Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1)(116)

“Part of me wishes Kaltain hadn’t been so susceptible,” grumbled Perrington. “She wanted to use me to get to your son, but I don’t want the power to turn her into Cain. Despite myself, I don’t like the thought of her rotting in those dungeons for long.”

“Do not fear for Kaltain, my friend. She won’t remain in the dungeons forever. When the scandal has been forgotten and the assassin is busy with my work, we’ll make Kaltain an offer she can’t refuse. But there are ways of controlling her, if you think she can’t be trusted.”

“Let’s first see how the dungeons change her mind,” Perrington said quickly.

“Of course, of course. It’s only a suggestion.”

They were silent, and the duke rose.

“Duke,” the king said, his voice echoing through the chamber. The fire in the mouth-shaped fireplace flickered, and green light filled the shadows of the room. “We will soon have much to do in Erilea. Prepare yourself. And stop pushing your plan to use the Eyllwe princess—it’s attracting too much attention.”

The duke only nodded, bowed, and strode out of the chamber.





Chapter 53

Celaena leaned back in her seat and propped her feet on the table, balancing the chair precariously on its hind legs. She savored the stretch and release of tension in her stiff muscles, and turned the page in the book she was holding aloft. Fleetfoot dozed beneath the table, snoring faintly. Outside, the sunny afternoon had transformed the snow into dripping, shimmering water that cast light about the whole bedroom. Her injuries had stopped being so irksome, but she still couldn’t walk without limping. With any luck, she’d start running again soon.

It had been a week since the duel. Philippa was already busy with the task of cleaning out Celaena’s closet to accommodate more clothing. All the clothing Celaena planned to buy when she was free to venture into Rifthold and do some shopping for herself, once she had her outrageous salary as King’s Champion. Which she’d hopefully start receiving as soon as she signed her contract . . . whenever that would be.

With Philippa occupied, Nehemia and Dorian had taken to attending her—and the prince often read aloud to her long into the night. When she finally did sleep, her dreams were filled with archaic words and long-forgotten faces, with Wyrdmarks that glowed blue, with the king, and with a dead army summoned from the realms of Hell. Upon waking, she did her best to forget them—especially the magic.

Her doorknob clicked and her heart leapt into her throat. Was it time to finally sign her contract with the king? But it wasn’t Dorian or Nehemia, not even a page. The world stopped when Chaol entered instead.

Fleetfoot rushed to him, tail wagging. Celaena almost fell out of her chair as she removed her feet from the table, and winced at the pain that shot through the wound on her leg. She was standing in an instant, but when she opened her mouth, she had nothing to say.

After Chaol gave Fleetfoot a friendly rub on the head, the dog trotted back beneath the table, circled twice, and curled up.

Why wouldn’t he move from the doorway? Celaena glanced at her nightgown and blushed as she noticed him staring at her bare legs.

“How are your injuries?” he asked. His voice was soft—and she realized he wasn’t staring at the amount of skin she was showing, but rather the bandage wrapped around her thigh.

“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “The bandage is just to elicit sympathy now.” She tried to smile, but failed. “I—I haven’t seen you in a week.” It had felt like a lifetime. “Have you . . . Are you all right?”

His brown eyes met hers. Suddenly, she was back at the duel, prostrate on the ground, Cain laughing behind her, but all she could see, all she could hear, was Chaol as he knelt and reached for her. Her throat tightened. She had understood something in that moment. But she couldn’t remember what. Maybe it had been a hallucination, too.

“I’m fine,” he said, and she took a step toward him, all too aware of how short her nightgown was. “I just . . . wanted to apologize for not checking in on you sooner.”

She stopped barely a foot away from him and cocked her head. He wasn’t wearing his sword. “I’m sure you’ve been busy,” she said.

He only stood there. She swallowed, and tucked a strand of her unbound hair behind an ear. She took another step closer to him, now having to tip her head back to look into his face. His eyes were so sorrowful. She bit her lip. “You—you saved my life, you know. Twice.”

Chaol’s brows narrowed slightly. “I did what I had to.”

“And that’s why I owe you my gratitude.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his voice strained. And when his eyes flickered, her heart tightened.

She took his hand in hers, but he pulled it away. “I just wanted to see how you were. I have to go to a meeting,” he said, and she knew he was lying.

“Thank you for killing Cain.” He stiffened. “I—I still remember how it felt when I made my first kill. It wasn’t easy.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “That’s why I can’t stop thinking about it. Because it was easy. I just took my sword and killed him. I wanted to kill him.” He pinned her with his stare. “He knew about your parents. How?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. She knew very well. Cain’s access to the Otherworlds, to the In-Between, to whatever all that nonsense was, had given him the ability to see into her mind, her memories, her soul. Beyond, perhaps. A chill went through her.