He said nothing.
“As of this moment, Sam’s debt to you is paid,” she said, a shred of victory shining through her growing shame and misery. “From right now until forever, he’s a free man.”
Arobynn stared back, then shrugged. “I suppose that’s a good thing.” She felt the final blow coming, and she knew she should run, but she stood like an idiot and listened as he said, “Because I spent all the money you gave me when I was at Lysandra’s Bidding last night. My vault feels a little empty because of it.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
The money she had sacrificed so much to get …
He’d used it to win Lysandra’s Bidding.
“I’m moving out,” she whispered. He just watched her, his cruel, clever mouth forming a slight smile. “I’ve purchased an apartment, and I’m moving there. Today.”
Arobynn’s smile grew. “Do come back and visit us some time, Celaena.”
She had to bite her lip to keep it from wobbling. “Why did you do it?”
Arobynn shrugged again. “Why shouldn’t I enjoy Lysandra after all these years of investing in her career? And why do you care what I do with my own money? From what I’ve heard, you have Sam now. Both of you are free of me.”
Of course he’d found out already. And of course he’d try to make this about her—try to make it her fault. Why shower her with gifts only to do this? Why deceive her about Doneval and then torture her with it? Why had he saved her life nine years ago just to treat her this way?
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 have devastated her. It still hurt, but now, with Doneval and Philip and others dead by her hand, with those documents now in Bardingale’s possession, and with Sam steadfastly at her side … Arobynn’s petty, vicious parting shot had narrowly missed the mark.
“Don’t come looking for me for a good, long while,” she said. “Because I might kill you if I see you before then, Arobynn.”
He waved a hand at her. “I look forward to the fight.”
She left. As she strode through his study doors, she almost slammed into the three tall men who were walking in. They all took one look at her face and then muttered apologies. She ignored them, and ignored Wesley’s dark stare as she strode past him. Arobynn’s business was his own. She had her own life now.
Her boot heels clicked against the marble floor of the grand entrance. Someone yawned from across the space, and Celaena found Lysandra leaning against the banister of the staircase. She was wearing a white silk nightgown that barely covered her more private areas.
“You’ve probably already heard, but I went for a record price,” Lysandra purred, stretching out the beautiful lines of her body. “Thank you for that; rest assured that your gold went a long, long way.”
Celaena froze and slowly turned. Lysandra smirked at her.
Fast as lightning, Celaena hurled a dagger.
The blade imbedded itself into the wooden railing a hair’s breadth from Lysandra’s head.
Lysandra began screaming, but Celaena just walked out of the front doors, across the lawn of the Keep, and kept walking until the capital swallowed her up.
Celaena sat on the edge of her roof, looking out across the city. The convoy from Melisande had already left, taking the last of the rain clouds with them. Some of them wore black to mourn Doneval’s death. Leighfer Bardingale had ridden Kasida, prancing down the main avenue. Unlike those in mourning colors, the lady had been dressed in saffron yellow—and was smiling broadly. Of course, it was just because the King of Adarlan had agreed to give them the funds and resources to build their road. Celaena had half a mind to go after her—to get those documents back and repay Bardingale for her deceit. And take back Kasida while she was at it, too.
But she didn’t. She’d been fooled and had lost—badly. She didn’t want to be a part of this tangled web. Not when Arobynn had made it perfectly clear that she could never win.
To distract her from that miserable thought, Celaena had then spent the whole day sending servants between the Keep and her apartment, fetching all the clothes and books and jewelry that now belonged to her and her alone. The late afternoon light shifted into a deep gold, setting all the green rooftops glowing.
“I thought you might be up here,” Sam said, striding across the flat roof to where she sat atop the wall that lined the edge. He surveyed the city. “Some view; I can see why you decided to move.”
She smiled slightly, turning to look at him over her shoulder. He came to stand behind her, and reached out a tentative hand to run through her hair. She leaned into the touch. “I heard what he did—about both Doneval and Lysandra,” Sam murmured. “I never imagined he’d sink that low—or use your money like that. I’m sorry.”
“It was what I needed.” She watched the city again. “It was what I needed to make me tell him I was moving out.”
Sam gave a nod of approval. “I’ve just sort of … left my belongings in your sitting room. Is that all right?”
She nodded. “We’ll find room for it later.”
Sam fell silent. “So, we’re free,” he said at last.
She turned fully to look at him. His brown eyes were vivid.
“I also heard that you paid off my debt,” he said, his voice strained. “You—you sold your Asterion horse to do it.”
“I had no choice.” She pivoted from her spot on the roof and stood. “I’d never leave you shackled to him while I walked away.”
“Celaena.” He said her name like a caress, slipping a hand around her waist. He pressed his forehead against hers. “How can I ever repay you?”
She closed her eyes. “You don’t have to.”
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. Wherever you go, I go. Even if that means going to hell itself, wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Forever.”
Celaena put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, giving him her silent reply.
Beyond them, the sun set over the capital, turning the world into crimson light and shadows.
CHAPTER 1
After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment—though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan’s most notorious assassin. What she did not usually expect, however, was a hooded man in black at her side—as there was now.
He gripped her arm as he led her through the shining building in which most of Endovier’s officials and overseers were housed. They strode down corridors, up flights of stairs, and around and around until she hadn’t the slightest chance of finding her way out again.
At least, that was her escort’s intention, because she hadn’t failed to notice when they went up and down the same staircase within a matter of minutes. Nor had she missed when they zigzagged between levels, even though the building was a standard grid of hallways and stairwells. As if she’d lose her bearings that easily. She might have been insulted, if he wasn’t trying so hard.
They entered a particularly long hallway, silent save for their footsteps. Though the man grasping her arm was tall and fit, she could see nothing of the features concealed beneath his hood. Another tactic meant to confuse and intimidate her. The black clothes were probably a part of it, too. His head shifted in her direction, and Celaena flashed him a grin. He looked forward again, his iron grip tightening.
It was flattering, she supposed, even if she didn’t know what was happening, or why he’d been waiting for her outside the mine shaft. After a day of cleaving rock salt from the innards of the mountain, finding him standing there with six guards hadn’t improved her mood.
But her ears had pricked when he’d introduced himself to her ov
erseer as Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Royal Guard, and suddenly, the sky loomed, the mountains pushed from behind, and even the earth swelled toward her knees. She hadn’t tasted fear in a while—hadn’t let herself taste fear. When she awoke every morning, she repeated the same words: I will not be afraid. For a year, those words had meant the difference between breaking and bending; they had kept her from shattering in the darkness of the mines. Not that she’d let the captain know any of that.
Celaena examined the gloved hand holding her arm. The dark leather almost matched the dirt on her skin.
She adjusted her torn and filthy tunic with her free hand and held in her sigh. Entering the mines before sunrise and departing after dusk, she rarely glimpsed the sun. She was frightfully pale beneath the dirt. It was true that she had been attractive once, beautiful even, but— Well, it didn’t matter now, did it?
They turned down another hallway, and she studied the stranger’s finely crafted sword. Its shimmering pommel was shaped like an eagle midflight. Noticing her stare, his gloved hand descended to rest upon its golden head. Another smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“You’re a long way from Rifthold, Captain,” she said, clearing her throat. “Did you come with the army I heard thumping around earlier?” She peered into the darkness beneath his hood but saw nothing. Still, she felt his eyes upon her face, judging, weighing, testing. She stared right back. The Captain of the Royal Guard would be an interesting opponent. Maybe even worthy of some effort on her part.
Finally, the man raised his sword hand, and the folds of his cloak fell to conceal the blade. As his cloak shifted, she spied the gold wyvern embroidered on his tunic. The royal seal.
“What do you care for the armies of Adarlan?” he replied. How lovely it was to hear a voice like her own—cool and articulate—even if he was a nasty brute!
“Nothing,” she said, shrugging. He let out a low growl of annoyance.
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 the wrong day to push her too hard. She still remembered the feeling of embedding the pickax into his gut, and the stickiness of his blood on her hands and face. She could disarm two of these guards in a heartbeat. Would the captain fare better than her late overseer? Contemplating the potential outcomes, she grinned at him again.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” he warned, and his hand drifted back toward his sword. Celaena hid her smirk this time. They passed a series of wooden doors that she’d seen a few minutes ago. If she wanted to escape, she simply had to turn left at the next hallway and take the stairs down three flights. The only thing all the intended disorientation had accomplished was to familiarize her with the building. Idiots.
“Where are we going again?” she said sweetly, brushing a strand of her matted hair from her face. When he didn’t reply, she clenched her jaw.
The halls echoed too loudly for her to attack him without alerting the whole building. She hadn’t seen where he’d put the key to her irons, and the six guards who trailed them would be nuisances. Not to mention the shackles.
They entered a hallway hung with iron chandeliers. Outside the windows lining the wall, night had fallen; lanterns kindled so bright they offered few shadows to hide in.
From the courtyard, she could hear the other slaves shuffling toward the wooden building where they slept. The moans of agony amongst the clank of chains made a chorus as familiar as the dreary work songs they sang all day. The occasional solo of the whip added to the symphony of brutality Adarlan had created for its greatest criminals, poorest citizens, and latest conquests.
While some of the prisoners were people accused of attempting to practice magic—not that they could, given that magic had vanished from the kingdom—these days, more and more rebels arrived at Endovier. Most were from Eyllwe, one of the last countries still fighting Adarlan’s rule. But when she pestered them for news, many just stared at her with empty eyes. Already broken. She shuddered to consider what they’d endured at the hands of Adarlan’s forces. Some days, she wondered if they would have been better off dying on the butchering blocks instead. And if she might have been better off dying that night she’d been betrayed and captured, too.
But she had other things to think about as they continued their walk. Was she finally to be hanged? Sickness coiled in her stomach. She was important enough to warrant an execution from the Captain of the Royal Guard himself. But why bring her inside this building first?
At last, they stopped before a set of red and gold glass doors so thick that she couldn’t see through them. Captain Westfall jerked his chin at the two guards standing on either side of the doors, and they stomped their spears in greeting.
The captain’s grip tightened until it hurt. He yanked Celaena closer, but her feet seemed made of lead and she pulled against him. “You’d rather stay in the mines?” he asked, sounding faintly amused.
“Perhaps if I were told what this was all about, I wouldn’t feel so inclined to resist.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Her palms became sweaty. Yes, she was going to die. It had come at last.
The doors groaned open to reveal a throne room. A glass chandelier shaped like a grapevine occupied most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of diamond fire onto the windows along the far side of the room. Compared to the bleakness outside those windows, the opulence felt like a slap to the face. A reminder of how much they profited from her labor.
“In here,” the Captain of the Guard growled, and shoved her with his free hand, finally releasing her. Celaena stumbled, her callused feet slipping on the smooth floor as she straightened herself. She looked back to see another six guards appear.
Fourteen guards, plus the captain. The gold royal emblem embroidered on the breast of black uniforms. These were members of the Royal Family’s personal guard: ruthless, lightning-swift soldiers trained from birth to protect and kill. She swallowed tightly.
Lightheaded and immensely heavy all at once, Celaena faced the room. On an ornate redwood throne sat a handsome young man. Her heart stopped as everyone bowed.
She was standing in front of the Crown Prince of Adarlan.
Enter the Kingdom of Endovier, where one’s freedom can come with a deadly price …
Throne of Glass Novellas
The Assassin and the Pirate Lord
On a remote island in a tropical sea, Celaena Sardothien, feared assassin, has come for retribution. She’s been sent by the Assassin’s Guild to collect on a debt they are owed by the Lord of the Pirates. But when Celaena learns that the agreed payment is not in money but in slaves, her mission suddenly changes—and she will risk everything to right the wrong she’s been sent to bring about.
The Assassin and the Desert
The Silent Assassins of the Red Desert aren’t much for conversation, and Celaena Sardothien wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s not there to chatter; she’s there to hone her craft as the world’s most feared killer for hire. When the quiet is shattered by forces who want to destroy the Silent Assassins, Celaena must find a way to stop them or she’ll be lucky to leave the desert alive.
The Assassin and the Underworld
The King of the Assassins has given Celaena Sardothien a special assignment. Since it is an assignment that will help fight slavery in the kingdom, she jumps at the chance to strike a blow against the evil practice. The mission is a dark and deadly affair that takes Celaena from the rooftops of the city to the bottom of the sewer—and she doesn’t like what she finds there.
Throne of Glass
In a land without magic, where the king rules with an iron hand, an assassin is summoned to the castle. She comes not to kill the king but to win her freedom. If she defeats twenty-three killers, thieves, and warriors in a competition, she is released from prison to serve as the king’s champion. Her name is Celaena Sardothien.
The Crown Prince will befriend her. The Captain of the Guard will protect her. But
something evil dwells in the castle of glass—and it’s there to kill. When her competitors start dying one by one, Celaena’s fight for freedom becomes a fight for survival, and a desperate quest to root out the evil before it destroys her world.
ON SALE AUGUST 2012!
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For more information on Sarah J. Maas, visit www.sarahjmaas.com
Copyright © 2012 by Sarah Maas
All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in the United States of America in May 2012
by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
www.bloomsburyteens.com
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
ISBN 978-1-59990-986-8 (e-book)
The Assassin and the Underworld Page 10
