The Assassin and the Desert (Throne of Glass 0.3)(25)

And the second—which explained the first—was that the wine tasted strange.

But Celaena didn’t have time to consider what poison it was before she heard her own goblet clatter to the floor, and the world spun and went black.

Chapter Ten

Someone was hammering against an anvil somewhere very, very close to her head. So close that she felt each beat in her body, the sound shattering through her mind, stirring her from sleep.

With a jolt, Celaena sat up. There was no hammer and no anvil—just a pounding headache. And there was no assassin’s fortress, only endless miles of red dunes, and Kasida standing watch over her. Well, at least she wasn’t dead.

Cursing, she got to her feet. What had Ansel done?

The moon illuminated enough of the desert for her to see that the assassin’s fortress was nowhere in sight, and that Kasida’s saddlebags were full of her belongings. Except for her sword. She searched and searched, but it wasn’t there. Celaena reached for one of her two long daggers, but stiffened when she felt a scroll of paper tucked into her belt.

Someone had also left a lantern beside her, and it took only a few moments for Celaena to get it lit and nestled into the dune. Kneeling before the dim light, she unrolled the paper with shaking hands.

It was in Ansel’s nearly illegible handwriting, and wasn’t long.

I’m sorry it had to end this way. The Master said it would be easier to let you go like this, rather than shame you by publicly asking you to leave early. Kasida is yours—as is the Master’s letter of approval, which is in the saddlebag. Go home.

I will miss you,

Ansel

Celaena read the letter three times to make sure she hadn’t missed something. She was being let go—but why? She had the letter of approval, at least, but . . . but what had she done that made it so urgent to get rid of her that he’d drug her and then dump her in the middle of the desert? She had five days left; he couldn’t have waited for her to leave?

Her eyes burned as she sorted through the events of the past few days for ways she might have offended the Master. She got to her feet and rifled through the saddlebags until she pulled out the letter of approval. It was a folded square of paper, sealed with sea-green wax—the color of the Master’s eyes. A little vain, but . . .

Her fingers hovered over the seal. If she broke it, then Arobynn might accuse her of tampering with the letter. But what if it said horrid things about her? Ansel said it was a letter of approval, so it couldn’t be that bad. Celaena tucked the letter back into the saddlebag.

Perhaps the Master had also realized that she was spoiled and selfish. Maybe everyone had just been tolerating her, and . . . maybe they’d heard of her fight with Ansel and decided to send her packing. It wouldn’t surprise her. They were looking out for their own, after all. Never mind that for a while, she had felt like one of their own—felt, for the first time in a long, long while, like she had a place where she belonged. Where she might learn something more than deceit and how to end lives.

But she’d been wrong. Somehow, realizing that hurt far worse than the beating Arobynn had given her.

Her lips trembled, but she squared her shoulders and scanned the night sky until she found the Stag and the crowning star that led north. Sighing, Celaena blew out the lantern, mounted Kasida, and rode into the night.

She rode toward Xandria, opting to find a ship there instead of braving the northern trek across the Singing Sands to Yurpa—the port she’d originally sailed into. Without a guide, she didn’t really have much of a choice. She took her time, often walking instead of riding Kasida, who seemed as sad as she was to leave the Silent Assassins and their luxurious stables.

The next day, she was a few miles into her late afternoon trek when she heard the thump, thump, thump. It grew louder, the movements now edged with clashing and clattering and deep voices. She hopped onto Kasida’s back and crested a dune.

In the distance, at least two hundred men were marching—straight into the desert. Some bore red and black banners. Lord Berick’s men. They marched in a long column, with mounted soldiers galloping along the flanks. Though she had never seen Berick, a quick examination of the host showed no signs of a lord being present. He must have stayed behind.

But there was nothing out here. Nothing except for . . .

Celaena’s mouth went dry. Nothing except for the assassins’ fortress.

A mounted soldier paused his riding, his black mare’s coat gleaming with sweat. He stared toward her. With her white clothes concealing all of her but her eyes, he had no way of identifying her, no way of telling what she was.

Even from the distance, she could see the bow and quiver of arrows he bore. How good was his aim?

She didn’t dare to move. The last thing she needed was the attention of all those soldiers on her. They all possessed broadswords, daggers, shields, and arrows. This definitely wasn’t going to be a friendly visit, not with this many men.

Was that why the Master had sent her away? Had he somehow known this would happen and didn’t want her caught up in it?

Celaena nodded to the soldier and continued riding toward Xandria. If the Master didn’t want anything to do with her, then she certainly didn’t need to warn them. Especially since he probably knew. And he had a fortress full of assassins. Two hundred soldiers were nothing compared to seventy or so of the sessiz suikast.

The assassins could handle themselves. They didn’t need her. They’d made that clear enough.