Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2)(64)

Chapter 28

Her rage took her to a place where she only knew three things: that Chaol had been taken from her, that she was a weapon forged to end lives, and that if Chaol was hurt, no one was going to walk out of that warehouse.

She made it across the city quickly and efficiently, a predator’s stealth keeping her steps quiet on the cobblestone streets. They’d told her to arrive alone, and she’d obeyed.

But they hadn’t said anything about arriving unarmed.

So she’d taken every weapon she could fit onto her, including Chaol’s sword, which was strapped across her back with a second sword of her own, the two hilts within easy reach over her shoulders. From there down, she was a living armory.

When she neared the slums, her features concealed with a dark cloak and heavy hood, she scaled the side of a ramshackle building until she reached the roof.

They hadn’t said anything about using the front door of the warehouse, either.

She stalked across the roofs, her supple boots finding easy purchase on the crumbling emerald shingles, listening, watching, feeling the night around her. The usual sounds of the slums greeted her as she approached the enormous two-story warehouse: half-feral orphans screeching to each other, the splatter of drunks pissing against buildings, harlots calling out to prospective hires …

But there was a silence around the wooden warehouse, a bubble of quiet that told her the place had enough men out front that the usual slum denizens stayed away.

The nearby rooftops were empty and flat, the gaps between buildings easily jumpable.

She didn’t care what this group wanted with her. She didn’t care what sort of information they expected to twist from her. When they had taken Chaol, they’d made the biggest mistake of their lives. The last mistake, too.

She reached the roof of the building beside the warehouse and dropped into a crawl before she reached the ledge and peered over.

In the narrow alley directly below, three cloaked men patrolled. On the street beyond lay the front doors to the warehouse, light spilling from the cracks to reveal at least four men outside. No one was even looking at the roof. Fools.

The wooden warehouse was a giant open space three stories high, and through the open second-level window in front of her, she could see all the way to the floor below.

The mezzanine wrapped around much of the second level, and stairs led onto the third level and roof beyond—a possible escape route, if the front door wasn’t an option. Ten of the men were heavily armed, and six archers were positioned around the wooden mezzanine, arrows all pointed at the first floor below.

There was Chaol, chained to one of the wooden walls.

Chaol, his face bruised and bleeding, his clothes ripped and dirty, his head hanging between his shoulders.

The ice in her gut spread through her veins.

She could scale the building to the roof, then come down from the third floor. But that would take time, and no one was looking at the open window before her.

She tipped her head back and gave the moon a wicked smile. She’d been called Adarlan’s Assassin for a reason. Dramatic entrances were practically her art form.

Celaena eased back from the ledge and strode away a few paces, judging how far and fast she’d need to run. The open window was wide enough that she wouldn’t need to worry about shattering glass or her swords catching on the frame, and the mezzanine had a guardrail to stop her if she overshot her landing.

She had made a jump like this once before, on the night when her world had been shattered completely. But on that night, Sam had already been dead for days, and she’d leapt through the window of Rourke Farran’s house for pure revenge.

This time, she wouldn’t fail.

The men weren’t even looking at the window when she hurtled through. And by the time she landed on the mezzanine and rolled into a crouch, two of her daggers were already flying.

Chaol caught the glint of moonlight on steel in the heartbeat before she leapt through the second-level window, landing atop the mezzanine and hurling two daggers at the archers nearest to her. They went down, and she went up—two more daggers thrown at two more archers. He didn’t know if he should watch them or watch her as she gripped the mezzanine railing and flipped over it, landing on the ground below just as several arrows struck where her hands had held the rail.

The men in the room were shouting, some fleeing for the safety of pillars and the exit while others rushed at her, weapons drawn. And he could only watch in horror and awe as she drew two swords—one of them his—and unleashed herself upon them.

They didn’t stand a chance.

In the fray of bodies, the remaining two archers didn’t dare loose arrows that might hit one of their own—another intentional move on her part, he knew. Chaol yanked on his chains again and again, his wrists aching; if he could just get to her, the two of them could—

She was a whirlwind of steel and blood. As he watched her cut through the men as though they were stalks of wheat in a field, he understood how she had gotten so close to touching Endovier’s wall that day. And at last—after all these months—he saw the lethal predator he’d expected to find in the mines. There was nothing human in her eyes, nothing remotely merciful. It froze his heart.

The guard who had been taunting him all day remained nearby, twin swords drawn, waiting for her.

One of the hooded men had gotten far enough away from her to start shouting: “Enough! Enough!”