The Captain of the Guard was waiting
for her at the front gate of the glass castle.
Celaena Sardothien, Erilea’s
greatest assassin and now the King’s Champion, hadn’t bothered to hurry her
black mare through the teeming streets of Rifthold. Even after two weeks of
traveling to and from the base of the Ararat Mountains, even though she was
half-frozen and covered in the dust of a hundred roads, she wasn’t all that
eager to reach her final destination.
She wasn’t surprised to find
Chaol Westfall standing at the bottom of the hill atop which the castle
was perched—wasn’t surprised to see the half-dozen or so guards doing their
best to pretend they weren’t watching every movement, or signaling up the
winding path that she had returned. She’d already spotted the men Chaol had
stationed in the city itself: at the wall gates, on street corners, on
rooftops, all scouting for any sign of her return.
Chaol looked just as he had when she
left, his black and gold uniform clean-pressed, the eagle-shaped pommel of his
sword gleaming in the midmorning sun.
At least he was now using the blade.
After killing Cain at the duel, he hadn’t worn it for the few weeks it’d taken
her to recover from her injuries. When she’d left last month, he’d still been
using another blade. Still had those shadows in his bronze eyes.
But those shadows were gone now, as
she looked down at him from beneath the black cowl of her hood. He was just
standing to the side of the gate, arms crossed over his broad chest, that
familiar frown on his lips.
She clicked her tongue and
dismounted, tossing the reins to one of the awaiting guards as she turned to
face the captain. “What—no flowers?”
The frown deepened. She smiled
broadly.
This had been her first mission, the
first test of trust, and genuine ability. Celaena jerked her chin to one of the
mare’s saddlebags. A massive lump pushed out from under the worn leather. “When
do you suppose he’ll give me targets worthy of my skill?”
Chaol’s eyes flicked from her face
to the head in the saddle bag, then back to her, the frown deepening. “You’re
three days late.”
She shrugged, and didn’t wait for
his permission to begin walking up the sloped path to the castle itself. No,
she didn’t need any sort of permission anymore—not as King’s Champion. But
Chaol stiffened nonetheless.
She chuckled under her breath. “You
try going to the foothills of the Ararat Mountains in the dead of winter and
see if you make it anywhere on time. I almost lost my fingers and toes to the
cold.” She wriggled the former in his face. “You don’t even want to know how I
managed to keep warm.”
Nothing. Not even a hint of a smile.
She sighed and looked skyward. “Will
it be a whipping, or the rack, or shall I just be forced to attend the Queen’s
Court for an afternoon?”
He didn’t react to that, either, but
merely fell into step beside her. “I’m not the one you have to explain yourself
to.”
She gave him a sidelong glance.
“Were you worried I wouldn’t come back?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “How
long before you sent out your dogs to hunt me down?”
He looked at her this time, his
golden-brown eyes fierce. “A week. I’d have given you a week before I sent out
my men to make inquiries. But you
were lucky—news of Sir Carlin’s death reached us fairly soon after you . . . took
care of him.”
Killed
him. Slit his throat and cut off his
head. Dumped his body in the Ararat River. She watched him silently, daring
him to say it, but he had already looked away.
They were halfway up the long path
before he quietly said, “Were you hurt at all?”
She snorted. “Killing men in their
beds doesn’t involve much risk.”
His eyes narrowed.
And though she
knew she shouldn’t, she added, “Or involve much honor. That’s what you’re
thinking, right?”
A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I
know what your position entails.”
But she still wondered if he’d
somehow forgotten until now—as if the Yulemas ball and the duel with Cain had
made him think she was someone else, someone harmless. A wolf with no fangs.
More silence, the castle growing
ever-nearer. “I suppose His Majesty knows I’m here?”
“He wants to meet with you
immediately. And bring your . . . proof.”
She made a face. “I knew he wanted
the heads, but . . . He wants to see
them in the meeting? Who will be there?”
“What concern is it to you?”
She shrugged again. Every detail of
that meeting was a concern, especially Chaol with his too-keen eyes and ability
to sniff out even the whitest of lies from her.
“I just want to know how candid I
can be.”
“In front of the king? Do you want
to wind up back in the mines?”
She gave him a sweet smile. “And
here I was, thinking he and I had become such good friends.”
A flash of teeth. “Don’t you even think of—”
“A month without me and you’ve
returned to taking me seriously? We’re back to that already?”
She hadn’t realized just how deep
that question ran until he had stopped walking.
For a moment, they just looked at
each other, a moment during which she remembered that day after the duel when
he’d held her—not a captain holding an assassin, or a friend holding a friend,
but a man holding a woman . . .
If she tried to hold him now, would
he shove her aside? She didn’t want to know—didn’t quite have the nerve to try
it. Or the nerve to wonder why she wanted to.
“I trust you,” was all he said.
“That’s why you had men around the
city spying on me?”
“I had men around the city,” he said
through gritted teeth, “because I wanted to have a chance to greet you first.
To see if you were all right.”
She blinked and cocked her head.
Looking after her, not spying. It had been so long since she’d had who cared
enough to bother.
She had to swallow a few times before
she could reply. “Of course I’m all right.” A stupid response, but he began
walking again. She followed him, blinking against the brightness of melting
snow off the glass castle. “But if I wasn’t all right,” she dared ask, “what
would you have done?”
A shrug of those powerful shoulders.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Indulge me.”
He didn’t look at her as he said, “I
would have done what I needed to do.”
She ground her teeth. “Stop being so
cagey.”
“I don’t see how knowing it makes
any difference.”
She felt her nostrils flare, but
kept her mouth shut. Fine.
They reached the front gates of the
castle. The usual hustle and bustle of courtiers, servants, guards, and
visitors was hardly lessened by the frigid day. She glanced up at the upper
spires, her stomach twisting at more than the thought of climbing all those
stairs to the king’s council room.
So much depended on this meeting—so
much that she didn’t dare let herself think about it. And certainly not in
front of Chaol, who could read her face with unnerving ease.
So she grinned before he could turn
to glimpse her face, to discover the doubt and fear underneath.
Absolute confidence, absolute
arrogance: her best shields and most beloved masks.
“I hope His Majesty has a decent
spread of food for me to eat while I’m being interrogated.”
“Watch your mouth or the only thing
you’ll be eating is hot coals.”
“Do you actually make people do
that?”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of
person do you take me for?”
“You are the Captain of the Guard of
the most powerful man in the world. Wyrd knows what horrible things you’ve done
to people.”
“You must be nervous as hell if
you’re resorting to taunting me.”
She wouldn’t let that shake her,
wouldn’t allow the grin or the swagger to pause for an instant. But she halted
before the wide, sweeping front steps into the castle. The best lies were
always mixed with the truth—let him believe what he would.
“You know my history with His
Majesty.” After all, he’d been the one to bring her to that meeting with the
king on the first day of the competition. He’d seen her near-panic at the
thought of meeting him, seen her go pale.
Undoubtedly, he was thinking of the
same encounter. His eyes softened, and he put a hand on her shoulder. “Just—be
polite. Submissive.”
“Now that is a true challenge worthy
of me.”
A half-smile. “If you’re
well-behaved, I’ll have a chocolate-hazelnut cake sent to your rooms during our
lunch.”
“Our lunch?”
A hint of wariness, but a growing
smile. “Unless you had someone else you’d prefer to dine with?”
She chewed on the inside of her lip,
looking toward one of the stone towers—the tower in which Dorian had his rooms.
She’d meant every word she’d said to the Crown Prince that day she’d ended
things between them, and had kept away ever since.
So no—there was no one else she’d
rather eat with today, not even Nehemia. “I suppose I could endure lunch with
you,” she said.
She couldn’t help but wonder if his
grin was from amusement or something else. But the full force of his smile was
enough to make the world pause.
“I missed you,” she admitted.
Chaol’s smile faltered, and he again
stared at her—questioning, calculating, wondering. She waited for him to look
around, to factor in the people swarming the grounds and how best to respond,
but he just kept looking at her. As if the world had paused for him, too.
And then he chuckled under his
breath, more to himself than to her, and said, “It was boring as hell without
you.”
She laughed, and ascended the steps
into the castle. And though she didn’t reach for him, and though he didn’t
offer his arm, they walked a bit closer as they made their way to the king.
