The heavily guarded iron gates led to a long, tree-lined path that snaked up to the infamous building itself. She craned her head back to take in the towers that brushed the sky, the turrets sparkling in the midmorning sun. It had been built atop the original stone castle, and was the crowning achievement in Adarlan’s empire.
She hated it.
Even from the street, she could see people milling about the distant castle grounds— uniformed guards, ladies in voluminous dresses, servants clad in the clothes of their station … What sort of lives did they lead, dwelling within the shadow of the king?
Her eyes rose to the highest gray stone tower, where a small balcony jutted out, covered with creeping ivy. It was so easy to imagine that the people within had nothing to worry about.
But inside that shining building, decisions were made daily that altered the course of Erilea. Inside that building, it had been decreed that magic was outlawed, and that labor camps like Calaculla and Endovier were to be established. Inside that building, the murderer who called himself King dwelled, the man she feared above all others. If the Vaults were the heart of Rifthold’s underworld, then the glass castle was the soul of Adarlan’s empire.
She felt like it watched her, a giant beast of glass and stone and iron. Staring at it made her problems with Sam and Arobynn feel inconsequential—like a gnat buzzing before the gaping maw of a creature poised to devour the world.
A chill wind blew past, ripping strands of hair from her braid. She shouldn’t have let herself walk so close, even if the odds of ever encountering the king were next to none. Just the thought of him sent a wretched fear splintering through her.
Her only consolation was that most people from the kingdoms conquered by the king probably felt the same way. When he’d marched into Terrasen nine years ago, his invasion had been swift and brutal—so brutal that it made even Celaena sick to recall some of the atrocities that had been committed to secure his rule.
Shuddering, she turned on her heel and headed home.
Sam didn’t return until dinner.
Celaena was sprawled on the couch before the roaring fireplace, book in hand, when Sam strode into the apartment. His hood still concealed half of his face, and the hilt of the sword strapped to his back glinted in the orange light of the room. As he locked the door behind him, she caught the dull gleam of the gauntlets strapped to his forearms—thick, embroidered leather that concealed hidden daggers. He moved with such precise efficiency and controlled power that she blinked. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that the young man she shared the apartment with was also a trained, ruthless killer.
“I found a client.” He pulled off his hood and leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Celaena shut the book she’d been gobbling down and set it on the couch. “Oh?”
His brown eyes were bright, though his face was unreadable. “They’ll pay. A lot. And they want to keep it from reaching the Assassins Guild’s ears. There’s even a contract in it for you.”
“Who’s the client?”
“I don’t know. The man I spoke to had the usual disguises—hood, unremarkable clothing. He could have been acting on behalf of someone else.”
“Why do they want to avoid using the Guild?” She moved to perch on the arm of the couch. The distance between her and Sam felt too large, too full of lightning.
“Because they want me to kill Ioan Jayne and his Second in Command, Rourke Farran.”
Celaena stared at him. “Ioan Jayne.” The biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold.
Sam nodded.
A roaring filled her ears. “He’s too well-guarded,” she said. “And Farran … That man is a psychopath. He’s a sadist.”
Sam straightened and approached her. “You said that in order to move to another city, we need money. And since you’re insisting on paying off the Guild, then we really need money. So unless you want to wind up as thieves, I suggest we take it.”
She had to tilt her head back to look at him. “Jayne is dangerous.”
“Then it’s good that we’re the best, isn’t it?” Though he gave her a lazy smile, she could see the tension in his shoulders.
“We should find another contract. There’s bound to be someone else.”
“You don’t know that. And no one else would pay this much.” He named the figure, and Celaena’s brows rose. They’d be very comfortable after that. They could live anywhere.
“You’re sure you don’t know who the client is?”
“Are you looking for excuses to say no?”
“I’m trying to make sure that we’re safe,” she snapped. “Do you know how many people have tried to take out Jayne and Farran? Do you know how many of them are still alive?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Do you want to be with me?”
“What?”
“Do you want to be with me?”
“Yes.” Right now, that was all she wanted.
A half smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “Then we’ll do this, and we’ll have enough money to tie up our loose ends in Rifthold and set ourselves up somewhere else on the continent. If you asked, I’d still leave tonight without giving Arobynn or the Guild a penny, but you’re right: I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. It should be a clean break. I want that for us.” Her throat tightened, and she looked toward the fire. Sam hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to him again. “So will you go after Jayne and Farran with me?”
He was so beautiful—so full of all the things that she wanted, all that she hoped for. How had she never noticed that until this year? How had she spent so long hating him?
“I’ll think about it,” she rasped. It wasn’t just bravado. She did need to think about it. Especially if their targets were Jayne and Farran.
Sam’s smile grew and he leaned down to brush a kiss to her temple. “Better than a no.”
Their breath mingled. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier today.”
“An apology from Celaena Sardothien?” His eyes danced with light. “Do I dream?”
She scowled, but Sam kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his, and a low growl escaped from him as their tongues met. Her hands tangled in the strap that held his sword against his back, and she withdrew long enough to unclasp the scabbard buckle across his chest.
His sword clattered to the wooden floor behind them. Sam looked her in the eyes again, and it was enough for her to grab him closer. He kissed her thoroughly, lazily, as if he had a lifetime of kisses to look forward to.
She liked that. A lot.
He slid one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees, sweeping her up in a fluid, graceful movement. Though she’d never tell him, she practically swooned.
He carried her from the living room and into the bedroom, gently setting her down on the bed. He withdrew only long enough to remove the deadly gauntlets from his wrists, followed by his boots, cloak, jerkin, and shirt beneath. She took in his golden skin and muscled chest, the slender scars that peppered his torso, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe.
He was hers. This magnificent, powerful creature was hers.
Sam’s mouth found hers again, and he eased her farther onto the bed. Down, down, his clever hands exploring every inch of her until she was on her back and he braced himself on his forearms to hover over her. He kissed her neck, and she arched up into him as he ran his hand down the plane of her torso, unbuttoning her tunic as he went. She didn’t want to know where he had learned to do these things. Because if she ever learned the names of those girls …
Her breath hitched as he reached the last button and pulled her out of the jacket. He looked down at her body, his breathing ragged. They had gone further than this before, but there was a question in his eyes—a question written over every inch of his body.
“Not tonight,” she whispered, her cheeks flaring with heat. “Not yet.”
“I’
m in no rush,” he said, bending down to graze his nose along her shoulder.
“It’s just …” Gods above, she should stop talking. She didn’t owe him an explanation, and he didn’t push it with her, but … “If I’m only going to do this once, then I want to enjoy every step.” He understood what she meant by this—this relationship between them, this bond that was forming, so unbreakable and unyielding that it made the entire axis of her world shift toward him. That terrified her more than anything.
“I can wait,” he said thickly, kissing her collarbone. “We have all the time in the world.”
Maybe he was right. And spending all the time in the world with Sam …
That was a treasure worth paying anything for.
Chapter Three
Dawn crept into their room, filling it with golden light that caught in Sam’s hair and made it shine like bronze.
Propped on one elbow, Celaena watched him sleep.
His bare torso was still gloriously tanned from the summer—suggesting days spent training in one of the outside courtyards of the Keep, or maybe lounging on the banks of the Avery. Scars of varying lengths were scattered across his back and shoulders—some of them slender and even, some of them thicker and jagged. A life spent training and battling … His body was a map of his adventures, or a proof of what growing up with Arobynn Hamel was like.
She ran a finger down the groove of his spine. She didn’t want to see another scar added to his flesh. She didn’t want this life for him. He was better than that. Deserved better.
When they moved, maybe they couldn’t leave behind death and killing and all that came with it—not at first, but someday, far in the future, perhaps …
She brushed the hair from his eyes. Someday, they would both lay down their swords and daggers and arrows. And by leaving Rifthold, by leaving the Guild, they’d take the first step toward that day, even if they had to keep working as assassins for a few more years at least.
Sam’s eyes opened, and, finding her watching him, he gave her a sleepy smile.
It hit her like a punch to the gut. Yes—for him, she could someday give up being Adarlan’s Assassin, give up the notoriety and fortune.
He pulled her down, wrapping an arm around her bare waist and tucking her in close to him. His nose grazed her neck, and he breathed her in deeply.
“Let’s take down Jayne and Farran,” she said softly.
Sam purred a response onto her skin that told her he was only half awake—and that his mind was on anything but Jayne and Farran.
She dug her nails into his back, and he grunted his annoyance, but made no move to awaken.
“We’ll eliminate Farran first—to weaken the chain of command. It’d be too risky to take them both out at once—too many things could go wrong. But if we take out Farran first, even if it means Jayne’s guards will be on alert, they’ll still be in total chaos. And that’s when we’ll dispatch Jayne.” It was a solid plan. She liked this plan. They just needed a few days to figure out Farran’s defenses and how to get around them.
Sam mumbled another response that sounded like anything you want, just go back to sleep.
Celaena looked up at the ceiling and smiled.
After breakfast, and after she’d gone to the bank to transfer a huge sum of money to Arobynn’s account (an event that left both Celaena and Sam rather miserable and on edge), they spent the day gathering information on Ioan Jayne. As the biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold, Jayne was well-protected, and his minions were everywhere: orphan-spies in the streets, harlots working in the Vaults, barkeeps and merchants and even some city guards.
Everyone knew where his house was: a sprawling three-story building of white stone on one of the nicest streets in Rifthold. The place was so well-watched that it was too risky to do more than walk past. Even stopping to observe for a few minutes might spark the interest of one of the disguised henchmen loitering on the street.
It seemed absurd that Jayne would have his house on this street. His neighbors were well-off merchants and minor nobility. Did they know who lived next door and what sort of evil went on beneath the emerald-tiled roof?
They had a stroke of good luck as they meandered past the house, looking for all the world like a well-dressed, handsome couple on a morning walk through the capital. Just as they were passing by, Farran, Jayne’s Second, swaggered out the door, heading for the black carriage parked out front.
Celaena felt Sam’s arm tense under her hand. He kept looking ahead, not daring to stare at Farran for too long in case someone noticed their interest. But Celaena, pretending that she’d discovered a pull in her forest-green tunic, was able to glance over a few times.
She’d heard about Farran. Most everyone had. If she had a rival for notoriety, it was him.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and in his late twenties, Farran had been born and abandoned in the streets of Rifthold. He’d begun working for Jayne as one of his orphan-spies, and over the years had worked his way up the ranks of Jayne’s twisted court, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake until he was appointed Second. Looking at him now, with his fine gray clothes and his gleaming black hair slicked into submission, it was impossible to tell that he’d once been one of the vicious little beasts that roamed the slums in feral packs.
As he walked down the stairs to the carriage that awaited him in the private drive, Farran’s steps were smooth, calculated—his body rippling with barely restrained power. Even from across the street, Celaena could see how his dark eyes shone, his pale face set in a smile that made a shiver go down her spine.
The bodies Farran had left in his wake, she knew, hadn’t been left in one piece. Somewhere in the years he’d spent rising from orphan to Second, Farran had developed a taste for sadistic torture. It had earned him his spot at Jayne’s side—and kept his rivals from challenging him.
Farran slung himself into the carriage. The movement was so easy that his well-tailored clothes barely shifted out of place. The carriage started down the driveway, turned onto the street, and Celaena looked up as it ambled past.
Only to see Farran looking out the window—staring right at her.
Sam pretended not to notice. Celaena kept her face utterly blank—the disinterest of a well-bred lady who had no idea that the person staring at her like a cat watching a mouse was actually one of the most twisted men in the empire.
Farran gave her a smile. There was nothing human in it.
And that was why their client had offered a kingdom’s ransom for Farran’s and Jayne’s deaths.
She bobbed her head in a demure deflection of his attention, and Farran’s grin only grew before the carriage continued past and was swallowed up in the flow of city traffic.
Sam loosed a breath. “I’m glad we’re taking him out first.”
A dark, wicked part of her wished the opposite … wished she could see that feline grin vanish when Farran found out that Celaena Sardothien had killed Jayne. But Sam was right. She wouldn’t sleep one wink if they took out Jayne first, knowing Farran would expend all his resources hunting them down.
They made a long, slow circle around the streets surrounding Jayne’s house.
“It’d be easier to catch Farran on his way somewhere,” Celaena said, all too aware of how many eyes were tracking them on these streets. “The house is too well-guarded.”
“I’ll probably need two days to figure it out,” Sam said.
“You’ll need?”
“I figured you’d want the glory of taking out Jayne. So I’ll dispatch Farran.”
“Why not work together?”
His smile faded. “Because I want you to stay out of this for as long as possible.”
“Just because we’re together doesn’t mean I’ve become some weakling ninny.”
“I’m not saying that. But can you blame me for wanting to keep the girl I love away from someone like Farran? And before you begin to rattle off your accomplishments, let me tell you that I do know how many people you’ve killed and the sc
rapes you’ve gotten out of. But I found this client, so we’re doing it my way.”
If there hadn’t still been eyes on every corner, Celaena might have hit him. “How dare you—”
“Farran is a monster,” Sam said, not looking at her. “You said so yourself. And if anything goes wrong, the last place I want you to be is in his hands.”
“We’d be safer if we worked together.”
A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I don’t need you looking out for me, Celaena.”
“Is this because of the money? Because I’m paying for things?”
“It’s because I’m responsible for this hire, and because you don’t always get to make the rules.”
“At least let me do some aerial spotting for you,” she said. She could let Sam take on Farran—she could become secondary for this mission. Hadn’t she just accepted that she could someday let go of being Adarlan’s Assassin? He could have the spotlight.
“No aerial spotting,” Sam said sharply. “You’ll be on the other side of the city—far away from this.”
“You know how ridiculous that is, don’t you?”
“I’ve had just as much training as you, Celaena.”
She might have pushed it—might have kept arguing until he gave in—but she caught the flicker of bitterness in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that bitterness in months, not since Skull’s Bay, when they’d been all but enemies. Sam had always been forced to watch while glory was heaped upon her, and always taken whatever missions she didn’t deign to accept. Which was absurd, really, given how talented he was.
If death-dealing could be called a talent.
And while she loved strutting around, calling herself Adarlan’s Assassin, with Sam that sort of arrogance now sometimes felt like cruelty.
So though it killed a part of her to say it, and though it went against all her training to agree, Celaena nudged him with a shoulder and said, “Fine. You take down Farran by yourself. But I get to dispatch Jayne—and then we’ll do it my way.”