She stared at Orynth, that city of light and learning, the pearl of Erilea and capital of Terrasen. Her birthplace. Celaena slammed shut the book.
Nehemia jabbed her in the side, and Celaena chuckled, batting her hand away. Fleetfoot used their temporary distraction to swipe a piece of bacon right off the platter, and Celaena squawked. “You brazen thief!” But Fleetfoot leapt off the bed, scuttled to the hearth, and stared right at Celaena as she gobbled down the rest of the bacon. Nehemia laughed, and Celaena found herself joining in before she tossed Fleetfoot another piece of bacon.
I don’t think you need to worry about Archer stealing her away – especially if he’s going to be dead by the end of the month.” It came out sharper and colder than he intended. Chaol cut a glance at him. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?” Yes. And it’s obvious to everyone except the two of you.
Did his parents have any idea that in the entire castle, in the entire kingdom, there was no one more noble and loyal than him? That the boy they’d thrown out of their lives had become the sort of man that kings and queens could only dream of having serve in their courts? The sort of man that she hadn’t believed existed, not after Sam, not after everything that had happened.
Manon had never seen her grandmother fight, never trained with her. And some small part of Manon wondered if it was because her grandmother did not want others to know how skilled she was.
Chaol kept staring as though he didn’t know her, his body so very still. She wouldn’t have him thinking her vulnerable, or foolish, or inexperienced – not when she’d worked so hard and sacrificed so much to get to this point. Maybe it had been a mistake to let him in; because the idea of him thinking that she was weak, that she needed to be protected, made her want to shatter someone’s bones.
Then Celaena laughed, and Dorian kept staring at her. The prince hadn’t once taken his eyes off her. Dorian’s expression was full of – something. Joy? Wonder? His shoulders were straight, his back erect. He looked like a man. Like a king.
Dorian shook off the last bit of the cold and walked to his dressing room to change his wrinkled tunic. As he turned, he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a faint ring of frost around where his body had lain on the couch.
She touched the ancient strands, marveling at the hue, so deep that it seemed to swallow her fingers in its darkness. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and Celaena put a hand on her dagger as she pulled the tapestry aside. She swore. And swore again. Another secret door greeted her.
She’d just have to pray that the immortality gracing her blood would drive off any infection.
Because she had no idea; she was still figuring out when it had happened, exactly. It somehow felt as if it had always been Chaol, even from the very beginning, even before they’d ever met. He began to protest, but she pulled him back down on top of her. “And that’s enough talking. I might be tired, but there are still plenty of things to do instead of going for a run.” The grin Chaol gave her was hungry and wicked enough that she shrieked when he yanked her under the blankets.
He shook the hair out of his face. “I’m not interested in court ladies,” he said thickly, and kissed her.
He took a step toward her, but she held her ground. “Believe me, Celaena,” he snarled, his eyes flashing, “I know you can look after yourself. But I worry because I care. Gods help me, I know I shouldn’t, but I do. So I will always tell you to be careful, because I will always care what happens.” She blinked. “Oh,” was all she managed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, then took a long, deep breath. Celaena gave him a sheepish smile.
Beginning a chant of truly despicable curses, Celaena waved her torch before her and walked on until a hallway appeared on the left.
Yes, the party had been delightful, but there was more to the world than that. Bigger things, more beautiful things, more real things.
It was just a rat. And she had no interest – none – in being proven wrong right now.
She should have suspected it. It had taken two heartbeats to note and catalog the man’s details, his tells and ticks. Sweaty, his face pale, pupils diluted – he’d sagged at the sight of Elide when she opened the door. Bastard. Most men, she’d decided, were bastards of varying degrees. Most of them were monsters. None worse than Vernon.
As Celaena’s chuckle faded, Chaol looked at her, his brows high. “You’re one to laugh. You moan about the cold floors more than anyone I know.” She straightened as the guards gave hesitant smiles. “If I recall correctly, you complain about them every time I wipe the floor with you when we spar.” “Oho!” Ress cried, and Chaol’s brows rose higher. Celaena gave him a grin. “Dangerous words,” Chaol said. “Do we need to go to the training hall to see if you can back them up?
Two centuries of slavery that was barely disguised as some sort of twisted path to redemption. Micah’s bargain with him, reduced or no, was a disgrace.
Sweat ran along every part of her body, but she tipped her head back, arms upraised, content to bask in the music. One of the courtesans on the swings flew by so low that their fingers brushed. The touch sent sparks shooting through her. This was more than a party: it was a performance, an orgy, and a call to worship at the altar of excess. Celaena was a willing sacrifice.