F 1 f
As if she’d lose her bearings that easily. She might have been insulted
if he wasn’t trying so hard.
Th ey entered a particularly long hallway, silent save for their footsteps.
Th ough the man grasping her arm was tall and fi t, she could see
nothing of the features concealed beneath his hood. Another tactic
meant to confuse and intimidate her. Th e black clothes were probably a
part of it, too. His head shifted in her direction, and Celaena fl ashed
him a grin. He looked forward again, his iron grip tightening.
It was fl attering, 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, fi nding
him standing there with six guards hadn’t improved her mood.
But her ears had pricked when he’d introduced himself to her overseer
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 diff erence 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. Th e dark leather
almost matched the dirt on her skin.
She adjusted her torn and fi lthy 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?
Th ey turned down another hallway, and she studied the stranger’s
fi nely crafted sword. Its shimmering pommel was shaped like an ea gle
midfl ight. 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. Th e Captain of the Royal Guard would be an interesting
opponent. Maybe even worthy of some eff ort 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. Th e 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 fi rst 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. Th ey 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 fl ights. Th e 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.
Th e 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.
Th ey entered a hallway hung with iron chandeliers. Outside the windows
lining the wall, night had fallen; lanterns kindled so bright they
off ered few shadows to hide in.
From the courtyard, she could hear the other slaves shuffl ing toward
the wooden building where they slept. Th e moans of agony amongst the
clank of chains made a chorus as familiar as the dreary work songs they
sang all day. Th e 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 fi ghting 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 fi nally 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
fi rst?
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.
Th e 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 fi nd out soon enough.” Her palms became sweaty. Yes, she
was going to die. It had come at last.
Th e doors groaned open to reveal a throne room. A glass chandelier
shaped like a grapevine occupied most of the ceiling, spitting seeds of
diamond fi re 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 profi ted from her labor.
“In here,” the Captain of the Guard growled, and shoved her with
his free hand, fi nally releasing her. Celaena stumbled, her calloused feet
slipping on the smooth fl oor as she straightened herself. She looked
back to see another six guards appear.
Fourteen guards, plus the captain. Th e gold royal emblem embroidered
on the breast of black uniforms. Th ese 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 im mensely 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.