If the gods had bothered to listen, she would have traded her life for Nehemia’s. It would have been such an easy choice to make. Because the world didn’t need an assassin with a coward’s heart. It needed someone like Nehemia.
Por la gente que mira a las estrellas y pide deseos, Rhys.
The only way to kill a witch is to cut off her head. A friend had told her that once.
And tell him thank you – for walking that dark path with me back to the light.
She studied the body and the stained, soaking carpet. It hadn’t been quick, but it could still be clean. A missing person was better than a decapitated corpse. Celaena raised her eyes to the large oven grate.
Faster and faster, those three bulls closed in. Lysandra remained at the mouth of the bay. Holding the line. Aedion’s heart stopped. “She’s dead,” one of the sentries hissed. “Oh, gods, she’s dead – ” “Shut your rutting mouth,” Aedion snarled, scanning the bay, slipping into that cold, calculating place that allowed him to make decisions in battle, to weigh the costs and risks.
He was aching to learn what Celaena’s lips felt like, what her bare skin smelled like, how she’d react to the touch of his fingers along her body.
Each of Tamlin’s movements was precise and efficient, his powerfully muscled legs eating up the earth.
He shouldn’t be here. He was only asking for trouble – another fight that might wind up tearing the castle in two. And if Celaena attacked him again, Chaol knew with absolute certainty that he’d let her kill him, if she really wanted.
Yes, she’d loved Sam – more than she’d ever loved anyone. Even Chaol.
Her heart beat so fast it stumbled, and Celaena tore open the letter of approval. It was blank. She flipped the paper over. The other side was also blank. Holding it up to the sun revealed no hidden ink, no watermark. But it had been sealed by him, hadn’t it? That was his seal on the – It was easy to steal a signet ring. She’d done it with Captain Rolfe. And she’d seen the white line around the Master’s finger – his ring had been missing.
You’re free,” Mor said tightly. “You’re free.
Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord. Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord. Rhysand is the most cunning High Lord.
Celaena drew the sword from her belt. If only she had a blade like Ansel’s, not some bit of scrap metal. It shook in her hands as she realized who, exactly, stood between her and the Master. Not some nameless soldier, not some stranger, or a person she’d been hired to kill. But Ansel.
I wanted to go to Perranth with you.
When you give your master his letter, also give him this. And tell him that in the Red Desert, we do not abuse our disciples.” Celaena smiled slowly. “I think I can manage that.” She looked to the open window, to the world beyond. For the first time in a long while, she heard the song of a northern wind, calling her home. And she was not afraid.
Celaena tightened her grip on the sword, willing steel into her veins. Ansel should die; for what she’d done, she deserved to die. And not just for all those assassins lying dead around them, but also for the soldiers who’d spent their lives for her agenda. And for Celaena herself, who, even as she knelt there, felt her heart breaking. Even if she didn’t put the sword through Ansel’s neck, she’d still lose her. She’d already lost her.
You have five minutes to pack your things and leave the fortress,” Celaena said quietly. “Because in twenty minutes, I’m going up to the battlements and I’m going to fire an arrow at you. And you’d better hope that you’re out of range by then, because if you’re not, that arrow is going straight through your neck.
He took all of two steps toward the door before she spoke, the words soft and strained. “Thank you for all that you have done for me, Dorian. Thank you for being my friend. For not being like the others.” He paused, turning to face her. She kept her chin high, but her eyes were gleaming. “I’ll come back,” she said quietly. “I’ll come back for you.” And he knew that there was more that she wasn’t saying, some bigger meaning behind those words. But Dorian still believed her.
And when I finished my story, Nesta merely stared at me for a long while before asking me to teach her how to paint.