The Assassin and the Empire (Throne of Glass 0.5)(3)

It wasn’t fair, really. No matter what opponents they threw his way, any person that went up against Sam would lose.

Celaena had half a mind to hop into the pit and challenge Sam herself.

That would be a performance the Vaults would never forget.

Her fingers gripped her arms. She hadn’t had a contract in the month since she’d left Arobynn, and though she and Sam continued training as best they could … Oh, the urge to jump into that pit and take them all down was overwhelming. A wicked smile spread across her face. If they thought Sam was good, then she’d really give the crowd something to scream for.

But then Sam, still basking in the crowd, spotted her leaning against the pillar. His triumphant grin remained, but she saw a glimmer of displeasure flash in his brown eyes.

She inclined her head toward the exit. The gesture told him all he needed to know: unless he wanted her to get into the pit with him, he was done for tonight, and she’d meet him on the street when he was done collecting his earnings.

And then the real fight would begin.

“Should I be relieved or worried that you haven’t said anything?” Sam asked her as they strode through the backstreets of the capital, weaving their way home.

Celaena dodged a puddle that could have been either rainwater or urine. “I’ve been thinking of ways to begin that don’t involve screaming.”

Sam snorted, and she ground her teeth. A bag of coins jangled at his waist. Although the hood of his cloak was pulled up over his head, she could still clearly see his split lip.

She fisted her hands. “You promised you wouldn’t go back there.”

Sam kept his eyes on the narrow alley ahead of them, always alert, always watching for any source of danger. “I didn’t promise. I said I’d think about it.”

“People die in the Vaults!” She said it louder than she meant to, her words echoing off the alley walls.

“People die because they’re fools in search of glory. They’re not trained assassins.”

“Accidents still happen. Any of those men could have snuck in a blade.”

He let out a quick, harsh laugh, full of pure male arrogance. “You really think so little of my abilities?”

They turned down another street, where a group of people were smoking pipes outside a dimly lit tavern. Celaena waited until they were past them before speaking. “Risking yourself for a few coins is absurd.”

“We need whatever money we can get,” Sam said quietly.

She tensed. “We have money.” Some money, less and less each day.

“It won’t last forever. Not when we haven’t been able to get any other contracts. And especially not with your lifestyle.”

“My lifestyle!” she hissed. But it was true. She could rough it, but her heart lay in luxury—in fine clothes and delicious food and exquisite furnishings. She’d taken for granted how much of that had been provided for her at the Assassin’s Keep. Arobynn might have kept a detailed list of the expenses she owed him, but he’d never charged them for their food, or their servants, or their carriages. And now that she was on her own …

“The Vaults are easy fights,” Sam said. “Two hours there, and I can make decent money.”

“The Vaults are a festering pile of shit,” she snapped. “We’re better than that. We can make our money elsewhere.” She didn’t know where, or how, exactly, but she could find something better than fighting in the Vaults.

Sam paused, grabbing her arm, making her stop to face him. “Then what if we left Rifthold?” Though her own hood covered most of her features, she raised her brows at him. “What’s keeping us here?”

Nothing. Everything.

Unable to answer him, Celaena shook off his grasp and continued walking.

It was an absurd idea, really. Leaving Rifthold. Where would they even go? It was nonsense.

They reached the warehouse and were quickly up the rickety wooden stairs at the back and inside the apartment on the second floor.

She didn’t say anything to him as she tossed off her cloak and boots, lit some candles, and went into the kitchen to down a piece of bread slathered in butter. And he didn’t say anything as he strode into the bathing room and washed himself. The running water was a luxury the previous owner had spent a fortune on—and had been the biggest priority for Celaena when she was looking for places to live.

Benefits like running water were plentiful in the capital, but not widespread elsewhere. If they left Rifthold, what sorts of things would she have to go without?

She was still contemplating that when Sam padded into the kitchen, all traces of blood and sand washed away. His bottom lip was still swollen, and he had a bruise on his cheek, not to mention his raw knuckles, but he looked to be in one piece.

Sam slid into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table and cut himself a piece of bread. Buying food for the house took up more time than she’d realized it would, and she’d been debating hiring a housekeeper, but … that’d cost money. Everything cost money.

Sam took a bite, poured a glass of water from the ewer she’d left sitting on the oak table, and leaned back in his chair. Behind him, the window above the sink revealed the glittering sprawl of the capital and the illuminated glass castle towering over them all.

“Are you just not going to speak to me ever again?”