Roland glanced at him sidelong. “Did she tell you anything interesting?”
“Just the normal nonsense: I’ll soon meet my true love, a glorious destiny awaits me, and I’ll be rich beyond imagining. I don’t think she knew who she was talking to.” He surveyed the Lord of Meah. “And what are you doing here?”
“I saw you heading out and thought you might want company. But then I saw where you were going and decided to keep well away.”
Either Roland was spying on him, or he was telling the truth; Dorian honestly couldn’t tell. But he’d made a point to be pleasant to his cousin during the past few days—and at every council meeting, Roland had backed whatever decision Dorian made without hesitation. The irritation on Perrington and his father’s faces was an unexpected delight, too.
So Dorian didn’t question Roland about why he’d followed him, but when he glanced back at Baba Yellowlegs, he could have sworn the old woman was grinning at him.
It had been a few days since Celaena had tracked her targets. Cloaked in darkness, she stood in the shadows of the docks, not quite believing what she was seeing. All the men on her list, all the ones she’d been following, the ones who might know what the king was up to—were leaving. She’d seen one of them sneak into an unmarked carriage and had followed him here, where he’d boarded a ship set to depart at the midnight tide. And then, to her dismay, the other three had shown up, too, their families in tow, before they were quickly ushered belowdecks.
All those men, all that information she’d been gathering, just—
“I’m sorry,” a familiar voice said behind her, and she whirled to find Archer approaching. How was he so stealthy? She hadn’t even heard him getting close. “I had to warn them,” he said, his eyes on the ship getting ready to depart. “I couldn’t live with their blood on my hands. They have children; what would become of them if you handed over their parents to the king?”
She hissed, “Did you organize this?”
“No,” he said softly, the words barely audible above the shouts of the sailors untying the ropes and readying the oars. “A member of the organization did. I mentioned that their lives might be in jeopardy, and he had his men get them on the next ship out of Rifthold.”
She put a hand on her dagger. “Part of this bargain relies on you giving me useful information.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Would you rather I just faked your death now and put you on that ship as well?” Perhaps she’d find another way to convince the king to release her earlier.
“No. This won’t happen again.”
She highly doubted that, but she leaned back against the wall of the building and crossed her arms, watching Archer observe the ship. After a moment, he turned to her. “Say something.”
“I don’t have anything to say. I’m too busy debating whether I should just kill you and drag your carcass before the king.” She wasn’t bluffing. After last night with Chaol, she was starting to wonder whether simplicity would be best. Anything to keep Chaol from getting ensnared in a potential mess.
“I’m sorry,” Archer said again, but she waved him off and watched the readying ship.
It was impressive that they’d organized an escape so quickly. Perhaps they weren’t all fools like Davis. “The person you mentioned this to,” she said after a while. “He’s a leader of the group?”
“I think so,” Archer said quietly. “Or high up enough that when I dropped the hint about these men, he was able to organize an escape immediately.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Perhaps Davis had been a fluke. And maybe Archer was right. Maybe these men just wanted a ruler who would better suit their tastes. But whatever their financial and political motives might be, when innocent people had been threatened, they’d mobilized and gotten them to safety. Few people in the empire dared to do that—and fewer still were getting away with it.
“I want new names and more information by tomorrow night,” she told Archer as she turned away from the docks, heading back toward the castle. “Or else I’ll toss your head at the king’s feet and let him decide whether he wants me to dump it in the sewer or spike it on the front gates.” She didn’t wait for Archer’s reply before she faded into the shadows and fog.
She took her time going back to the castle, thinking about what she’d seen. There was never absolute good or absolute evil (though the king was definitely the exception). And even if these men were corrupt in some ways, they were also saving lives.
While it was absurd that they claimed to have contact with Aelin Galathynius, she couldn’t help but wonder if there really were forces gathering in the heir’s name. If somewhere, in the past decade, members of the powerful royal court of Terrasen had managed to hide. Thanks to the King of Adarlan, Terrasen no longer had a standing army—just whatever forces were camped throughout the kingdom. But those men did have some resources. And Nehemia had said that if Terrasen ever got to its feet again, it would pose a real threat to Adarlan.
So maybe she wouldn’t even have to do anything. Maybe she wouldn’t have to risk her life, or Chaol’s. Maybe, just maybe, whatever their motives, these people could find a way to stop the king—and free all of Erilea as well.
A slow, reluctant smile spread across her face, and it only grew wider as she walked to the glowing glass castle, and to the Captain of the Guard who awaited her there.
It had been four days since Chaol’s birthday, and he’d spent every night since then with Celaena. And afternoons, and mornings. And every moment they could spare from their individual obligations. Unfortunately, this meeting with his chief guards wasn’t optional, but as he listened to the men’s reports, his thoughts kept drifting back to her.
He’d barely breathed during that first time, and he’d done his best to be gentle, to make it as painless for her as possible. She’d still winced, and her eyes had gleamed with tears, but when he’d asked if she needed to stop, she’d just kissed him. Again and again. All through that first night he’d held her and allowed himself to imagine that this was how every night for the rest of his life would be.
And every night since then, he’d traced the scars down her back, silently swearing oath after oath that someday, he’d go back to Endovier and rip that place down stone by stone.
“Captain?”
Chaol blinked, realizing someone had asked him a question, and shifted in his chair. “Say that again,” he ordered, refusing to let himself blush.
“Do we need extra guards at the carnival?”
Hell, he didn’t even know why they were asking that. Had there been some incident? If he asked, then they’d definitely know he hadn’t been listening.
He was spared from looking like a fool when someone knocked on the door to the small meeting room in the barracks, and then a golden head popped in.
Just seeing her made him forget the world around them. Everyone in the room shifted to look at the door, and as she smiled, he fought the urge to smash in the faces of the guards who looked at her so appreciatively. These were his men, he told himself. And she was beautiful—and she scared them half to death. Of course they would look, and appreciate.
“Captain,” she said, remaining on the threshold. There was color high on her cheeks that set her eyes sparkling, making him think of how she looked when they were tangled up with each other. She inclined her head toward the hall. “The king wants to see you.”
He would have felt a jolt of nerves, would have started to think the worst, had he not caught that glimmer of mischief in her eyes.
He stood from his seat, bowing his head to his men. “Decide among yourselves about the carnival, and report back to me later,” he said, and quickly left the room.
He kept a respectable distance until they rounded a corner into an empty hallway and he stepped closer, needing to touch her.
“Philippa and the servants are gone until dinner,” she said huskily.
He ground his teeth at the effect her voice had on him, like someone dragging an invisible finger down his spine. “I’ve got meetings for the rest of the day,” he managed to say. It was true. “I’ve got another one in twenty minutes.” Which he’d surely be late for if he followed her, considering how long it would take to walk to her rooms.
She paused, frowning at him. But his eyes drifted to the small wooden door just a few feet away. A broom closet. She followed his attention, and a slow smile spread across her face. She turned toward it, but he grabbed her hand, bringing his face close to hers. “You’re going to have to be very quiet.”
She reached the knob and opened the door, tugging him inside. “I have a feeling that I’m going to be telling you that in a few moments,” she purred, eyes gleaming with the challenge.
Chaol’s blood roared through him, and he followed her into the closet and wedged a broom beneath the handle.
“A broom closet?” Nehemia said, grinning like a fiend. “Really?”
Celaena lay sprawled on Nehemia’s bed and tossed a chocolate-covered raisin into her mouth. “I swear it on my life.”
Nehemia leapt onto the mattress. Fleetfoot jumped up beside her and practically sat on Celaena’s face as she wagged her tail at the princess.
Celaena gently shoved the dog aside, and smiled so broadly that her face hurt. “Who knew I’d been missing out on such fun?” And gods above, Chaol was … well, she blushed to think about just how much she enjoyed him after her body had adjusted. Just the touch of his fingers on her skin could turn her into a feral beast.
“I could have told you that,” Nehemia said, reaching over Celaena to grab a chocolate from the dish on the nightstand. “Though I think the real question is, who would have guessed that the solemn Captain of the Guard could be so passionate?” She lay down beside Celaena, also smiling. “I’m happy for you, my friend.”
Celaena smiled back. “I think … I think I’m happy for me, too.”
And she was. For the first time in years, she was truly happy. The feeling curled around every thought, a tendril of hope that grew with each breath. She was afraid to look at it for too long, as though acknowledging it would somehow cause it to disappear. Perhaps the world would never be perfect, perhaps some things would never be right, but maybe she stood a chance of finding her own sort of peace and freedom.
She felt the shift in Nehemia before the princess even said a word, like a current in the air somehow chilled. Celaena looked over to find Nehemia staring up at the ceiling. “What’s wrong?”
Nehemia ran a hand over her face, letting out a deep breath. “The king has asked me to speak to the rebel forces. To convince them to back down. Or else he’ll butcher them all.”
“He threatened to do that?”
“Not directly, but it was implied. At the end of the month, he’s sending Perrington to the duke’s keep in Morath. I don’t doubt for one minute that he wants Perrington at the southern border so he can monitor things. Perrington is his right hand. So if the duke decides the rebels need to be dealt with, he has permission to use whatever force is necessary to put them down.”
Celaena sat up, folding her legs beneath her. “So you’re going back to Eyllwe?”
Nehemia shook her head. “I don’t know. I need to be here. There are … there are things that I need to do here. In this castle and in this city. But I cannot abandon my people to another massacre.”
“Can your parents or your brothers deal with the rebels?”
“My brothers are too young and untried, and my parents have enough on their hands in Banjali.” The princess sat up, and Fleetfoot rested her head on Nehemia’s lap, stretching out between them—and giving Celaena a few kicks with her hind legs in the process. “I have grown up knowing the weight of my crown. When the king invaded Eyllwe all those years ago, I knew that I would someday have to make choices that would haunt me.” She cupped her forehead in a palm. “I didn’t think it would be this hard. I cannot be in two places at once.”
