His green eyes glittered. Arobynn was still talking. Seventeen-year-old Rowan wouldn’t have known what to do with you. He could barely speak to females outside his family.
Liar—I don’t believe that for a second.
It’s true. You would have scandalized him with your nightclothes—even with that dress you have on.
She sucked on her teeth. He would probably have been even more scandalized to learn I’m not wearing any undergarments beneath this dress.
The table rattled as Rowan’s knee banged into it.
Arobynn paused, but continued when Aedion asked about what the demon had told him.
You can’t be serious, Rowan seemed to say.
Did you see any place where this dress might hide them? Every line and wrinkle would show.
Rowan shook his head subtly, his eyes dancing with a light that she’d only recently come to glimpse—and cherish. Do you delight in shocking me?
She couldn’t stop her smile. How else am I supposed to keep a cranky immortal entertained?
His grin was distracting enough that it took her a moment to notice the silence, and that everyone was staring at them—waiting.
She glanced at Arobynn, whose face was a mask of stone. “Did you ask me something?”
There was only calculating ire in his silver eyes—which might have once made her start begging for mercy. “I asked,” Arobynn said, “if you’ve had fun these past few weeks, wrecking my investment properties and ensuring that all my clients won’t touch me.”
CHAPTER
43
Aelin leaned back in her chair. Even Rowan was staring at her now, surprise and annoyance written on his face. Lysandra was doing a good job of feigning shock and confusion—even though it had been she who had fed Aelin the details, who had made her plan so much better and broader than it had been when Aelin scribbled it out on that ship.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with a little smile.
“Oh?” Arobynn swirled his wine. “You mean to tell me that when you wrecked the Vaults beyond repair, it wasn’t a move against my investment in that property—and my monthly cut of their profits? Don’t pretend it was just vengeance for Sam.”
“The king’s men showed up. I had no choice but to fight for my life.” After she’d led them directly from the docks to the pleasure hall, of course.
“And I suppose it was an accident that the lockbox was hacked open so its contents could be snatched up by the crowd.”
It had worked—worked so spectacularly that she was surprised Arobynn had lasted this long without going for her throat.
“You know how those lowlifes get. A little chaos, and they turn into animals foaming at the mouth.”
Lysandra cringed; a stellar performance of a woman witnessing a betrayal.
“Indeed,” Arobynn said. “But especially the lowlifes at establishments from which I receive a handsome monthly sum, correct?”
“So you invited me and my friends here tonight to fling accusations at me? Here I was, thinking I’d become your personal Valg hunter.”
“You deliberately disguised yourself as Hinsol Cormac, one of my most loyal clients and investors, when you freed your cousin,” Arobynn snapped. Aedion’s eyes widened slightly. “I could dismiss it as coincidence, except a witness says he called out Cormac’s name at the prince’s party, and Cormac waved to him. The witness told the king that, too—that he saw Cormac heading toward Aedion right before the explosions happened. And what a coincidence that the very day Aedion disappeared, two carriages, belonging to a business that Cormac and I own together, went missing—carriages Cormac then told all my clients and partners that I used to get Aedion to safety when I freed the general that day by impersonating him, because I, apparently, have become a gods-damned rebel sympathizer strutting about town at all hours of the day.”
She dared a look at Rowan, whose face remained carefully blank, but saw the words there anyway. You wicked, clever fox.
And here you were, thinking the red hair was just for vanity.
I shall never doubt again.
She turned to Arobynn. “I can’t help it if your prissy clients turn on you at the slightest hint of danger.”
“Cormac has fled the city, and continues to drag my name through the mud. It’s a miracle the king hasn’t come to haul me to his castle.”
“If you’re worried about losing money, you could always sell the house, I suppose. Or stop using Lysandra’s services.”
Arobynn hissed, and Rowan and Aedion reached casually under the table for their hidden weapons. “What will it take, dearest, for you to stop being such a raging pain in my ass?”
There they were. The words she’d wanted to hear, the reason she’d been so careful not to wreck him altogether but merely to annoy him just enough.
She picked at her nails. “A few things, I think.”
The sitting room was oversized and made to entertain parties of twenty or thirty, with couches and chairs and chaises spread throughout. Aelin lounged in an armchair before the fire, Arobynn across from her, fury still dancing in his eyes.
She could feel Rowan and Aedion in the hall outside, monitoring every word, every breath. She wondered whether Arobynn knew they’d disobeyed his command to remain in the dining room; she doubted it. They were stealthier than ghost leopards, those two. But she didn’t want them in here, either—not until she’d done what she needed to do.
She crossed one leg over the other, revealing the simple black velvet shoes she wore, and her bare legs.
“So all of this was punishment—for a crime I didn’t commit,” Arobynn said at last.
She ran a finger down the rolled arm of the chair. “First thing, Arobynn: let’s not bother with lies.”
“I suppose you’ve told your friends the truth?”
“My court knows everything there is to know about me. And they know everything you’ve done, too.”
“Casting yourself as the victim, are you? You’re forgetting that it didn’t take much encouragement to put those knives in your hands.”
“I am what I am. But it doesn’t erase the fact that you knew very well who I was when you found me. You took my family necklace off me, and told me that anyone who came looking for me would wind up killed by my enemies.” She didn’t dare let her breathing hitch, didn’t let him consider the words too much as she plowed ahead. “You wanted to shape me into your own weapon—why?”
“Why not? I was young and angry, and my kingdom had just been conquered by that bastard king. I believed I could give you the tools you needed to survive, to someday defeat him. That is why you’ve come back, isn’t it? I’m surprised you and the captain haven’t killed him yet—isn’t that what he wants, why he tried to work with me? Or are you claiming that kill for yourself?”
“You honestly expect me to believe that your end goal was to have me avenge my family and reclaim my throne.”
“Who would you have become without me? Some pampered, quaking princess. Your beloved cousin would have locked you up in a tower and thrown away the key. I gave you your freedom—I gave you the ability to bring down men like Aedion Ashryver with a few blows. And all I get for it is contempt.”
She clenched her fingers, feeling the weight of the pebbles she’d carried that morning to Sam’s grave.
“So what else do you have in store for me, O Mighty Queen? Shall I save you the trouble and tell you how else you might continue to be a thorn in my side?”
“You know the debt isn’t anywhere near paid.”
“Debt? For what? For trying to free you from Endovier? And when that didn’t work, I did the best I could. I bribed those guards and officials with money from my own coffers so that they wouldn’t hurt you beyond repair. All the while, I tried to find ways to get you out—for a year straight.”
Lies and truth, as he’d always taught her. Yes, he’d bribed the officials and guards to ensure she would still be functioning when he eventually freed her. But Wes
ley’s letter had explained in detail just how little effort Arobynn had put forth once it became clear she was headed for Endovier. How he’d adjusted his plans—embracing the idea of her spirit being broken by the mines.
“And what about Sam?” she breathed.
“Sam was murdered by a sadist, whom my useless bodyguard got it into his head to kill. You know I couldn’t allow that to go unpunished, not when we needed the new Crime Lord to continue working with us.”
Truth and lies, lies and truth. She shook her head and looked toward the window, ever the confused and conflicted protégée falling for Arobynn’s poisoned words.
“Tell me what I need to do to make you understand,” he said. “Do you know why I had you capture that demon? So that we could attain its knowledge. So you and I could take on the king, learn what he knows. Why do you think I let you in that room? Together—we’ll bring that monster down together, before we’re all wearing those rings. Your friend the captain can even join in, free of charge.”
“You expect me to believe a word you say?”
“I have had a long, long while to think on the wretched things I’ve done to you, Celaena.”
“Aelin,” she snapped. “My name is Aelin. And you can start proving you’ve mended your ways by giving me back my family’s gods-damned amulet. Then you can prove it some more by giving me your resources—by letting me use your men to get what I need.”
She could see the wheels turning in that cold and cunning head. “In what capacity?”
No word about the amulet—no denying he had it.
“You want to take down the king,” she murmured, as if to keep the two Fae males outside the door from hearing. “Then let’s take down the king. But we do it my way. The captain and my court stay out of it.”
“What’s in it for me? These are dangerous times, you know. Why, just today, one of the top opiate dealers was caught by the king’s men and killed. Such a pity; he escaped the slaughter at the Shadow Market only to be caught buying dinner a few blocks away.”
More nonsense to distract her. She merely said, “I won’t send a tip to the king about this place—about how you operate and who your clients are. Or mention the demon in your dungeon, its blood now a permanent stain.” She smiled a little. “I’ve tried; their blood doesn’t wash away.”