The Assassin and the Empire (Throne of Glass 0.5)(5)

She felt him smile against her skin. “You could try.” He bit her ear—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell her that he’d now stopped listening.

She whirled in his arms, glaring up at him, at his beautiful face illuminated by the glow of the city, at his eyes, so dark and rich. “And you used my lavender soap. Don’t ever do that—”

But then Sam’s lips found hers, and Celaena stopped talking for a good while after that.

Yet as they stood there, their bodies twining around each other, there was still one question that remained unasked—one question neither of them dared voice.

Would Arobynn Hamel let them leave?

Chapter Two

When Celaena and Sam entered the Assassin’s Keep the next day, it was as if nothing had changed. The same trembling housekeeper greeted them at the door before scuttling away, and Wesley, Arobynn’s manservant, was standing in his familiar position outside the King of the Assassins’ study.

They strode right up to the door, Celaena using every step, every breath, to take in details. Two blades strapped to Wesley’s back, one at his side, two daggers sheathed at his waist, the glint of one shining in his boot—probably one more hidden in the other boot, too. Wesley’s eyes were alert, keen—not a sign of exhaustion or sickness or anything that she could use to her advantage if it came to a fight.

But Sam just strolled right up to Wesley, and despite how quiet he’d been on their long walk over here, he held out a hand and said, “Good to see you, Wesley.”

Wesley shook Sam’s hand and gave a half smile. “I’d say you look good, boyo, but that bruise says otherwise.” Wesley looked at Celaena, who lifted her chin and huffed. “You look more or less the same,” he said, a challenging gleam in his eyes. He’d never liked her—never bothered to be nice. As if he’d always known that she and Arobynn would wind up on opposite sides, and that he’d be the first line of defense.

She strode right past him. “And you still look like a jackass,” she said sweetly, and opened the doors to the study. Sam muttered an apology as Celaena entered the room and found Arobynn waiting for them.

The King of the Assassins watched them with a smile, his hands steepled on the desk in front of him. Wesley shut the door behind Sam, and they silently took seats in the two chairs before Arobynn’s massive oak desk.

One glance at Sam’s drawn face told her that he, too, was remembering the last time the two of them had been in here together. That night had ended with both of them beaten into unconsciousness at Arobynn’s hands. That had been the night that Sam’s loyalty had switched—when he’d threatened to kill Arobynn for hurting her. It had been the night that changed everything.

Arobynn’s smile grew, a practiced, elegant expression disguised as benevolence. “As overjoyed as I am to see you in good health,” he said, “do I even want to know what brings the two of you back home?” Home—this wasn’t her home now, and Arobynn knew it. The word was just another weapon.

Sam bristled, but Celaena leaned forward. They’d agreed that she would do the talking, since Sam was more likely to lose his temper where Arobynn was involved.

“We have a proposal for you,” she said, keeping perfectly still. Coming face-to-face with Arobynn, after all his betrayals, made her stomach twist. When she’d walked out of this office a month ago, she’d sworn that she’d kill him if he bothered her again. And Arobynn, surprisingly, had kept his distance.

“Oh?” Arobynn leaned back in his chair.

“We’re leaving Rifthold,” she said, her voice cool and calm. “And we’d like to leave the Guild, too. Ideally, we’d establish our own business in another city on the continent. Nothing that would rival the Guild,” she added smoothly, “just a private business for us to make ends meet.” She might need his approval, but she didn’t have to grovel.

Arobynn looked from Celaena to Sam. His silver eyes narrowed on Sam’s split lip. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

“A misunderstanding,” Celaena said before Sam could snap a retort. Of course Arobynn would refuse to immediately give them an answer. Sam gripped the wooden arms of his chair.

“Ah,” Arobynn replied, still smiling. Still calm, and graceful, and deadly. “And where, exactly, are you living now? Somewhere nice, I hope. It wouldn’t do to have my best assassins living in squalor.”

He’d make them play this game of exchanging niceties until he wanted to answer their question. Beside her, Sam was rigid in his seat. She could practically feel the hot rage rippling off of him as Arobynn said my assassins. Another razor-sharp use of words. She bit down on her own rising anger.

“You look well, Arobynn,” she said. If he didn’t answer her questions, then she certainly wouldn’t answer his. Especially ones about their current location.

Arobynn waved a hand, leaning back in his seat. “This Keep feels too empty without you both.”

He said it with such conviction—as if they’d left just to spite him—that she wondered if he meant it, if he’d somehow forgotten what he’d done to her and how he’d treated Sam.

“And now that you’re talking of moving away from the capital and leaving the Guild …” Arobynn’s face was unreadable. She kept her breathing even, kept her heartbeat from racing. A nonanswer to her question.