Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1)(112)

Perhaps he might someday work up the nerve to demand retribution for what his father had done to those rebels in Eyllwe. Not today. Not yet. But maybe he could make a start.

So he faced his father, and kept his head held high as he said, “Perrington wishes to use Nehemia as some sort of hostage in order to make the Eyllwe rebels obey.”

His father cocked his head. “Does he now? It’s an interesting idea. Do you agree?”

Though Dorian’s palms began sweating, he schooled his features into neutrality as he said, “No, I don’t. I think we’re better than that.”

“Are we? Do you know how many soldiers and supplies I’ve lost thanks to those rebels?”

“I do, but to use Nehemia like that is too risky. The rebels might use it to gain allies in other kingdoms. And Nehemia is beloved by her people. If you’re worried about losing soldiers and supplies, then you’ll lose far more if Perrington’s plan ignites a full-on rebellion in Eyllwe. We’d be better off trying to win over Nehemia—trying to work with her to get the rebels to back off. That won’t happen if we hold her hostage.”

Silence fell, and Dorian tried not to fidget as his father studied him. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer striking his body.

At last, his father nodded. “I shall order Perrington to stop his planning, then.”

Dorian almost sagged with relief, but he kept his face blank, kept his words steady as he said, “Thank you for hearing me out.”

His father didn’t reply, and without waiting for his dismissal, the prince turned on his heel and left.

?

Celaena tried not to wince at the pain that shot through her shoulder and leg as she awoke. Swaddled in blankets and bandages, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was almost one in the afternoon.

Her jaw hurt as she opened her mouth. Celaena didn’t need a mirror to know that she was covered in nasty bruises. She frowned, and her face throbbed at the movement. Undoubtedly, she looked hideous. She tried unsuccessfully to sit up. Everything hurt.

Her arm was in a sling, and her thigh stung as her legs moved under the covers. She didn’t remember much of what had happened after the duel yesterday, but at least she wasn’t dead—either by Cain or the king’s order.

Her dreams last night had been filled with Nehemia and Elena—though, more often than not, they disappeared into visions of demons and the dead. And those things Cain had said. The nightmares were so terrible that Celaena barely slept, despite her pain and exhaustion. She wondered what had become of Elena’s amulet. She had a feeling the nightmares were due to its absence, and wished repeatedly for it to be restored to her, even though Cain was now dead.

The door to her chambers opened, and she found Nehemia standing in the doorway. The princess only smiled slightly at her as she closed the bedroom door and approached. Fleetfoot lifted her head, her tail slapping against the bed as she wagged it in earnest.

“Hello,” Celaena said in Eyllwe.

“How are you feeling?” Nehemia replied in the common tongue, without a hint of her accent. Fleetfoot climbed over Celaena’s sore legs to greet the princess.

“Exactly how I look,” Celaena said, her mouth aching at the movement.

Nehemia took a seat on the edge of the mattress. As it shifted beneath her, Celaena winced. Recovery wasn’t going to be easy. Fleetfoot, done licking and sniffing at Nehemia, curled up in a ball between them and went to sleep. Celaena buried her fingers in her velvet-soft ears.

“I won’t waste time dancing around the truth,” Nehemia said. “I saved your life at the duel.”

She had a hazy memory of Nehemia’s fingers making strange symbols in the air. “I didn’t hallucinate all of that? And—and you saw everything, too?” Celaena tried to sit up a little higher, but found it too painful to even move an inch.

“No, you didn’t,” the princess said. “And yes, I saw everything that you saw; my gifts enable me to see what others normally cannot. Yesterday, the bloodbane Kaltain put in your wine made you see it, too: what lurks beyond the veil of this world. I don’t think Kaltain intended that effect, but it reacted to your blood in that way. Magic calls to magic.” Celaena shifted uncomfortably at the words.

“Why did you pretend to not understand our language all these months?” Celaena asked, eager to change the subject, but also wondering why the question stung as much as her wounds.

“It was originally a defense,” Nehemia said, gently setting her hand on Celaena’s good arm. “You’d be surprised how much people are willing to reveal when they think you can’t understand them. But with each day that I pretended to not know anything, being around you became harder and harder.”

“But why make me give you lessons?”

Nehemia looked up at the ceiling. “Because I wanted a friend. Because I liked you.”

“So you truly were reading that book when I came across you in the library.”

Nehemia nodded. “I . . . I was doing research. On the Wyrdmarks, as you call them in your language. I lied to you when I said I didn’t know anything about them. I know all about them. I know how to read them—and how to use them. My entire family does, but we keep it a secret, passed down from generation to generation. They are only to be used as a last defense against evil, or in the gravest of illnesses. And here, with magic banned . . . well, even though the Wyrdmarks are a different kind of power, I’m sure that if people discovered I was using them, I’d be imprisoned for it.”