She countered his offer with another, but he just shook his head and stared up at Sam. “You two are my best,” Arobynn said with maddening calm. “If you leave, then the respect and the money you’d provide the Guild would be lost. I have to account for that. This price is generous.”
“Generous,” Sam hissed.
But Celaena, her stomach churning, lifted her chin. She could keep throwing figures at him until she was blue in the face, but he’d obviously picked this number for a reason. He would not budge. It was one last slap in the face—one final twist of the knife meant only to punish her.
“I accept,” she said, giving him a bland smile. Sam whipped his head around, but she kept her eyes on Arobynn’s elegant face. “I’ll have the funds transferred to your account immediately. And once that’s done, we’re leaving—and I expect to never be bothered by you or the Guild again. Understood?”
Celaena rose to her feet. She had to get far away from here. Coming back had been a mistake. She shoved her hands in her pockets to hide how they were starting to tremble.
Arobynn grinned at her, and she realized he already knew. “Understood.”
“You had no right to accept his offer,” Sam raged, his face set with such fury that people along the broad city avenue practically jumped out of his way. “No right to do that without consulting me. You didn’t even bargain!”
Celaena peered into the shop windows as she walked by. She loved the shopping district in the heart of the capital—the clean sidewalks lined with trees, the main avenue leading right up to the marble steps of the Royal Theater, the way she could find anything from shoes to perfumes to jewelry to fine weapons.
“If we pay that, then we definitely need to find a contract before we leave!”
If we pay that. She said, “I am paying that.”
“Like hell you are.”
“It’s my money, and I can do what I want with it.”
“You paid for your debt and mine already—I’m not letting you give him another copper. We can find some way around paying this parting fee.”
They walked past the crowded entrance of a popular tea court, where finely dressed women were chatting with each other in the warm autumn sun.
“Is the issue that he demanded so much money, or that I’m paying it?”
Sam pulled up short, and though he didn’t look twice at the tea court ladies, they certainly looked at him. Even with anger rolling off him, Sam was beautiful. And too angry to notice that this was not the spot to argue.
Celaena grabbed his arm, yanking him along. She felt the eyes of the ladies on her as she did so. She couldn’t help a flicker of smugness as they took in her dark blue tunic with its exquisite gold embroidery along the lapels and cuffs, her fitted ivory pants, and her knee-high brown boots, made with butter-soft leather. While most women—especially the wealthy or noble-born ones—opted to wear dresses and miserable corsets, pants and tunics were common enough that her fine clothing wouldn’t have escaped the appreciation of the women idling outside the tea courts.
“The issue,” Sam said through his teeth, “is that I’m sick of playing his games, and I’d just as soon cut his throat as pay that money.”
“Then you’re a fool. If we leave Rifthold on bad terms, we’ll never be able to settle anywhere—not if we want to keep our current occupation. And even if we decided to find honest professions instead, I’d always wonder if he or the Guild would show up one day and demand that money. So if I have to give him every last copper in my bank account to ensure that I can sleep in peace for the rest of my life, so be it.”
They reached the enormous intersection at the heart of the shopping district, where the domed Royal Theater rose above streets packed with horses and wagons and people.
“Where do we draw the line?” Sam asked her quietly. “When do we say enough?”
“This is the last time.”
He let out a derisive snort. “I’m sure it is.” He turned down one of the avenues—in the opposite direction from home.
“Where are you going?”
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 was swallowed up by the hustle of the capital.
Celaena began walking, too, wherever her feet took her. She passed by the steps of the Royal Theater and kept walking, the shops and vendors blurring together. The day was blossoming into a truly lovely example of autumn—the air was crisp, but the sun was warm.
In some ways, Sam was right. But she’d dragged him into this mess—she’d been the one who had started things in Skull’s Bay. Though he claimed to have been in love with her for years, if she’d only kept her distance these past few months, he wouldn’t be in this situation. Perhaps, if she’d been smart, she would have just broken his heart and let him remain with Arobynn. Having him hate her was easier than this. She was … responsible for him now. And that was terrifying.
She cared for him more than she’d ever cared for anyone. Now that she’d ruined the career he’d worked for his whole life, she’d hand over all her money to make sure that he could at least be free. But she couldn’t just explain that she paid for everything because she felt guilty. He’d resent that.
Celaena paused her walking and found herself at the other end of the broad avenue, across the street from the gates to the glass castle. She hadn’t realized she’d walked so far—or been so lost in her thoughts. She usually avoided coming this close to the castle.
The heavily guarded iron gates led to a long, tree-lined path that snaked up to the infamous building itself. She craned her head back to take in the towers that brushed the sky, the turrets sparkling in the midmorning sun. It had been built atop the original stone castle, and was the crowning achievement in Adarlan’s empire.
She hated it.
Even from the street, she could see people milling about the distant castle grounds—uniformed guards, ladies in voluminous dresses, servants clad in the clothes of their station … What sort of lives did they lead, dwelling within the shadow of the king?
Her eyes rose to the highest gray stone tower, where a small balcony jutted out, covered with creeping ivy. It was so easy to imagine that the people within had nothing to worry about.
But inside that shining building, decisions were made daily that altered the course of Erilea. Inside that building, it had been decreed that magic was outlawed, and that labor camps like Calaculla and Endovier were to be established. Inside that building, the murderer who called himself king dwelled, the man she feared above all others. If the Vaults were the heart of Rifthold’s underworld, then the glass castle was the soul of Adarlan’s empire.
She felt like it watched her, a giant beast of glass and stone and iron. Staring at it made her problems with Sam and Arobynn feel inconsequential—like gnats buzzing before the gaping maw of a creature poised to devour the world.
A chill wind blew past, ripping strands of hair from her braid. She shouldn’t have let herself walk so close, even if the odds of ever encountering the king were next to none. Just the thought of him sent a wretched fear splintering through her.
Her only consolation was that most people from the kingdoms conquered by the king probably felt the same way. When he’d marched into Terrasen nine years ago, his invasion had been swift and brutal—so brutal that it made even Celaena sick to recall some of the atrocities that had been committed to secure his rule.
Shuddering, she turned on her heel and headed home.
Sam didn’t return until dinner.
Celaena was sprawled on the couch before the roaring fireplace, book in hand, when Sam strode into the apartment. His hood still covered half of his face, and the hilt of the sword strapped to his back glinted in the orange light of the room. As he locked the door behind him, she caught the dull gleam of the gauntlets strapped to his forearms—thick, embroidered leather that concealed hidden daggers. He moved with such precise efficiency and controlled power that she blink
ed. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that the young man she shared the apartment with was also a trained, ruthless killer.
“I found a client.” He pulled off his hood and leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Celaena shut the book she’d been gobbling down and set it on the couch. “Oh?”
His brown eyes were bright, though his face was unreadable. “They’ll pay. A lot. And they want to keep it from reaching the Assassins’ Guild’s ears. There’s even a contract in it for you.”
“Who’s the client?”
“I don’t know. The man I spoke to had the usual disguises—hood, unremarkable clothing. He could have been acting on behalf of someone else.”
“Why do they want to avoid using the Guild?” She moved to perch on the arm of the couch. The distance between her and Sam felt too large, too full of lightning.
“Because they want me to kill Ioan Jayne and his second-in-command, Rourke Farran.”
Celaena stared at him. “Ioan Jayne.” The biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold.
Sam nodded.
A roaring filled her ears. “He’s too well-guarded,” she said. “And Farran … That man is a psychopath. He’s a sadist.”
Sam approached her. “You said that in order to move to another city, we need money. And since you’re insisting on paying off the Guild, then we really need money. So unless you want to wind up as thieves, I suggest we take it.”
She had to tilt her head back to look at him. “Jayne is dangerous.”
“Then it’s good that we’re the best, isn’t it?” Though he gave her a lazy smile, she could see the tension in his shoulders.
“We should find another contract. There’s bound to be someone else.”
“You don’t know that. And no one else would pay this much.” He named the figure, and Celaena’s brows rose. They’d be very comfortable after that. They could live anywhere.
“You’re sure you don’t know who the client is?”
“Are you looking for excuses to say no?”
“I’m trying to make sure that we’re safe,” she snapped. “Do you know how many people have tried to take out Jayne and Farran? Do you know how many of them are still alive?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Do you want to be with me?”
“What?”
“Do you want to be with me?”
“Yes.” Right now, that was all she wanted.
A half smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “Then we’ll do this, and we’ll have enough money to tie up our loose ends in Rifthold and set ourselves up somewhere else on the continent. If you asked, I’d still leave tonight without giving Arobynn or the Guild a copper, but you’re right: I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. It should be a clean break. I want that for us.” Her throat tightened, and she looked toward the fire. Sam hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to him again. “So will you go after Jayne and Farran with me?”
He was so beautiful—so full of all the things that she wanted, all that she hoped for. How had she never noticed that until this year? How had she spent so long hating him?
“I’ll think about it,” she rasped. It wasn’t just bravado. She did need to think about it. Especially if their targets were Jayne and Farran.
Sam’s smile grew and he leaned down to brush a kiss to her temple. “Better than a no.”
Their breath mingled. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier today.”
“An apology from Celaena Sardothien?” His eyes danced with light. “Do I dream?”
She scowled, but Sam kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his, and a low growl escaped from him as their tongues met. Her hands tangled in the strap that held his sword against his back, and she withdrew long enough to unclasp the scabbard buckle across his chest.
His sword clattered to the wooden floor behind them. Sam looked her in the eyes again, and it was enough for her to grab him closer. He kissed her thoroughly, lazily, as if he had a lifetime of kisses to look forward to.
She liked that. A lot.
He slid one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees, sweeping her up in a fluid, graceful movement. Though she’d never tell him, she practically swooned.
He carried her from the living room and into the bedroom, gently setting her down on the bed. He withdrew only long enough to remove the deadly gauntlets from his wrists, followed by his boots, cloak, jerkin, and shirt beneath. She took in his golden skin and muscled chest, the slender scars that peppered his torso, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe.
He was hers. This magnificent, powerful creature was hers.
Sam’s mouth found hers again, and he eased her farther onto the bed. Down, down, his clever hands exploring every inch of her until she was on her back and he braced himself on his forearms to hover over her. He kissed her neck, and she arched up into him as he ran his hand down the plane of her torso, unbuttoning her tunic as he went. She didn’t want to know where he had learned to do these things. Because if she ever learned the names of those girls …
Her breath hitched as he reached the last button and pulled her out of the jacket. He looked down at her body, his breathing ragged. They had gone further than this before, but there was a question in his eyes—a question written over every inch of his body.
“Not tonight,” she whispered, her cheeks flaring with heat. “Not yet.”
“I’m in no rush,” he said, bending down to graze his nose along her shoulder.
“It’s just …” Gods above, she should stop talking. She didn’t owe him an explanation, and he didn’t push it with her, but … “If I’m only going to do this once, then I want to enjoy every step.” He understood what she meant by this—this relationship between them, this bond that was forming, so unbreakable and unyielding that it made the entire axis of her world shift toward him. That terrified her more than anything.
“I can wait,” he said thickly, kissing her collarbone. “We have all the time in the world.”
Maybe he was right. And spending all the time in the world with Sam …
That was a treasure worth paying anything for.
CHAPTER
3
Dawn crept into their room, filling it with golden light that caught in Sam’s hair and made it shine like bronze.
Propped on one elbow, Celaena watched him sleep.
His bare torso was still gloriously tanned from the summer—suggesting days spent training in one of the courtyards of the Keep, or maybe lounging on the banks of the Avery. Scars of varying lengths were scattered across his back and shoulders—some of them slender and even, some of them thicker and jagged. A life spent training and battling … His body was a map of his adventures, or proof of what growing up with Arobynn Hamel was like.
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 was better than that. Deserved better.
When they moved, maybe they couldn’t leave behind death and killing and all that came with it—not at first, but someday, far in the future, perhaps …
She brushed the hair from his eyes. Someday, they would both lay down their swords and daggers and arrows. And by leaving Rifthold, by leaving the Guild, they’d take the first step toward that day, even if they had to keep working as assassins for a few more years at least.
Sam’s eyes opened, and, finding her watching him, he gave her a sleepy smile.
It hit her like a punch to the gut. Yes—for him, she could someday give up being Adarlan’s Assassin, give up the notoriety and fortune.
He pulled her down, wrapping an arm around her bare waist and tucking her in close to him. His nose grazed her neck, and he breathed her in deeply.
“Let’s take down Jayne and Farran,” she said softly.
Sam purred a response onto her skin that told her he was only halfawake—and that his mind was on anything
but Jayne and Farran.
She dug her nails into his back, and he grunted his annoyance, but made no move to awaken.
“We’ll eliminate Farran first—to weaken the chain of command. It’d be too risky to take them both out at once—too many things could go wrong. But if we take out Farran first, even if it means Jayne’s guards will be on alert, they’ll still be in total chaos. And that’s when we’ll dispatch Jayne.” It was a solid plan. She liked this plan. They merely needed a few days to figure out Farran’s defenses and how to get around them.
Sam mumbled another response that sounded like anything you want, just go back to sleep.
Celaena looked up at the ceiling and smiled.
After breakfast, and after she’d gone to the bank to transfer a huge sum of money to Arobynn’s account (an event that left both Celaena and Sam rather miserable and on edge), they spent the day gathering information on Ioan Jayne. As the biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold, Jayne was well-protected, and his minions were everywhere: orphan spies in the streets, harlots working in the Vaults, barkeeps and merchants and even some city guards.
Everyone knew where his house was: a sprawling three-s tory building of white stone on one of the nicest streets in Rifthold. The place was so well-watched that it was too risky to do more than walk past. Even stopping to observe for a few minutes might spark the interest of one of the disguised henchmen loitering on the street.
It seemed absurd that Jayne would have his house on this street. His neighbors were well-off merchants and minor nobility. Did they know who lived next door and what sort of evil went on beneath the emerald-tiled roof?
They had a stroke of good luck as they meandered past the house, looking for all the world like a well-dressed, handsome couple on a morning walk through the capital. Just as they were passing by, Farran, Jayne’s Second, swaggered out the door, heading for the black carriage parked out front.
Celaena felt Sam’s arm tense under her hand. He kept looking ahead, not daring to stare at Farran for too long in case someone noticed. But Celaena, pretending that she’d discovered a pull in her forest-green tunic, was able to glance over a few times.
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