The Assassin and the Underworld (Throne of Glass 0.4)(15)

“Doesn’t he look cozy,” Sam mused. “I wonder how much Clarisse stands to make off this party.” That explained where the girls came from. Celaena just hoped Lysandra wasn’t here.

One of the beautiful serving boys offered Doneval and the courtesans glasses of sparkling wine. The bodyguard, who stood by the curtains, sipped first before nodding to Doneval to take it. Doneval, one hand already wrapped around the bare shoulders of the girl beside him, didn’t even thank either his manservant or the serving boy. Celaena felt her lip curl as Doneval pressed his lips to the neck of the courtesan. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty. It didn’t surprise her at all that this man found the growing slave trade appealing—and that he was willing to destroy his opponents to make his business arrangement a success.

“I have a feeling he’s not going to get up for a while,” Celaena said, and when she turned to Sam, he was frowning. He’d always had a mixture of sorrow and sympathy for the courtesans—and such hatred for their clients. His mother’s end hadn’t been a happy one. Perhaps that was why he tolerated the insufferable Lysandra and her insipid companions.

Someone almost knocked into Celaena from behind, but she sensed the staggering man and easily sidestepped out of his path. “This is a madhouse,” she muttered, her gaze rising to the girls on the swings as they floated through the room. They arched their backs so far that it was a miracle their br**sts stayed in their corsets.

“I can’t even imagine how much Bardingale spent on this party.” Sam was so close his breath caressed her cheek. Celaena was actually more curious about how much the hostess was spending on keeping Doneval distracted; clearly, no cost was too great, if she’d hired Celaena to help destroy Doneval’s trade agreement and get those documents back into safe hands. But perhaps there was more to this assignment than just the slave-trade agreement and blackmailing list. Perhaps Bardingale was tired of supporting her former husband’s decadent lifestyle. Celaena couldn’t bring herself to blame her.

Even though Doneval’s cushioned alcove was meant to be private, he certainly wanted to be seen. And from the bottles of sparkling wine that had been set on the low table before him, she could tell he had no intention of getting up. A man who wanted to be approached by others—who wanted to feel powerful. He liked to be worshipped. And at a party hosted by his former wife, he had some nerve associating with those courtesans. It was petty—and cruel, if she thought about it. But what good did knowing that do her?

He rarely spoke to other men, it seemed. But who said his business partner had to be a man? Maybe it was a woman. Or a courtesan.

Doneval was now slobbering over the neck of the girl on his other side, his hand roaming along her bare thigh. But if Doneval were in league with a courtesan, why would he wait until three days from now before making the document exchange? It couldn’t be one of Clarisse’s girls. Or Clarisse herself.

“Do you think he’s going to meet with his conspirator tonight?” Sam asked.

Celaena turned to him. “No. I have a feeling that he’s not foolish enough to actually do any dealings here. At least, not with anyone except Clarisse.” Sam’s face darkened.

If Doneval enjoyed female company, well, that certainly worked in favor of her plan to get close to him, didn’t it? She began winding her way through the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Sam said, managing to keep up with her.

She shot him a look over her shoulder, nudging people out of the way as she made for the alcove. “Don’t follow me,” she said—but not harshly. “I’m going to try something. Just stay here. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat, then nodded.

Celaena took a long breath through her nose as she mounted the steps and walked into the raised alcove where Doneval sat.

Chapter Five

The four courtesans noticed her, but Celaena kept her eyes on Doneval, who looked up from the neck of the courtesan currently on the receiving end of his affection. His bodyguard was alert, but didn’t stop her. Fool. She forced a little smile to her lips as Doneval’s eyes roved freely. Up and down, down and up. That was why she’d opted for a lower-cut dress than usual. It made her stomach turn, but she stepped closer, only the low-lying table between her and Doneval’s sofa. She gave a low, elegant curtsy. “My lord,” she purred.

He was not a lord in any sense, but a man like that had to enjoy fancy titles, however unearned they might be.

“May I help you?” he said, taking in her dress. She was definitely more covered-up than the courtesans around him. But sometimes there was more allure in not seeing everything.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, tilting her head so that the light from the lanterns caught in her eyes and set them sparkling. She knew well enough which of her features men tended to notice—and appreciate—most. “But my uncle is a merchant, and he speaks so highly of you that I …” She now looked at the courtesans as if suddenly noticing them, as if she were a good, decent girl realizing the company he kept and trying not to become too embarrassed.

Doneval seemed to sense her discomfort and sat up, removing his hand from the thigh of the girl next to him. The courtesans all went a bit rigid, shooting daggers in her direction. She might have grinned at them had she not been so focused on her act.