Heir of Fire (Throne of Glass, #3)(121)

“Thirty or less. And some, like Malakai, are too old, but will fight anyway—and die.”

Rowan walked deeper into the woods. She followed him, if only because she knew if she took one step closer to the beach, she would go after that female. From the tension in Rowan’s shoulders, she knew he felt the same.

The rain ceased, and Celaena pulled back her hood to let the misty air soak into her too-hot face. This area was full of shepherds and farmers and fishermen. Aside from the demi-Fae, there was no one else to fight the creatures. They had no advantage, save for knowing their territory better than their enemy. They would send word to Wendlyn, of course, and maybe, maybe help would arrive in the next week.

Rowan held up a fist, and she halted as he scanned the trees ahead and behind. With expert quietness, he unsheathed one of the blades in his vambraces. The smell hit her a second later—the stench of whatever those creatures were beneath the mortal meat.

“Only one.” He was so quiet she could hardly hear even with her Fae ears.

“That’s not reassuring,” she said with equal softness, drawing her own dagger.

Rowan pointed. “He’s coming dead at us. You head to the right for twenty yards, I’ll go left. When he’s between us, wait for my signal, then strike. No magic—it might attract too much attention if others are nearby. Keep it quick and quiet and fast.”

“Rowan, this thing—”

“Quick and quiet and fast.”

His green eyes flashed, but she held his stare. It fed on me and would have turned me into a husk, she silently said. We could easily meet that fate

right now.

You were unprepared, he seemed to say. And I was not with you.

This is insane. I faced one of the defective ones, too, and it almost killed me.

Scared, Princess?

Yes, and wisely so.

But he was right. These were their woods, and they were warriors. This time, it would be different. So she nodded, a soldier accepting orders, and did not bother with farewells before she slipped into the trees. She made her footfalls light, counting the distance, listening to the forest around them, keeping her breathing steady.

She ducked behind a mossy tree and drew her other blade. The smell deepened into a steady reek that made her head pound. As the clouds overhead cleared further, the starlight faintly illuminated the low-lying mist on the loamy earth. Nothing.

She was starting to wonder whether Rowan had been mistaken when the creature appeared between the trees ahead—closer to her than she’d anticipated. Much, much closer.

She felt him first: the smudge of blackness, the silence that enveloped him like an extra cloak. Even the fog seemed to pull away from him.

Beneath his hood, she could only glimpse pale skin and sensual lips. He did not bother with weapons. But it was his nails that made her breath catch. Long, sharp nails that she remembered all too well—how they’d felt when they ripped into her in the library.

Unlike those nails, these were unbroken, the polished black curves gleaming. The skin on his fingers was bone-white and flawless, too smooth to be natural. Indeed, she could have sworn she saw dark, glittering veins, a mockery of the blood that had once flowed there.

Celaena didn’t dare bat an eyelash as the thing turned his hooded head toward her. Rowan still didn’t give the signal. Did he realize how close it was?

A wet trickle of warmth flowed onto her lips from one of her nostrils. She tensed, bracing herself, and wondered how fast he could move and how deeply she would have to slice with her long knives. The sword would be a last resort, as it was more cumbersome. Even if using the knives meant getting in close.

He scanned the trees, and Celaena pressed behind hers. The creature beneath the library had torn through metal doors as if they were curtains. And it knew how to use the Wyrdmarks—

She glanced out in time to see him step toward her tree, the movement deadly elegant and promising a long, painful end. He had not had his mind broken; he still retained the ability to think, to calculate. These things were so good at their work, it seemed that the king had thought only three were necessary here. How many others remained hidden on her continent?

The forest had fallen so still that she could hear a huffing sound. He was scenting her. Her magic flared, and she shoved it down. She didn’t want her magic touching this thing, with or without Rowan’s command. The creature sniffed again—and took another step in her direction. Just like that day at the barrows, the air began to hollow out, pulsing against her ears. Her other nostril began to bleed. Shit.

The thought hit her then, and the world stumbled. What if it had gotten to Rowan first? She dared another glance around the tree.

The creature was gone.





Chapter 47


Celaena silently swore, scanning the trees. Where in hell had the creature gone? The rain began again, but the dead scent still clung to everything. She lifted her long dagger to angle it in Rowan’s direction—to signal him to indicate whether he was breathing. He had to be; she would accept no other alternative. The blade was so clean she could see her face in it, see the trees and the sky and—

And the creature now standing behind her.

Celaena pivoted, swiping for its exposed side, one blade angled to sink straight into its ribs, the other slashing for the throat. A move she’d practiced for years and years, as easy as breathing.

But its black, depthless eyes met hers, and Celaena froze. In her body, her mind, her soul. Her magic sputtered and went out.