She paused her eating, cocking her head. Her silver hair gleamed like fresh snow, off setting her tanned face. “We don’t know how or why magic vanished. I hear rumors every now and then that the power still exists on other continents, but not here. So that’s the real question: why did magic vanish only here, and not across the whole of Erilea? What crimes did we commit to make the gods curse us like that, to take away what they had once given us?” She tossed the rib cage of the chicken onto the ground. “Hypothetically, if someone had magic and I wanted to learn why, I’d start by figuring out why magic left in the first place. Maybe that would explain how there could be an exception to the rule.” She licked the grease off her deadly fingers. “Strange questions from a lordling dwelling in the glass castle. Strange, strange questions.”
He gave her a half grin. “Stranger still that the lastborn witch of the Witch Kingdom would stoop low enough to spend her life doing carnival tricks.”
“The gods that cursed these lands ten years ago damned the witches centuries before that.”
It might have been the clouds that passed over the sun, but he could have sworn that he saw a darkness gleaming in her eyes—a darkness that made him wonder if she was even older than she let on. Perhaps her “lastborn witch” title was a lie. A fabrication to conceal a history so violent that he couldn’t imagine the horrors she’d committed during those long-ago witch wars.
Against his will, he found himself reaching for the ancient force slumbering inside him, wondering if it would somehow shield him from Yellowlegs the way it had from the shattering window. The thought made him queasy.
“Any other questions?” she said, licking her iron nails.
“No. Thank you for your time.”
“Bah,” she spat, and waved him off.
He walked away, and got no farther than the nearest tent when he saw the sun glinting off a golden head, and Roland walked toward him, away from the table where he’d been talking to that stunning blond musician who’d played the lute the other night. Had he followed him here? Dorian frowned, but gave his cousin a nod in greeting as Roland fell into step beside him.
“Getting your fortune read?”
Dorian shrugged. “I was bored.”
Roland looked over his shoulder to where Baba Yellowlegs’s caravan wagon was parked. “That woman makes my blood run cold.”
Dorian snorted. “I think that’s one of her talents.”
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 obl
igations. 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.