Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(105)

That was why Nehemia couldn’t leave, she realized. Why she’d opted to stay here instead of returning to Eyllwe. To fight for the one thing that was more important than the fate of her country: the fate of the world. Of other worlds, too.

“I don’t have to get on a ship tomorrow. We’ll tell everyone,” Archer breathed. “We’ll tell everyone he has them, and—”

“No. If we reveal the truth, then the king will use the keys to do more damage than you can possibly imagine. We’ll lose any chance of stealth we have to find the others.”

He took a step closer to her. Fleetfoot let out another warning growl, but kept her distance. “Then we’ll find where he’s keeping the key. And the others. And then we’ll use them to overthrow him. Then we’ll create a world of our own making.”

His voice was building into a frenzy, each word harsher than the next.

She shook her head. “I would sooner destroy them than use their power.”

Archer chuckled. “She said the same thing. She said they should be destroyed—put back in the gate, if we could discover a way. But what is the point of finding them if we don’t use them against him? Make him suffer?”

Her stomach turned. There was more he wasn’t saying, more that he knew. So she sighed and shook her head, beginning to pace. Archer was silent as she walked—silent until she halted, as if suddenly understanding. She raised her voice. “He should suffer for as long as possible. And so should the people who destroyed us—who made us into what we are: Arobynn, Clarisse …” She chewed on her lip. “Nehemia could never understand that. She never tried to. You—you’re right. They should be used.”

He studied her warily enough that she came closer and tilted her head to the side—contemplating his words, contemplating him.

And Archer bought it. “That was why she left the movement. She left a week before she died. We knew it was a matter of time before she went to the king to expose us all—to use what she’d learned to grant clemency to Eyllwe, and to annihilate us with the same stroke. She said she’d rather have one all-powerful tyrant than a dozen of them.”

Celaena said with deadly calm, “She would have ruined everything for you. She almost ruined everything for me, too. She told me to stay away from the Wyrdkeys. She tried to keep me from solving the riddle.”

“Because she wanted to keep the knowledge to herself, for her own gain.”

She smiled even as she felt the world shifting beneath her. And she couldn’t explain why, or how she began to wonder, but if it was true, she had to get him to admit it. She found herself saying, “You and I worked for everything we have—we … we had everything taken away and used against us, too. Other people can’t even begin to fathom the things we were forced to do. I think—I think that’s why I was so infatuated with you when I was a girl. I knew, even then, that you understood. That you knew what it was like to be raised by people like Arobynn and Clarisse and then … sold. You understood me then.” She willed her eyes to gleam, her mouth to tighten as if she were keeping it from wobbling. Blinking furiously, she murmured, “But I think I finally understand you now, too.”

She reached out a hand as if to grab his, but lowered it—making her face tender and soft and bittersweet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have been working toward this for weeks. We could have tried to solve the riddle together. If I’d known what Nehemia was going to do, how she could lie to me again and again … She betrayed me. In every possible way, Archer. She lied to my face, made me believe …” Her shoulders slumped. After a long moment, she took a step toward him. “Nehemia was no better than Arobynn or Clarisse in the end. Archer, you should have told me. About everything. I knew it wasn’t Mullison—he wasn’t smart enough. If you’d told me, I could have taken care of it.” A risk—a leap of faith. “For you … For us, I would have taken care of it.”

But Archer gave her a hesitant smile. “She spent so much time complaining about Councilman Mullison that I knew he’d be the easiest one to blame. And thanks to that competition, he already had a connection to Grave.”

“Grave didn’t recognize that you weren’t Mullison?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“You’d be surprised how easily men see what they want to see. A cloak, a mask, and some fine clothes, and he didn’t think twice.”

Oh, gods. Gods.

“So the night at the warehouse,” she went on, raising an eyebrow—an intrigued coconspirator. “Why did you really kidnap Chaol?”

“I had to get you away from Nehemia. And when I took that arrow for you, I knew you’d trust me, if only for that night. I apologize if my methods were … harsh. Trick of the trade, I’m afraid.”

Trust him, lose Nehemia, and lose Chaol. He had isolated her from her friends—the same thing she’d suspected Roland had wanted to do with Dorian.

“And that threat the king received before Nehemia’s death—the threat on her life,” Celaena said, her lips curling upward. “You planted that threat, didn’t you? To show me who my real friends are—who I can really trust.”

“It was a gamble. Just as I’m gambling now. I didn’t know whether or not the captain would warn you. Seems I was right.”