’dgonetodo.Hehadtoknowshewashere.The guard was watching her. “This dungeon is impenetrable,” he said.

“AndthosechainsaremadewithAdarlaniansteel.”Shestaredathim.Hewasmiddle-aged,perhapsforty.Heworenoweapons

—anotherprecaution.Usually,theroyalguardsjoinedyoungandstayeduntilthey were too old to carry a sword. That meant this man had years ofextensivetraining.Itwastoodarktoseethethreeguardsbehindhim,butsheknewtheywouldn’ttrustjustanyonetowatchher.And even if he’d said thewords to intimidate her into behaving, hewas

probablytellingthetruth.Noonegotoutoftheroyaldungeons,andnoonegotin.If ithadbeenawholedayandArobynnhadn’tyet foundher,shewasn’t

getting out either. If her betrayer had been able to fool her, and Sam, andArobynn, then they’d find a way to keep the King of the Assassins fromknowingshewasinhere,too.NowthatSamwasdead,therewasn’tanythingleftoutsideofthedungeons

worth fighting for, anyway. Not when Adarlan’s Assassin was crumblingapart,andherworldwithher.Thegirlwho’dtakenonaPirateLordandhisentireisland,thegirlwho’dstolenAsterionhorsesandracedalongthebeachin theRedDesert, thegirlwho’d satonherown rooftop,watching the sunriseovertheAvery,thegirlwho’dfeltalivewithpossibility…thatgirlwasgone.Therewasn’tanythingleft.AndArobynnwasn’tcoming.She’dfailed.Andworse,she’dfailedSam.Shehadn’tevenkilledthemanwho’dended

hislifesoviciously.Theguardshiftedonhis feet,andshe realizedshe’dbeenstaringathim.

“Thefoodisclean,”wasalltheguardsaidbeforehebackedoutoftheroomandshutthedoor.Shedrankthewaterandateasmuchofthebreadandcheeseasshecould

stomach.Shecouldn’t tell if the food itselfwasbland,or ifher tonguehadjustlostallsenseoftaste.Everybitetastedlikeash.Shekickedthetraytowardthedoorwhenshewasfinished.Shedidn’tcare

that she couldhaveused it as aweapon, or a lure toget oneof theguardscloser.Becauseshewasn’tgettingout,andSamwasdead.Celaena leanedherheadagainst the freezing,dampwall.She’dneverbe

abletomakesurehewassafelyburiedintheearth.She’dfailedhimeveninthat.Whentheroaringsilencecametoclaimheragain,Celaenawalkedintoit

withopenarms.

Theguards liked to talk.About sporting events, aboutwomen, about themovementofAdarlan’sarmies.Abouther,mostofall.Sometimes, flickers of their conversations broke through the wall of

silence,holdingherattentionforamomentbeforesheletthequietsweepherbackouttoitsendlesssea.

“Thecaptain’sgoingtobefurioushewasn’thereforthetrial.”“ServeshimrightforgallivantingwiththeprincealongtheSuriancoast.”Sniggers.

“Iheardthecaptain’sracingbacktoRifthold,though.”“What’sthepoint?Hertrialistomorrow.Hewon’tevenmakeitintimeto

seeherexecuted.”

“Youthinkshe’sreallyCelaenaSardothien?”“Shelooksmydaughter’sage.”“Betternot tellanyone—thekingsaidhe’dflayusallalive ifwebreathe

oneword.”“Hardtoimaginethatit’sher—didyouseethelistofvictims?Itwenton

andon.”“You thinkshe’swrong in thehead?She just looks atyouwithout really

lookingatyou,youknow?”“I bet they needed someone to pay for Jayne’s death. They probably

grabbedasimplegirltopretenditwasher.”Snorts.“Won’tmatter to theking,will it?Andifshewon’t talk, thenit’s

herowndamnfaultifshe’sinnocent.”“Idon’tthinkshe’sreallyCelaenaSardothien.”

“Iheardit’llbeaclosedtrialandexecutionbecausethekingdoesn’twantanyoneseeingwhoshereallyis.”“Trustthekingtodenyeveryoneelsethechancetowatch.”“Iwonderifthey’llhangorbeheadher.”

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CHAPTER12

The world flashed. Dungeons, rotten hay, cold stones against her cheek,guardstalking,breadandcheeseandwater.Thenguardsentered,crossbowsaimedather,handson theirswords.Twodayshadpassed,somehow.Aragandabucketofwaterwerethrownather.Cleanherselfupforhertrial,theysaid.Sheobeyed.Andshedidn’tstrugglewhentheygavehernewshacklesonherwristsandankles—shacklesshecouldwalkin.Theytookherdownadark,coldhallwaythatechoedwithdistantgroans,thenupthestairs.Sunlightshone through a barred window—harsh, blinding—as they went up morestairs,andeventuallyintoaroomofstoneandpolishedwood.Thewoodenchairwas smoothbeneathher.Herhead still ached, and the

placeswhereFarran’smenhadstruckherwerestillsore.Theroomwaslarge,butsparselyappointed.She’dbeenshovedintoachair

setinthecenteroftheroom,asafedistancefromthemassivetableonthefarend—thetableatwhichtwelvemensatfacingher.Shedidn’tcarewhotheywere,orwhattheirrolewas.Shecouldfeeltheir

eyes on her, though. Everyone in the room—the men at the table and thedozensofguards—waswatchingher.Ahangingorabeheading.Herthroatclosedup.Therewasnopointinfighting,notnow.Shedeservedthis.Formorereasonsthanshecouldcount.Sheshouldnever

haveallowedSamtoconvincehertodispatchFarranonhisown.Itwasherfault,allofit,setinmotionthedayshe’darrivedinSkull’sBayanddecidedtomakeastandforsomething.Asmalldooratthebackoftheroomopened,andthemenatthetablegot

totheirfeet.Heavy boots stomping across the floor, the guards straightening and

saluting…TheKingofAdarlanenteredtheroom.Shewouldn’tlookathim.Lethimdowhathewantedtoher.Ifshelooked

intohiseyes,whatsemblanceofcalmshehadwouldbeshredded.Soitwasbetter to feel nothing than to cower before him—the butcher who haddestroyedsomuchofErilea.Bettertogotohergravenumbanddazedthanbegging.

Achairatthecenterofthetablewaspulledback.Themenaroundthekingdidn’tsituntilhedid.Thensilence.The wooden floor of the room was so polished that she could see the

reflectionoftheironchandelierhangingfaraboveher.A lowchuckle, likebone against rock.Evenwithout looking at him, she

couldsensehissheermass—thedarknessswirlingaroundhim.“I didn’t believe the rumors until now,” the king said, “but it seems the

guardswerenotlyingaboutyourage.”Afainturgetocoverherears,toshutoutthatwretchedvoice,flickeredin

thebackofhermind.“Howoldareyou?”Shedidn’treply.Samwasgone.Nothingshecoulddo—evenifshefought,

evenifsheraged—couldchangethat.“DidRourkeFarrangethisclawsonyou,orareyoujustbeingwillful?”Farran’sface,leeringather,smilingsoviciouslyasshewashelplessbefore

him.“Verywell, then,” thekingsaid.Papersbeingshuffled, theonlysound in

the deathly silent room. “Do you deny that you areCelaena Sardothien? Ifyoudonotspeak,thenIwilltakeyoursilenceforacquiescence,girl.”Shekepthermouthshut.“Thenreadthecharges,CouncilorRensel.”Amalethroatwascleared.“You,CelaenaSardothien,arechargedwiththe

deathsofthefollowingpeople…”Andthenhebeganalongrecitationofallthose lives she’d taken. The brutal story of a girl who was now gone.Arobynn had always seen to it that the world knew of her handiwork. HealwaysgotwordoutthroughsecretchannelswhenanothervictimhadfallentoCelaenaSardothien.Andnow,theverythingthathadearnedhertherighttocallherselfAdarlan’sAssassinwouldbewhat sealedherdoom.When itwasover,themansaid,“Doyoudenyanyofthecharges?”Herbreathingwassoslow.“Girl,” the councilman said a bit shrilly, “we will take your lack of

responsetomeanyoudonotdenythem.Doyouunderstandthat?”Shedidn’tbothertonod.Itwasallover,anyway.“ThenIwilldecideyoursentence,”thekinggrowled.Thentherewasmurmuring,morerustlingpapers,andacough.Thelighton

thefloorflickered.Theguardsintheroomremainedfocusedonher,weaponsattheready.Footsteps suddenly thudded towardher from the table, and sheheard the

soundofweaponsbeingangled.Sherecognizedthefootstepsbeforethekingevenreachedherchair.“Lookatme.”Shekepthergazeonhisboots.“Lookatme.”It made no difference now, did it? He’d already destroyed so much of

Erilea—destroyedpartsofherwithoutevenknowingit.“Lookatme.”CelaenaraisedherheadandlookedattheKingofAdarlan.Theblooddrainedfromherface.Thoseblackeyeswerepoisedtodevour

theworld;thefeatureswereharshandweathered.Heworeaswordathisside—theswordwhosenameeveryoneknew—andafinetunicandfurcloak.Nocrownrestedonhishead.Shehadtogetaway.Hadtogetoutofthisroom,getawayfromhim.Getaway.“Do you have any last requests before I announce your sentence?” he

asked,thoseeyesstillsearingthrougheverydefenseshe’deverlearned.Shecould still smell the smoke that had suffocated every inch ofTerrasen nineyearsago,stillsmellthesizzlingfleshandhearthefutilescreamsasthekingand his armies wiped out every last trace of resistance, every last trace ofmagic.NomatterwhatArobynnhadtrainedhertodo,thememoriesofthoselastweeksasTerrasenfellwereimprinteduponherblood.Soshejuststaredathim.Whenshedidn’treply,heturnedonhisheelandwalkedbacktothetable.Shehadtogetaway.Forever.Brash,foolishfireflaredup,andturnedher

—onlyforamoment—intothatgirlagain.“Ido,”shesaid,hervoicehoarsefromdisuse.Thekingpausedandlookedoverhisshoulderather.Shesmiled,awicked,wildthing.“Makeitquick.”Itwasa challenge,not aplea.Theking’s council and theguards shifted,

someofthemmurmuring.Theking’s eyesnarrowed slightly, andwhenhe smiled at her, itwas the

mosthorrificthingshe’deverseen.“Oh?”hesaid,turningtofaceherfully.Thatfoolishfirewentout.“If it isaneasydeathyoudesire,CelaenaSardothien, Iwillcertainlynot

giveittoyou.Notuntilyouhaveadequatelysuffered.”Theworldbalancedontheedgeofaknife,slipping,slipping,slipping.“You,CelaenaSardothien,aresentencedtoninelives’worthoflaborinthe

SaltMinesofEndovier.”Her blood turned to ice. The councilmen all glanced at one another.

Obviously,thisoptionhadn’tbeendiscussedbeforehand.“Youwillbesentwithorderstokeepyoualiveforaslongaspossible—so

youwillhavethechancetoenjoyEndovier’sspecialkindofagony.”Endovier.Thenthekingturnedaway.Endovier.Therewasaflurryofmotion,andthekingbarkedanordertohaveheron

the first wagon out of the city. Then there were hands on her arms, andcrossbowspointedatherasshewashalf-draggedoutoftheroom.Endovier.Shewasthrowninherdungeoncellforminutes,orhours,oraday.Then

moreguardscametofetchher,leadingherupthestairs,intothestill-blindingsun.Endovier.New shackles, hammered shut.Thedark interior of a prisonwagon.The

turnofmultiplelocks,thejostleofhorsesstartingintoawalk,andmanyotherhorsessurroundingthewagon.Throughthesmallwindowhighinthedoorwall,shecouldseethecapital,

the streets she knew so well, the peoplemilling about and glancing at theprisonwagonandthemountedguards,butnotthinkingaboutwhomightbeinside.ThegoldendomeoftheRoyalTheaterinthedistance,thebrinyscentof a breeze off theAvery, the emeraldtiled roofs andwhite stones of everybuilding.Allpassingby,allsoquickly.TheypassedtheAssassins’Keepwhereshehadtrainedandbledandlost

somuch,theplacewhereSam’sbodylay,waitingforhertoburyhim.Thegamehadbeenplayed,andshehadlost.Now they came to the looming alabaster walls of the city, their gates

thrownwidetoaccommodatetheirlargeparty.AsCelaenaSardothienwasledoutofthecapital,shesankintoacornerof

thewagonanddidnotgetup.

Standing atoponeof themanyemerald roofsofRifthold,RourkeFarranandArobynnHamel watched as the prisonwagonwas escorted out of thecity.AchillbreezesweptofftheAvery,rufflingtheirhair.

“Endovier, then,” Farranmused, his dark eyes still upon the wagon. “Asurprisingtwistofevents.Ithoughtyouhadplannedagrandrescuefromthebutcheringblock.”TheKingoftheAssassinssaidnothing.“Soyou’renotgoingafterthewagon?”“Obviously not,” Arobynn said, glancing at the new Crime Lord of

Rifthold. It had been on this very rooftop that Farran and the King of theAssassinshadfirstrunintoeachother.FarranhadbeengoingtospyononeofJayne’s mistresses, and Arobynn … well, Farran had never learned whyArobynnhadbeenmeanderingacross theroofsofRifthold in themiddleofthenight.“Youandyourmencouldfreeherinamatterofmoments,”Rourkewent

on. “Attacking a prison wagon is far safer than what you had originallyplanned.Though,I’lladmit—sendinghertoEndovierisfarmoreinterestingtome.”“IfIwantedyouropinion,Farran,Iwouldhaveaskedforit.”Farrangavehimaslowsmile.“Youmightwanttoconsiderhowyouspeak

tomenow.”“Andyoumightwanttoconsiderwhogaveyouyourcrown.”Farranchuckled,andsilencefellforalongmoment.“Ifyouwantedherto

suffer,youshouldhaveleftherinmycare.Icouldhavehadherbeggingforyoutosaveherinamatterofminutes.Itwouldhavebeenexquisite.”Arobynnjustshookhishead.“Whatevergutteryougrewupin,Farran, it

musthavebeenanunparalleledsortofhell.”Farranstudiedhisnewally,hisgazeglittering.“Youhavenoidea.”After

anothermomentofquiet,heasked,“Whydidyoudoit?”Arobynn’sattentiondriftedback to thewagon,alreadya smalldot in the

rolling foothills above Rifthold. “Because I don’t like sharing mybelongings.”

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AFTER

Shehadbeeninthewagonfortwodaysnow,watchingthelightshiftanddanceon thewalls.Sheonlymovedfromthecorner longenoughtorelieveherselfortopickatthefoodtheythrewinforher.ShehadbelievedshecouldloveSamandnotpaytheprice.Everythinghas

a price, she’d once been told by a Spidersilkmerchant in the RedDesert.Howrighthewas.Sunshonethroughthewagonagain,fillingitwithweaklight.Thetrekto

theSaltMinesofEndovier took twoweeks,andeachmile led themfartherandfarthernorth—andintocolderweather.When shedozed, falling in andoutofdreamsand reality and sometimes

notknowingthedifference,shewasoftenawokenbytheshiversthatrackedherbody.Theguardsofferedhernoprotectionagainstthechill.Twoweeksinthisdark,reekingwagon,withonlytheshadowsandlighton

thewall forcompany,and thesilencehoveringaroundher.Twoweeks,andthenEndovier.Sheliftedherheadfromthewall.Thegrowingfearsetthesilenceflickering.NoonesurvivedEndovier.Mostprisonersdidn’tsurviveamonth.Itwasa

deathcamp.Atremorwentdownhernumbfingers.Shedrewherlegsintightertoher

chest,restingherheadagainstthem.Theshadowsandthelightcontinuedtoplayonthewall.

Excited whispers, the crunch of rushing feet on dried grass, moonlightshiningthroughthewindow.Shedidn’tknowhowshegotupright,orhowshemadeittothetinybarred

window,herlegsstiffandachingandwobblyfromdisuse.Theguardsweregatherednear theedgeof theclearing they’dcamped in

for the night, staring out into the tangle of trees. They’d entered OakwaldForestsometimeonthefirstday,andnowitwouldbenothingbuttrees-trees-treesforthetwoweeksthattheywouldtravelnorth.Themoonilluminatedthemistswirlingalongtheleaf-strewnground,and

madethetreescastlongshadowslikelurkingwraiths.

Andthere—standinginacopseofthorns—wasawhitestag.Celaena’sbreathhitched.Sheclenchedthebarsofthesmallwindowasthecreaturelookedatthem.

His towering antlers seemed to glow in the moonlight, crowning him inwreathsofivory.“Godsabove,”oneoftheguardswhispered.Thestag’senormoushead turnedslightly—toward thewagon, toward the

smallwindow.TheLordoftheNorth.So thepeopleofTerrasenwill always knowhow to find theirwayhome,

she’d once told Ansel as they lay under a blanket of stars and traced theconstellationoftheStag.Sotheycanlookupatthesky,nomatterwheretheyare,andknowTerrasenisforeverwiththem.Tendrilsofhotairpuffedfromthestag’ssnout,curlinginthechillnight.Celaenabowedherhead,thoughshekepthergazeuponhim.SothepeopleofTerrasenwillalwaysknowhowtofindtheirwayhome…Acrackinthesilence—spreadingwiderandwiderasthestag’sfathomless

eyesstayedsteadyonher.Aglimmerofaworldlongsincedestroyed—akingdominruins.Thestag

shouldn’tbehere—notsodeepintoAdarlanorsofarfromhome.Howhadhesurvived thehunterswhohadbeen set loosenineyears ago,when thekinghadorderedallthesacredwhitestagsofTerrasenbutchered?Andyethewashere,glowinglikeabeaconinthemoonlight.Hewashere.Andsowasshe.Shefeltthewarmthofthetearsbeforesherealizedshewascrying.Thentheunmistakablegroanofbowstringsbeingpulledback.Thestag,herLordoftheNorth,herbeacon,didn’tmove.“Run!”Thehoarsescreameruptedoutofher.Itshatteredthesilence.Thestagremainedstaringather.Shebangedonthesideofthewagon.“Run,damnyou!”The stag turned and sprinted, a bolt of white light weaving through the

trees.Thetwangofbowstrings,thehissofarrows—allmissingtheirmark.The guards cursed, and the wagon shook as one of them struck it in

frustration.Celaenabackedawayfromthewindow,backedup,up,up,untilsheranintothewallandcollapsedtoherknees.Thesilencehadgone.Initsabsence,shecouldfeelthebarkingpainecho

throughherlegs,andtheacheoftheinjuriesFarran’smenhadgivenher,and

thedull stingingofwrists andankles rubbed rawbychains.And shecouldfeeltheendlessholewhereSamhadoncebeen.Shewas going to Endovier—shewas to be a slave in the SaltMines of

Endovier.Fear,ravenousandcold,draggedherunder.

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BEGINNING

CelaenaSardothienknewshewasnearingtheSaltMineswhen,twoweekslater, the trees of Oakwald gave way to gray, rough terrain, and jaggedmountainspiercedthesky.She’dbeenlyingonthefloorsincedawnandhadalreadyvomitedonce.Andnowshecouldn’tbringherselftostandup.Soundsinthedistance—shoutingandthefaintcrackofawhip.Endovier.Shewasn’tready.The light turnedbrighteras they left the treesbehind.ShewasgladSam

wasn’theretoseeherlikethis.Sheletoutasobsoviolentshehadtopressherfisttohermouthtokeep

frombeingheard.She’dneverbereadyforthis,forEndovierandtheworldwithoutSam.Abreezefilled thewagon, liftingaway thesmellsof thepast twoweeks.

Hertremblingpausedforaheartbeat.Sheknewthatbreeze.She knew the chill bite beneath it, knew it carried the hint of pine and

snow,knewthemountainsfromwhichithailed.Anorthernbreeze,abreezeofTerrasen.Shemuststandup.Pineandsnowandlazy,goldensummers—acityoflightandmusicinthe

shadowoftheStaghornMountains.Shemuststand,orbebrokenbeforesheevenenteredEndovier.Thewagonslowed,wheelsbouncingovertheroughpath.Awhipsnapped.“MynameisCelaenaSardothien…,”shewhisperedontothefloor,buther

lipsshookhardenoughtocutoffthewords.Somewhere, someone started screaming. From the shift in the light, she

knewtheywerenearingwhathadtobeagiantwall.“My name isCelaena Sardothien…,” she tried again. She gasped down

unevenbreaths.Thebreezegrewintoawind,andsheclosedhereyes,lettingitsweepaway

theashesof thatdeadworld—of thatdeadgirl.Andthen therewasnothingleftexceptsomethingnew,somethingstillglowingredfromtheforging.Celaenaopenedhereyes.ShewouldgointoEndovier.GointoHell.Andshewouldnotcrumble.Shebracedherpalmsonthefloorandslidherfeetbeneathher.

Shehadnotstoppedbreathingyet,andshehadenduredSam’sdeathandevadedtheking’sexecution.Shewouldsurvivethis.Celaena stood, turning to the window and looking squarely at the

mammothstonewallrisingupaheadofthem.She would tuck Sam into her heart, a bright light for her to take out

wheneverthingsweredarkest.Andthenshewouldrememberhowithadfelttobeloved,whentheworldhadheldnothingbutpossibility.Nomatterwhattheydidtoher,theycouldnevertakethataway.Shewouldnotbreak.And someday…someday, even if it tookheruntil her last breath, she’d

findoutwhohaddonethistoher.ToSam.Celaenawipedawayhertearsasthe wagon entered the shade of the tunnel through the wall. Whips andscreamsandtheclankofchains.Shetensed,alreadytakingineverydetailshecould.Butshesquaredhershoulders.Straightenedherspine.“My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered, “and I will not be

afraid.”Thewagonclearedthewallandstopped.Celaenaraisedherhead.Thewagondoorwasunlockedand thrownopen, flooding the spacewith

graylight.Guardsreachedforher,mereshadowsagainstthebrightness.Sheletthemgrabher,letthempullherfromthewagon.Iwillnotbeafraid.Celaena Sardothien lifted her chin and walked into the Salt Mines of

Endovier.

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Acknowledgments

Elements of these stories have been floating throughmy imagination forthepastdecade,butgettingthechancetowritethemalldownwassomethingI never believed I’d be blessed enough to do. Itwas a delight to originallysharethesenovellasase-books,butseeingthemprintedasaphysicalbookisadreamcometrue.Soit’swithimmensegratitudethatIthankthefollowingpeople:Myhusband,Josh—formakingdinner,bringingmecoffee(andtea…and

chocolate… and snacks), walking Annie, and for all of the unconditionallove.Icouldnotdothiswithoutyou.My parents—for buyingmultiple copies of every novel and novella, for

beingmy#1fans,andforalloftheadventures(afewofwhichinspiredthesestories).My incomparable agent, Tamar Rydzinski, who called one summer

afternoonwithacrazyideathatwouldeventuallybecomethesenovellas.Myeditor,MargaretMiller,whoneverfailstochallengemetobeabetter

writer.And the entire worldwide team at Bloomsbury—for the unfailing

enthusiasm,brilliance,andsupport.Thankyouforallthatyou’vedonefortheThroneofGlassseries.IamsoproudtocallmyselfaBloomsburyauthor.Writingabookisdefinitelynotasolitary task,andwithout thefollowing

people,thesenovellaswouldnotbewhattheyare:Alex Bracken, whom I’ll never stop owing for the genius suggestion

regardingTheAssassinandtheUnderworld (andforall theother incrediblefeedback,too).JaneZhao,whoseunwaveringenthusiasmfortheworldofThroneofGlass

was one of the things I clung tomost on the long path to publication.KatZhang, who always finds time to critique despite an impossibly hecticschedule.AmieKaufman,whocriedandswoonedinalltherightplaces.AndSusanDennard—mywonderful,honest, fierceSooz.Youremindme

thatsometimes—justsometimes—theuniversecangetthingsright.Nomatterwhathappens,Iwillalwaysbegratefulforthedayyoucameintomylife.Additional love and thanks tomy incredible friends: ErinBowman,Dan

Krokos,LeighBardugo,andBiljanaLikic.Andyou,dearreader:thankyouforcomingwithmeonthisjourney.Ihope

thatyou’veenjoyedthisglimpseintoCelaena’spast—andIhopethatyou’ll

enjoyseeingwhereheradventurestakeherinThroneofGlass!

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AlsobySarahJ.Maas

ThroneofGlassCrownofMidnight

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READONFORANEXCERPTFROMTHEFIRSTBOOKINTHETHRONEOFGLASSSERIES

AfterayearofslaveryintheSaltMinesofEndovier,Celaenaissummonedtothecastleofaviciousking,whereshehopestofinallywinherfreedom.Ifshe defeats twenty-three killers, thieves, andwarriors in a competition, shewillbereleasedfromprisontoserveastheKing’sChampion.Butsomethingevil dwells in the castle—and it’s there to kill.Celaena’s fight for freedombecomesafightforsurvival—andadesperatequesttorootouttheevilbeforeitdestroysherworld.

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AfterayearofslaveryintheSaltMinesofEndovier,CelaenaSardothienwasaccustomedtobeingescortedeverywhereinshacklesandatsword-point.Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment—though an extra half-dozen guards alwayswalkedCelaena to and from themines.ThatwasexpectedbyAdarlan’smostnotoriousassassin.Whatshedidnotusuallyexpect,however,wasahoodedmaninblackatherside—astherewasnow.He gripped her arm as he led her through the shining building inwhich

most of Endovier’s officials and overseerswere housed. They strode downcorridors, up flights of stairs, and around and around until she hadn’t theslightestchanceoffindingherwayoutagain.Atleast,thatwasherescort’sintention,becauseshehadn’tfailedtonotice

whentheywentupanddownthesamestaircasewithinamatterofminutes.Nor had shemissedwhen they zigzagged between levels, even though thebuildingwasastandardgridofhallwaysandstairwells.Asifshe’dloseherbearingsthateasily.Shemighthavebeeninsultedifhewasn’ttryingsohard.They entered a particularly long hallway, silent save for their footsteps.

Thoughthemangraspingherarmwas tallandfit,shecouldseenothingofthefeaturesconcealedbeneathhishood.Anothertacticmeanttoconfuseandintimidate her. The black clotheswere probably a part of it, too. His headshifted inherdirection,andCelaena flashedhimagrin.He looked forwardagain,hisirongriptightening.It was flattering, she supposed, even if she didn’t know what was

happening,orwhyhe’dbeenwaitingforheroutsidethemineshaft.Afteraday of cleaving rock salt from the innards of the mountain, finding himstandingtherewithsixguardshadn’timprovedhermood.Butherearshadprickedwhenhe’dintroducedhimself toheroverseeras

ChaolWestfall,Captainof theRoyalGuard, and suddenly, the sky loomed,themountains pushed from behind, and even the earth swelled toward herknees.Shehadn’t tastedfear inawhile—hadn’t letherself taste fear.Whensheawokeeverymorning,sherepeatedthesamewords:Iwillnotbeafraid.For a year, those words had meant the difference between breaking andbending;theyhadkeptherfromshatteringinthedarknessofthemines.Notthatshe’dletthecaptainknowanyofthat.Celaena examined the gloved hand holding her arm. The dark leather

almostmatchedthedirtonherskin.She adjustedher torn and filthy tunicwithher free hand andheld in her

sigh.Entering theminesbefore sunrise anddeparting after dusk, she rarelyglimpsed the sun.Shewas frightfullypalebeneath thedirt. Itwas true thatshehadbeenattractiveonce,beautifuleven,but—well,itdidn’tmatternow,didit?They turned down another hallway, and she studied the stranger’s finely

crafted sword. Its shimmering pommelwas shaped like an eaglemidflight.Noticingher stare,hisglovedhanddescended to restupon itsgoldenhead.Anothersmiletuggedatthecornersofherlips.“You’realongwayfromRifthold,Captain,”shesaid,clearingherthroat.

“DidyoucomewiththearmyIheardthumpingaroundearlier?”Shepeeredinto the darkness beneath his hood but saw nothing. Still, she felt his eyesuponherface,judging,weighing,testing.Shestaredrightback.TheCaptainoftheRoyalGuardwouldbeaninterestingopponent.Maybeevenworthyofsomeeffortonherpart.Finally, theman raisedhis swordhand, and the folds of his cloak fell to

conceal the blade. As his cloak shifted, she spied the gold wyvernembroideredonhistunic.Theroyalseal.“Whatdoyoucare for thearmiesofAdarlan?”he replied.Howlovely it

wastohearavoicelikeherown—coolandarticulate—evenifhewasanastybrute!“Nothing,”shesaid,shrugging.Heletoutalowgrowlofannoyance.Oh, it’d be nice to see his blood spill across the marble. She’d lost her

temper once before—once,when her first overseer chose thewrong day topushhertoohard.Shestillrememberedthefeelingofembeddingthepickaxintohisgut,andthestickinessofhisbloodonherhandsandface.Shecoulddisarmtwooftheseguardsinaheartbeat.Wouldthecaptainfarebetterthanherlateoverseer?Contemplatingthepotentialoutcomes,shegrinnedathimagain.“Don’t you look at me like that,” he warned, and his hand drifted back

towardhis sword.Celaenahid her smirk this time.Theypassed a series ofwoodendoorsthatshe’dseenafewminutesago.Ifshewantedtoescape,shesimply had to turn left at the next hallway and take the stairs down threeflights.Theonly thingall the intendeddisorientationhadaccomplishedwastofamiliarizeherwiththebuilding.Idiots.“Where arewe going again?” she said sweetly, brushing a strand of her

mattedhairfromherface.Whenhedidn’treply,sheclenchedherjaw.Thehallsechoedtooloudlyforhertoattackhimwithoutalertingthewhole

building. She hadn’t seenwhere he’d put the key to her irons, and the sixguardswhotrailedthemwouldbenuisances.Nottomentiontheshackles.

Theyenteredahallwayhungwith ironchandeliers.Outside thewindowslining thewall,nighthadfallen; lanternskindledsobright theyofferedfewshadowstohidein.From the courtyard, she could hear the other slaves shuffling toward the

woodenbuildingwheretheyslept.Themoansofagonyamongsttheclankofchainsmadeachorusasfamiliarasthedrearyworksongstheysangallday.TheoccasionalsoloofthewhipaddedtothesymphonyofbrutalityAdarlanhadcreatedforitsgreatestcriminals,poorestcitizens,andlatestconquests.Whilesomeoftheprisonerswerepeopleaccusedofattemptingtopractice

magic—notthattheycould,giventhatmagichadvanishedfromthekingdom—these days, more and more rebels arrived at Endovier. Most were fromEyllwe,oneof the last countries still fightingAdarlan’s rule.Butwhen shepestered them for news,many just stared at her with empty eyes. Alreadybroken. She shuddered to consider what they’d endured at the hands ofAdarlan’sforces.Somedays,shewonderediftheywouldhavebeenbetteroffdyingonthebutcheringblocksinstead.Andifshemighthavebeenbetteroffdyingthatnightshe’dbeenbetrayedandcaptured,too.Butshehadotherthingstothinkaboutastheycontinuedtheirwalk.Was

shefinallytobehanged?Sicknesscoiledinherstomach.ShewasimportantenoughtowarrantanexecutionfromtheCaptainoftheRoyalGuardhimself.Butwhybringherinsidethisbuildingfirst?Atlast,theystoppedbeforeasetofred-and-goldglassdoorssothickthat

she couldn’t see through them.CaptainWestfall jerked his chin at the twoguardsstandingoneithersideofthedoors,andtheystompedtheirspearsingreeting.Thecaptain’sgriptighteneduntilithurt.HeyankedCelaenacloser,buther

feet seemedmadeof leadandshepulledagainsthim.“You’d rather stay inthemines?”heasked,soundingfaintlyamused.“PerhapsifIweretoldwhatthiswasallabout,Iwouldn’tfeelsoinclined

toresist.”“You’ll find out soon enough.”Her palms became sweaty. Yes, shewas

goingtodie.Ithadcomeatlast.Thedoorsgroanedopentorevealathroneroom.Aglasschandeliershaped

likeagrapevineoccupiedmostoftheceiling,spittingseedsofdiamondfireontothewindowsalongthefarsideoftheroom.Comparedtothebleaknessoutsidethosewindows,theopulencefeltlikeaslaptotheface.Areminderofhowmuchtheyprofitedfromherlabor.“Inhere,”theCaptainoftheGuardgrowled,andshovedherwithhisfree

hand, finally releasingher.Celaenastumbled,hercalloused feet slippingon

thesmoothfloorasshestraightenedherself.Shelookedbacktoseeanothersixguardsappear.Fourteenguards,plusthecaptain.Thegoldroyalemblemembroideredon

the breast of black uniforms. These were members of the Royal Family’spersonalguard:ruthless,lightning-swiftsoldierstrainedfrombirthtoprotectandkill.Sheswallowedtightly.Lightheadedandimmenselyheavyallatonce,Celaenafacedtheroom.On

anornate redwood thronesatahandsomeyoungman.Herheart stoppedaseveryonebowed.ShewasstandinginfrontoftheCrownPrinceofAdarlan.

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“YourHighness,” said theCaptain of theGuard.He straightened from alowbowand removedhis hood, revealing close-cropped chestnut hair.Thehoodhaddefinitelybeenmeanttointimidateherintosubmissionduringtheirwalk.As if that sort of trick couldwork onher. Despite her irritation, sheblinkedatthesightofhisface.Hewassoyoung!Captain Westfall was not excessively handsome, but she couldn’t help

finding the ruggednessofhis face and the clarityofhisgolden-browneyesrather appealing. She cocked her head, now keenly aware of her wretcheddirtiness.“This is she?” the Crown Prince of Adarlan asked, and Celaena’s head

whippedaroundasthecaptainnodded.Bothofthemstaredather,waitingforher to bow.When she remained upright, Chaol shifted on his feet, and theprinceglancedathiscaptainbeforeliftinghischinabithigher.Bow to him indeed! If shewere bound for the gallows, shewouldmost

certainlynotspendthelastmomentsofherlifeingrovelingsubmission.Thunderingstepsissuedfrombehindher,andsomeonegrabbedherbythe

neck. Celaena only glimpsed crimson cheeks and a sandymustache beforebeing thrown to the icymarble floor. Pain slammed through her face, lightsplintering her vision. Her arms ached as her bound hands kept her jointsfromproperlyaligning.Thoughshetriedtostopthem,tearsofpainwelled.“That is the proper way to greet your future king,” a red-faced man

snappedatCelaena.Theassassinhissed,baringherteethasshetwistedherheadtolookatthe

kneelingbastard.Hewasalmostaslargeasheroverseer,clothedinredsandorangesthatmatchedhisthinninghair.Hisobsidianeyesglitteredashisgriptightenedonherneck.Ifshecouldmoveherrightarmjustafewinches,shecouldthrowhimoffbalanceandgrabhissword…Theshacklesdugintoherstomach,andfizzing,boilingrageturnedherfacescarlet.After a too-long moment, the Crown Prince spoke. “I don’t quite

comprehend why you’d force someone to bow when the purpose of thegesture is to display allegiance and respect.” His words were coated withgloriousboredom.Celaenatriedtopivotafreeeyetotheprince,butcouldonlyseeapairof

blackleatherbootsagainstthewhitefloor.“It’sclearthatyourespectme,DukePerrington,butit’sabitunnecessary

toputsucheffortintoforcingCelaenaSardothien tohavethesameopinion.Youand I knowverywell shehasno love formy family.Soperhapsyour

intentistohumiliateher.”Hepaused,andshecouldhaveswornhiseyesfellonherface.“ButIthinkshe’shadenoughofthat.”

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READONFORASNEAKPEEKOFTHETHIRDBOOKINTHETHRONEOFGLASSSERIES

Celaenahassurviveddeadlycontestsandshatteringheartbreak—butatanunspeakablecost.Now,shemusttraveltoanewlandtoconfrontherdarkesttruth…atruthaboutherheritagethatcouldchangeherlife—andherfuture—forever. Meanwhile, brutal and monstrous forces are gathering on thehorizon,intentonenslavingherworld.WillCelaenafindthestrengthnotonlytofightherinnerdemonsbuttotakeontheevilthatisabouttobeunleashed?

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She smelled smoke before she saw the lights. Not campfires, but lightsfromabuildingrisingupoutofthetrees,huggingthespineofthemountainslope.The stoneswere dark and ancient—hewn from something other thantheabundantgranite.Hereyesstrained,butshedidn’tfailtonotetheringoftowering rocks woven between the trees, surrounding the entirety of thefortress. No, it was hard not to notice them when they rode between twomegalithsthatcurvedtowardeachotherlikethehornsofagreatbeast,andazingingcurrentsnappedagainstherskin.Wards—magic wards. Her stomach turned. If they didn’t keep out any

enemies, they certainly served as an alarm.Whichmeant the three figurespatrollingeachofthethreetowers,thesixontheouterretainingwall,andthethreeatthewoodengateswouldnowknowtheywereapproaching.Menandwomen in light leather armor, bearing swords, daggers, and bows, allmonitoringtheirapproach.“IthinkI’dratherstayinthewoods,”shesaid,herfirstwordsindays.Rowandidn’tevenliftanarmingreeting.Hemustbefamiliar,then,ifhe

didn’tstooptohellos.Astheydrewclosertotheancientfortress—whichwaslittle more than a few watchtowers woven together by a large connectingbuilding,allofitsplatteredwithlichensandmoss—shedidthecalculations.Ithadtobesomeborderoutpost—ahalfwaypointbetweenthemortalrealmandDoranelleitself.Perhapsshe’dfinallyhaveawarmplacetosleep,evenifitwasjustforthenight.Shescannedthesentriesatthegate,onthewall,onthetowersabove.They

allworehoods—maskinganysignsoftheirheritage.Rowanmightnothavespokentoherformostoftheirjourney—he’dshownasmuchinterestinheras a pile of horseshit on the road—but if shewere stayingwith theFae…othersmighthavequestions.JustseeingtheFaegathered,aftershe’dsmelledthoseburningstakestenyearsago,heardthescreamsonthewind…She’ddoneherbesttoforgetthoseweeksandmonths—toforgeteverythoughtandfeelingthatwentwiththem.TheguardssalutedRowan,whodidn’tsparethemapassingglance.She took in every detail, every exit, everyweakness as they entered the

large courtyard beyond the wall, two rather mortal-looking stable hands

rushing to help them dismount. It was so still. As if everything, even thestones,washoldingitsbreath.Asif ithadbeenwaiting.ThesensationonlyworsenedwhenRowanwordlessly ledher into thedim interiorof themainbuilding,upanarrowsetofstonestairs,andintowhatlookedtobeasmalloffice.Itwasn’tthecarvedoakfurniture,orthefadedgreendrapes,orthewarmth

ofthefirethatmadeherstopdead.ItwasthewomanseatedbehindthedeskthatmadeCelaena’sworldshrinkandexpandwitheachbreath.Maeve,queenoftheFae.

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SheIsHerKingdom’sMostFearlessAssassin

DON’TMISSANYOFTHISEPICSERIESFROMSARAHJ.MAAS

www.bloomsbury.comwww.facebook.com/throneofglass

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Textcopyright©2014bySarahJ.MaasMapcopyright©2012byKellydeGroot

Allrightsreserved.Youmaynotcopy,distribute,transmit,reproduce,orotherwisemake

availablethispublication(oranypartofit)inanyform,orbyanymeans(includingwithoutlimitationelectronic,digital,optical,mechanical,

photocopying,printing,recording,orotherwise),withoutthepriorwrittenpermissionofthepublisher.Anypersonwhodoesanyunauthorizedactinrelationtothispublicationmaybeliabletocriminalprosecutionandcivil

claimsfordamages.

FirstpublishedintheUnitedStatesofAmericainMarch2014byBloomsburyChildren’sBooks

www.bloomsbury.com

ThiselectroniceditionpublishedinMarch2014

Forinformationaboutpermissiontoreproduceselectionsfromthisbook,writeto

Permissions,BloomsburyChildren’sBooks,1385Broadway,NewYork,NewYork10018.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataMaas,SarahJ.

[Novellas.Selections]Theassassin’sblade:theThroneofglassnovellas/bySarahJ.Maas.

pagescmContainsfourpreviouslypublishede-books:Theassassinandthepiratelord,

Theassassinandthedesert,Theassassinandtheunderworld,andTheassassinandtheempire,plusonenever-before-publishednovella,The

assassinandthehealer.Summary:InthesefiveprequelnovellastoThroneofglass,fearedassassinCelaenaembarksondaringmissionsthattakeherfrom

remoteislandstohostiledeserts,whereshefightstoliberateslavesandavengetyranny.

[1.Fantasy.2.Assassins—Fiction.]I.Title.PZ7.M111575As2014[Fic]—dc232013041954

eISBN:978-1-6196-3221-9

Visitwww.bloomsbury.comtofindoutmoreaboutourauthorsandtheir

books.Youwillfindextracts,authorinterviews,andauthorevents,andyoucansignupfornewsletterstobethefirsttohearaboutourlatestreleasesandspecial

offers.

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TableofContents

MapTheAssassinandThePirateLordTheAssassinandTheHealerTheAssassinandTheDesertTheAssassinandTheUnderworldTheAssassinandTheEmpireAcknowledgmentsAlsobySarahJ.Maas

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