"I thought it was rain," Aelin whispered- the first words she'd spoken. Lady Marion's eyes tightened.
"I know, dearheart, I know." Marion bundled the blanket even more snugly around her, smoothing it down over her shoulders. "I'll stay right here with you, don't worry."
"Where's- where's Aedion?" Aelin had never wished so desperately for her cousin's company. "And Elide?" she added, remembering Marion's own daughter.
"They're safe. You'll see them soon," Marion murmured, rising as water boiled on the stove behind her. She removed the kettle, and in the sudden silence there were hoofbeats, barely audible but getting louder, approaching the front of the house. Marion moved so quickly Aelin could only stare as she ripped the blanket from around her own shoulders, then pulled off Aelin's. The motion propelled the girl from her chair, and Marion grabbed her hand.
"Aelin- do you remember where the footpath is, over the bridge?" Aelin nodded. "You know the abandoned farm on the other side?" Aelin nodded again. "Good girl. When I tell you, run out the back and across the bridge as fast as you can. Hide in the farmhouse until help comes. Only come out for someone you know- no one else. Even if they say they're a friend, no one else must see you. Do you understand?" Lady Marion's voice was calm, but her eyes crackled with an energy Aelin had never seen in her small, delicate nursemaid before. "Do not stop, do not look back- no matter what happens." Aelin felt fear bursting through the numbness that had been wrapped around her all day. "I love you," Lady Marion said, planting a hard kiss on Aelin's forehead. "Tell Elide- tell her she is the world to me. Now go!" Marion shouted, pushing Aelin toward the kitchen door just as a great, pounding knock rattled the front.
Aelin ran, letting the door bang behind her. She was barefoot, she realized as sticks and sharp pebbles pricked her feet. There was a great crash, and she knew the front door had given way. Despite herself, she could not help looking back through the kitchen window, lit up against the dark garden, as a cloaked man rushed in. He towered over Lady Marion, who had the kettle gripped in one small hand. He said something, his eyes sweeping the room. Marion shook her head and he knocked over the table and then wrenched open the pantry doors. As he moved toward the back door, Marion threw herself on him, swinging the kettle. It met his head with a loud clang, but the man only grunted, lunged, and knocked her into the stove so hard Aelin could hear something inside Marion crack. The man again made for the door but despite the blow which must have knocked her nearly senseless, Marion sprang for him again, landing on his back and clinging, screaming wildly, tearing at his face with her fingers. The man fumbled for a moment, then shook, trying to dislodge her. She would not let go. He rammed himself backward into the wall, crushing her against it, but still her grasp did not loosen. He twisted, his cheeks bleeding in long scratches from her nails, managed to grab a handful of her hair and yanked her over his shoulder, slamming her into the ground.
He drew his sword, chest heaving. Aelin could not see Marion lying on the floor, but she heard the thunk, and saw the spray of blood that splattered the man, the window, the stove, everything. She bit down on a scream, turned, and fled.
She ran through the garden and onto the footpath, heedless of the rocks that cut her feet. The back door banged open and she half-turned, tripped over something, and went sprawling. She tried to rise but her foot was trapped, twisted under a root. She could hear the man's boots crunch on the path behind her, swiftly, so swiftly, as she tugged. Suddenly there were little hands in the dark, freeing her foot, pushing her to her feet. She ran blindly, unable to thank her rescuers as she sprinted headlong for the bridge, blood pounding so loudly in her ears that she could no longer hear the crunch of boots or anything else. The two posts of the bridge appeared out of the blackness before her and she flung herself between them with a sob, only to find nothing beneath her but air.
The bridge had been cut, she realized as she plummeted toward the river far below. She didn't even have time to scream before everything went black.
Aelin awoke slowly. There was a heavy, horrible weight in the pit of her stomach. Something awful had happened, and she didn't want to remember what it was. "That's it," said a low voice beside her. She struggled to raise her head. "Careful now," it said, and she felt a hand slide under the back of her head, cradling it, as a face loomed into view above her. In the dim light she could just make out thick, wavy red hair falling forward over a wide forehead and heavy brows. "Drink this," he said, and tilted a cup over her with his other hand. She opened her mouth, only realizing as she did so how dry it was, and drank thirstily. "Easy," said the voice, and the cup withdrew. "Rest," it ordered. She lay back and knew no more.
When she awoke again there was daylight shining through a high window across from the bed. She began to sit up, groaned, but kept on, slowly working through the pain and shakiness in her muscles until she was sitting upright. She stared around the room for a while, gathering her strength. The stone wall curved slightly. The one window was too high for her to see through, even if she could manage to stand. The rest was simply furnished, at least compared to her room at home. Home- a wave of grief and shock rolled through her as she remembered all that had happened, and she curled forward with a grunt of pain. Before she could do so much as wipe away the tears that had trickled out, there was a light knock, and then a lanky young man with a mop of curly brown hair backed into her room, a tray in his hands.
"Hello," he said, turning toward her with a smile. "I'm Sam. Arobynn tells me your name is Celeana." Aelin was too overwhelmed by her memories to answer. She just stared at him through the curtain of her blonde hair as he set the tray on the small table by her bed and sat down in the chair across from her. He was quiet for a while, and she silently wiped away the tears behind her hair. Finally, he leaned forward just a little."The pain will fade, but they will always be a part of you," he said softly. Aelin glanced up at him in question, her neck muscles throbbing with the motion.
"I don't know what's happened to you," he said, "but I know what loss looks like- and most of us who end up here have lost someone in the process."
"Who did you lose?" she asked, knowing it was rude, but needing anything to help distract her from the thoughts, the images, that burned through her brain again and again. He was silent for a moment.
"My mum," he said finally, "and my two younger sisters." Aelin opened her mouth, not sure what to say. He met her gaze and there were no tears in his light brown eyes, just a deep calm. "Arobynn will help you push through it- he'll make you strong."
Something fluttered in Aelin's stomach. "Who is Arobynn?"
"Arobynn is the Master- your Master now." He must have sensed her alarm because he added- "you're not a slave, but an apprentice- like me. If you choose to leave, he won't stop you."
"Apprenticed for what?" But Sam just smiled, rising from the chair.
"Eat your soup- you'll see soon enough."
The soup was salty and hot, and she slurped it greedily. She meant to explore the room more when she was done- and the house beyond, if no one stopped her, but she slumped back against the pillows almost immediately after finishing, and didn't wake until it was dark again.
When she did, there was someone sitting in the chair. Even before he spoke, she knew it wasn't Sam. "Hello, Celeana," he said, and as he leaned forward she recognized the same hard, heavy-browed face that had hovered over her before. He looked to be in his early thirties, except around his eyes and mouth, where fine wrinkles hinted that he might be older.
"Who's Celeana?" she asked. He laughed, a deep, surprisingly rich sound.
"That's for you to discover, my dear. A blank slate- that's who Celeana is. A fresh start for someone who desperately needs to escape her past."
"You know who I am?" Aelin knew she wasn't doing this right- was giving too much away without learning enough in exchange. Her mother would have done so, so much better, but Aelin's body ached, and her head whirled with the enormity of what she'd lost.
"I know who you were. Who you will become, I have no idea. I'd like to find out, though. I'd like to help you become that person- if you'll let me."
"Why?"
He leaned back, his face once again in shadow. "In my profession, you have to be able to predict what people will do before they ever make a move. The longer you do it, the farther you can predict. I predict that you'll repay everything I could possibly do for you."
Aelin felt instinctively that this was not the whole truth, but all she could say was, "what profession is that?"
"One that will allow you freedom, independence, and security. No one will ever be able to hurt you, Celeana. Not ever."
"Too late," said Aelin. She laid back down and rolled over, facing the wall.
"I understand you feel like that now. When you change your mind, I'll be here." But when she finally turned over, he was gone.
Sam came again the next day, with another tray. "Feeling better, Celeana?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over her face. She nodded listlessly.
"Arobynn said you could come for a short walk with me, if you wish."
"I would, thank you." Aelin rose shakily. Sam offered her his elbow and they set off, she still in a rumpled nightgown, though not, she noted for the first time, the one that she had been wearing when she'd fled…
"Are you all right?' Sam asked as he led her into the hall. There were so many questions spinning around in her still-aching head, she didn't know what to say. She just nodded, and turned her attention to their surroundings. Her room opened onto a narrow stone corridor. The wall followed the same curve as her room before opening into a steep set of stairs.
Sam paused in a shallow recess halfway down the stairs, allowing her both to rest and to look out the narrow window. She sucked in a deep breath. They were high up, higher perhaps than she'd ever been before, even on the top wall of the castle she'd visited with her parents. The land, as well, was totally unfamiliar.
"Where are we?" she asked breathlessly.
"Arobynn's Tower is technically in Adarlan, though he is the only true authority in these parts."
Aelin swallowed her disgust. She would never, ever have willingly set foot in Adarlan. "How high up are we?"
"Nearly a hundred and fifty feet- your room is on the top floor." Surely she would have heard of a tower as tall as that, even in Adarlan. But the only tower she could think of that fit…
"Are we in the Assassin's Keep?" she squeaked.
Sam's eyebrows rose slightly. "Indeed we are."
"Then Arobynn- he's-"
"King of the Assassin's Guild, yes. Now you know why you're so fortunate to be here, to be apprenticing with him."
"Yes... if I wanted to be an assassin."
"What else would you do?" Aelin stared out at the wide sweep of land before her, this land that had taken everything she held dear. Hatred welled up inside her, but she swallowed it back, trying to think of what her parents would want her to say.
"Seek justice," she said, but her voice wobbled.
Sam stepped in front of her, his eyes hard. "There is no justice here anymore. Not in Adarlan, not anywhere on this continent, now that Adarlan holds sway over it. If you haven't learned that yet, maybe you never will. But that won't keep you from being killed if you're foolish enough to try to seek it." Aelin stared at him. He was older than her to be sure, but she doubted that he could be more than fourteen, at the most. Aedion would be fourteen in a few months time. She wondered where he was, if he had even survived, and the pain and bitterness rose up in her again.
"Use that," Sam whispered, as her eyes grew bright with anger and her fingers curled into fists. "Arobynn will show you how to hone your anger into a deadly weapon- one your enemies will never see coming. That's the only kind of justice you'll get now."
Aelin relaxed her hands, taking a deep breath. "I'm tired now," she said. "May we return to my room?" But that night when she awoke again to find Arobynn sitting over her, she knew what to say.
"I'm ready." She loosed a long breath. "I want Celeana to be very strong." Arobynn's eyes glittered out of the depths of the chair.
"She will be," he promised.
Celeana began training the next day, at Arobynn's insistence. Though she was still weak, he brought a mat into her room and had her begin practicing small strengthening exercises.
"Your leg is your strongest weapon," he told her as she lay flat on her back, gazing at the curved stone ceiling. His large hand easily encircled her entire thigh. "Build this up," he said, squeezing, "and you will be as strong as any warrior, if you know how to use it." Another day he sent a young woman up to demonstrate more exercises. "As a smaller opponent, you will learn to be as fast and flexible as you are strong. Chiana will show you. He left them alone.
They worked for nearly three hours in silence, other than Chiana's occasional commands for Celeana to position some part of her body differently, to stretch farther, or ease back. "You're very young, even for Arobynn," she finally observed as they took a break. Celeana poured out water from the pitcher near her bed into a wooden cup and offered it to the older girl. Chiana accepted, bowing her head in thanks.
"How old were you when you began training here?"
"Twelve. But I'd already had quite a lot of practice at sword-play, and strength and flexibility," Chiana added, and then folded both her legs over her head as she continued to drink her water.
Celeana whistled admiringly. "Where'd you learn to do that?"
"I grew up with a traveling fair. There was a contortionist who taught me her tricks- a strongman, too."
"Why'd you leave?"
"Why'd you?"
I didn't, Celeana wanted to say, but she just shook her head. "Show me everything."
After a week, Arobynn deemed her fit enough to start training with the group. On her first day out of bed, he had presented her with an assortment of lightweight tunics and leggings, all gray, just like what Sam and Chiana wore, and several breechcloths. "I don't believe you need a breastband yet," he said, eyeing her chest. Celeana blushed furiously, ducking behind her hair. His hand snaked out and cupped her chin, so quickly she couldn't help flinching, but he held it firmly and raised her gaze to his. "Never be ashamed of your body, Celeana." She fingered the new tunic as she waited for Sam to come collect her, wondering if she would really be here long enough that Arobynn would begin supplying her with breastbands and hoping fervently that she would not.
Sam arrived just after dawn. "About time," he commented. "I was getting awfully tired of being your manservant." He had indeed continued to bring her meals, staying only long enough to exchange brief pleasantries. Celeana noted that he always seemed weary to the bone. He grinned to show her he was kidding, and they started down the steep staircase, which led into a large, beautifully decorated sitting room that took up the entirety of the floor below her, and which included a pianoforte that set Celeana's fingers itching, several large bookcases which she was even more eager to examine, and numerous settees and small chairs. They continued through this room and down the next set of stairs, which led onto a floor with many doors opening off the curved hallway. This was as far as she'd explored on her previous outings, but now they continued down to the next floor, which just had a single closed door off the staircase. "Arobynn's suite," Sam said briefly, and continued to descend.
Eventually they reached the first floor, which was completely given over to training and consisted almost entirely of a large circle of flat earth. On the edges were several contraptions that Celeana couldn't identify- one looked like an upright coffin, another seemed to be a large latticework structure- and various training implements: long sticks, weights, mats, and other, less familiar objects. Chiana was already there, along with three boys Celeana didn't know. A huge, heavily muscled man whose black hair was tied back in a ponytail stood against one wall, his arms folded. From a doorway in the curved stone wall behind him, the faint smell of porridge wafted out, and Celeana concluded that this must lead to the kitchen, outside the tower itself. All eyes shifted to her as she entered with Sam. Chiana nodded in a friendly way, but the two boys just stared at her, their faces carefully blank, and the man against the wall scowled. She met his gaze and held it, as her parents had taught her, until he looked away, over her shoulder. She turned to see Arobynn slip silently in. Through the door behind him, she caught a glimpse of an open courtyard. The others instantly snapped to attention, and he nodded to them, his eyes flickering over each apprentice in turn, lingering on Celeana.
"Haron, Tern, Cerrick," he gestured first to the two older boys Celeana didn't know, then to the third, who couldn't have been much older than Celeana herself, "and Wesley." The man with the ponytail did not look at her again. "Who can show Celeana the most important lesson we've learned?" Arobynn asked. As one, the other apprentices threw themselves to the floor, rolling away neatly before leaping back to their feet.
"Knowing how to fall, how to take a hit, is the most important lesson you will learn here. Once you understand that, we can work on what to do once you pick yourself up again."
For the next three days, Celeana did nothing but fall, over and over again until her back ached and her shoulders were one big bruise. Arobynn watched her with narrowed eyes while the others practiced hand-to-hand combat with Wesley, constantly urging her to go again, and again, and again, until the most difficult part became not the fall itself, but the getting back up. In the evenings she took her meals at a long, low table in the flagstone kitchen on the ground floor with the other apprentices, although Tern and Haron often took their meals in Arobynn's quarters instead. They shared the table with a cook, two maids, and a handful of men who seemed to deal mostly with work outside the tower, likely with animals, Celeana thought as she caught a whiff of the man who sat next to her one night. They were always quiet, but it wasn't until Celeana asked one of the maids a direct question, only to have the woman shake her head and gesture to her mouth, that Celeana realized they must have taken a vow of silence.
The layout of the Tower itself, which should by rights have been simple enough, continued to confuse her. It was designed that way, Sam said, but she still found it off-putting not to be able to completely get her bearings. The floors seemed to all be different sizes, or else there were hidden rooms or passages that she couldn't access. None of the floors she'd seen had any windows at eye level, only high, narrow slits. There were no windows at all in the training room, just the thick stone door to the outside, and the door leading to the kitchen, which were both left open as they practiced.
"Let's try you out on something more difficult," Arobynn finally said as he watched her fall off a ten-foot platform onto the hard-packed earth for the millionth time. "Cerrick, Chiana, get the poles- padded, please." Chiana and Cerrick vanished immediately, only to return with what looked to Celeana like huge bubble blowers, the ones her mother used to make out of willow bark and dip in soapy water, to blow shiny soap bubbles for little Aelin to chase. These were about eight feet long, wooden rods with round, padded ends. At a glance from Arobynn, Sam began to make a circle in the dirt, drawing white powder from a satchel hooked on the wall and sprinkling it in a thin line which encircled a fifteen-foot patch of earth.
"Celeana, if you would be so kind," said Arobynn, gesturing to the circle's center. Tern and Haron put down the weights they'd been using and sauntered over to watch. Chiana and Cerrick advanced to the edge of the circle, their poles raised. At another glance from Arobynn, they began circling. "Falling correctly when you've braced yourself for it, when you've initiated the fall yourself, is one thing." Arobynn told her. His eyes flickered behind her and before she could so much as move her neck to look behind, a weight slammed into her shoulder, driving her to the side. The training she'd been doing held, had become instinctual enough that she dropped into that perfect roll and came up panting on the edge of the circle, right at Arobynn's feet.
"Excellent." He smiled at her, offered a hand, and just as she'd begun to pull herself up, his eyes flicked and a weight slammed into her again, driving her backward. She slammed the earth as she'd been taught, distributing the impact, and rolled again. "Bravo," said Arobynn. After another fifteen minutes, Celeana could barely see straight, yet the blows kept coming- front, back, side, knocking her back and forth before she'd had even a moment to recover as Chiana and Cerrick circled and struck. Arobynn watched in silence, only occasionally urging Chiana and Cerrick to keep it up, to strike faster, harder. Finally, a particularly vicious blow right in the back completely knocked the breath from Celeana's body and she fell face first, her nose slamming into the ground.
She rose, wheezing, noticing the blood splattered on the ground at the same moment that she tasted it trickling down the back of her throat. She spat some onto the dirt and swallowed the rest. "Continue!" called Arobynn sharply. A blow fell on her back, but it seemed half-hearted. Still, it was enough to drive her to her knees. "Get up!" Arobynn said, and she did, legs shaking. "Again!" he called, and Celeana braced herself for a blow that did not come. She turned to see Cerrick and Chiana standing behind her, Chiana biting her lip, Cerrick shifting from foot to foot. "Very well," Arobynn murmured, and his tone sent shivers down Celeana's spine. Before she could blink, he was in the arena, whirling, his foot high-
She sailed across the circle and landed hard on her backside, blood spewing from her mouth as the breath shot out of her again. "Rise!" Arobynn shouted, somehow already next to her. As she did, he disappeared, and then she felt another kick to the right side of her back, sending her spinning, but still she somehow managed to roll as she fell, ground and sky blurring. "Rise" he said again, and she heaved herself up, heart pounding, and didn't even see him kick her in the chest, sending her straight back. She used the momentum to turn the fall into a backward somersault, but still ended up lying crumpled on her face, knees tucked under her.
"Good," said Arobynn, and she felt his foot rest on her backside, right where it smarted most. She turned her head to the side, wincing. "You stop when I tell you to stop," he said with ice in his voice, and she knew he was looking at Cerrick and Chiana. His foot shoved off against her rear and she winced again, and then his hands were under her armpits, hauling her to her feet and turning her to face him. She blinked, trying to bring him into focus. "Your training held for two out of my three blows- not bad," he said in a much friendlier tone. His attention flickered to someone behind her. "Clean her up while I deal with these two." A shoulder slid under her left arm, and she sagged against it as Arobynn let go.
"Come on," said Sam's kind voice. "Here we go." She let him pull her down the passage toward the kitchen, then through a door at the end into a large washing room with a long table at one end. He carefully eased her up onto it, until she lay on her back. "Just rest there a minute," he instructed. She closed her eyes. When I open them again, the ceiling will be in focus, she told herself. She took a deep breath, opened, blinked rapidly, and the flagstones did indeed sharpen to their usual clarity. She flexed her hands and feet, then carefully rotated her head to the side and spat out more blood. This done, she began to raise herself, getting as far propping up on her elbows before Sam returned.
"I said rest!" he chastised, but he helped her to sit up fully, and turn until she was leaning against the wall. He had brought a bowl of water, a cloth, and a cup with some dark liquid in it. "Drink this," he instructed, holding out the cup. She sniffed. It smelled a little bit like ginger, but the main scent was one she couldn't place. Sam raised his eyebrows and she drank it quickly, hardly noticing the taste over the iron tang in her mouth. "Why did you keep getting up?" he asked, and she realized he was angry, even as he dipped the cloth into the bowl and began gently wiping at her nose.
She blinked at him. It honestly hadn't occurred to her not to obey Arobynn's instructions for as long as she possibly could. She just shrugged, and regretted it, wincing at the pain that radiated through her chest and shoulders. "What will happen to Chiana and Cerrick?" Sam shrugged back, the anger now sharp in his face, even as his hand continued to gently dab at her nose and mouth.
"You should have stayed down," was all he said. Celeana looked at him, brows knit. Why would he want her to disobey the orders of the man he so clearly worshipped, who he told her again and again she was lucky to be serving? One look at the anger still in his face told her this wasn't the time to ask. "How old are you? Seven? Eight?"
"Eight," she answered, wondering why that mattered just now. He huffed out a hard breath, giving her a whiff of the porridge they'd had for breakfast. He dipped the cloth in the bowl and wrung it out with enough force that droplets of water sprayed her tunic. "Mop up the rest yourself," he said, slapping it against her open hand. She took it, confused, glad to hide her face in its folds as she rubbed her cheeks, her forehead, and neck. When she dared emerge, he had gone.
Chiana and Cerrick were absent from dinner that night. The knot that had tied itself in Celeana's stomach tightened every time she glanced at their empty places. When she returned to her room, Arobynn was there, sitting in his usual chair. "You did well today," he said quietly, gesturing for her to sit on the bed in front of him. "I'm more confident than ever that my predictions will prove true."
She swallowed. "Thank you." She sat. "Chiana and Cerrick-" she began carefully.
"You must understand," he cut in, leaning toward her. "Your enemy will not stop because you are dizzy, or because your nose is bleeding. To prepare you for that, I must be as hard on you as any enemy." He took her hand. "I do this because I care about you, Celeana, because I want to see you become strong enough that no one can touch you." Except you, she thought, resisting the urge to pull away. "I will do things to you over the next few years," he said softly, his thumb caressing the inside of her wrist, and she shivered. "Things you would never forgive from anyone else. Just remember that I do it for you- always for you." He squeezed her hand one more time, and withdrew it.
She was first down to the training yard the next morning- first of the apprentices, at least. Wesley was there before her, his black ponytail bobbing as he swung himself through the latticework contraption. She made no sound as she approached, yet he dropped and whirled to face her. The same hostility, or perhaps it was disgust, slid across his face as he saw who it was.
She didn't know what to do other than hold his stare again, keeping her face open and friendly. His expression didn't flicker. She began to walk toward him, still holding the stare, and he snorted, turning back to the lattice. Haron was the next to appear. He sauntered over to her. "Waiting for your friends? I wouldn't expect them anytime soon."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's just say they're probably making their way here very carefully, so that nothing splits open again," he said, walking away toward the weights. Celeana swallowed, feeling sick. Had Arobynn beaten them? Sam and Tern arrived next, Tern ignoring her completely. Sam glanced her way, his face still angry, but softening as they made eye contact. He veered over to her.
"It's all right, Celeana, they're ok. They knew what they were in for."
"And what was that?"
"You'll see. Arobynn will teach you when he needs to."
"Has he taught you?" she asked, searching his face.
"Only what I deserved." Chiana appeared in the doorway, her face carefully neutral. Celeana started to go to her, but Sam gripped her wrist.
"Don't." When Cerrick appeared, he wouldn't even look at her. She went through that day's training with a lump in her throat, but everyone else seemed normal, though Cerrick and Chiana moved more carefully than usual.
Arobynn let her move on to defensive combat, blocking attacks from sticks, then the longer poles, then thrown sandbags, learning to deflect, to dodge, and how to best take an impact when she needed to. Chiana regained whatever warmth they'd shared before the incident with the long poles, talking with Celeana over meals and correcting her during their daily strength and flexibility exercises. Cerrick continued to ignore her. In the evenings, Celeana took to creeping down to the huge sitting room below her, at first just flipping through the books, too scared to take any back with her. Eventually, the lure of the pianoforte proved too strong, and she sat down to stroke its keys without playing, just tapping her small fingers lightly across their tops, remembering.
Haron and Tern were absent more and more, until one day they were gone altogether, and Arobynn told the rest of them that he had sent them to the Desert Warriors to complete their training. With them gone, things were easier among the apprentices as they laughed and bickered during breaks and over supper, but more difficult as Arobynn and Wesley spent more and more of their attention on them. Sam began working with real weapons, practicing swordplay and archery with Wesley while Celeana, Cerrick, and Chiana continued with hand-to-hand combat.
One morning, when the daylight had been arriving later and later, Celeana awoke to a brighter than usual glow through her window. Hurrying down the staircase, she could see snow glittering in the moonlight, blanketing Adarlan with its clean, smooth surface. By this time she had come to know the tower and the sprawl of buildings that attached to it as well as she had known her own home, although she had yet to see the floor where Arobynn resided. She rushed down the steps, through the training arena and into the courtyard, scooping snow into her hands. She looked up at the flakes whirling down and saw the stag constellation, somehow still shining through the snow-laden clouds. The star at the tip of the stag's antlers shown bright as always, pointing the way home, to Terassan, and for the first time in many months she wondered what was happening outside the tower. Did those in Terassan still fight against the dark power that had slain her family?
"Only fools look to the stars," said a voice, and she whirled to find Wesley beside her, his face upturned, snow thick in his dark hair. She stared at him. He had never spoken to her voluntarily, and even to the others he was curt, never saying more than the briefest instruction. His eyes slipped sideways to meet hers. "Anyone could gut you while your attention's fixed on something so… trivial."
"Is beauty trivial?" she asked, returning her gaze to the stag.
He did not answer for a long time. "It does nothing to save, but it can destroy," he finally said. She turned to him, blinking snowflakes out of her eyelashes. His face was calm, for once, his hair unbound. She let his words sink in, tried to contradict them.
"But it's something worth saving," she said finally, and turned back to the training yard.
Arobynn held parties, she knew, but she was never allowed to attend. She could hear them through the floor: the echo of laughter, the faint tinkle of the pianoforte, in the room below her. Occasionally she caught glimpses of the young, noble faces of his guests as they slipped out into the courtyard. "It's no picnic, trust me," said Sam, who was allowed to serve at these gatherings along with Chiana. "It's always get me more of this, and won't you be a fine fellow and fetch that, when you're already worn off your feet." Still, Celeana wondered. She had no desire to meet the Adarlan nobles, unless it was to kill them, but she did have a weakness for fine things, for parties with music and good foods. The sound of the pianoforte drove her crazy, until one day she finally dared to press one soft finger down as she played her silent melody across the key-tops.
"Don't stop," said Arobynn, and she jumped so badly that several keys let out a discordant sound that perfectly echoed her startled state. He laughed that clear, deep laugh. "Your fingers move as if they know what they're doing- give them voice." He was perched in a chair just behind her, and she wondered suddenly how often he'd sat there, as she'd run her fingers over the keys night after night. She took a deep breath, pressing the keys down just slightly, and obeyed him, as she always did.
The melody came out without conscious thought, the product of his command, and it was her favorite, the most familiar. She lost herself in it, in the rhythm of her hands, until she swayed back and forth on the bench, fingers triumphant, pumping with exhilaration. When she finally finished, her hands trembled. She could not look at Arobynn, but could not bear his silence, either. She risked a glance and found him still in his chair, eyes bright. When she met his eyes, his throat bobbed up, down, and he cleared it with a cough.
"You must play every night."
She shook her head, confused.
"It will be part of your training. You can disarm as easily with beauty as with weapons." Wesley flashed through her mind, his face turned toward the stars. She nodded, happy with his instruction in a way that felt so different from when he commanded her in the training room. He walked along the bookshelf, his long, slender hands caressing the titles. "Please practice this," he said, pulling out a volume, "and this, and this," he said, reaching for more and placing them gently on the piano's polished surface. He turned to go, leaving her more bewildered about his character, his motivations, and most of all, about her own feelings toward him.
