So, it's been a while, and I'm sorry about that. At the very least, I'll try to update once a month, but I'll aim for once every one or two weeks.
KateWinters97: Thanks for your review! And no, Celaena isn't going to be the King's Champion in this one, but she'll find other ways to snoop about the castle... ;)
Roza Chameleon Redbird: Thanks for your review! And thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it.
PerfectPeanuts: Thanks for your review! Those two words meant so much to me :)
Too Wicked For this World: Thanks you! I tried to update as fast as possible! And I love your username.
cassianaswindell123: Thank you! And sorry, but no; I decided it would be faster if I just looked through the chapters on my own. Thank you for offering, though!
Disclaimer: I don't own Throne of Glass. Probably a good thing, because it wouldn't be half as good as Sarah J. Maas made it if I did.
Celaena instinctively reached for her daggers - usually sheathed at her waist - before she realised that for one thing, this was a dream, for another, she was a prisoner, and consequently, had no weapons on her.
Elena hadn't flinched at her fear, continuing to smile that painfully, pityingly kind smile. Celaena wanted to bash her face in, if only so she would stop looking at her like she was so. . . broken.
"What do you want?" Celaena asked, and dream or no, she started prowling backwards, making sure the two sarcophagi were between her and the ancient princess. Glancing down now, she noted the elegant fall of silver hair on the likeness of the queen, and the pointed ears of the Fae; it was Elena. Which meant. . . Celaena's eyes trailed over to the other sarcophagus. Then that must be Gavin, her human mate, with whom she'd defeated the Dark King Erawan. "Who are you?"
Elena's gaze was steady, but the edges of her flickered with indiscretion, and her eyes flicked to Gavin's sarcophagus as well. There was a look of alarm to them. "Don't waste time on questions you know the answer to," was the curt reply. "I don't have much time, thanks to your wandering. They are distracted for now-" Who was distracted? Was Gavin distracting them? "-but not for long. So I say this now." She leapt forward, and seized Aelin's hand. "Everything is fated, and there are no coincidences. You were meant to become an assassin, and go to Endovier, and then come back and become the King's Champion." Her eyes were shadowed. "But the competition comes too early, and so we have to make our own fate. So take this."
She thrust a necklace into Celaena's hands. It was simple, about the size of a coin, with a design of interlocking rings superceded by two overlapping circles. A line bisected it, and a blue stone was set in the centre, like an iris. It seemed to hum when it touched her palms; it's warmth seeped into her indiscreetly.
"It will protect you," Elena continued.
"What is it?" Celaena breathed. A few rustles and warning sounds began to drift towards her on a non-existent wind; the amulet glowed a faint blue.
Elena smiled, a sad, sad smile. "'It is only with the eye, that one can see rightly,'" she said, though Celaena had no idea what the words meant. As though she should know what the words meant. She flicked her gaze to Damaris, Gavin's famous Sword of Truth that hung on the wall, at it's eye pommel, then back down to the necklace Celaena had slipped on. The metal was cool against her breasts. "Help the captain," she said suddenly, gripping Celaena's forearm. Despite her less-than-solid appearance, her hand was very strong, and very much there. "When he comes to your cause, help him. Help him find the evil in this castle, and destroy it."
"The captain? What. . .?" Celaena grimaced as Elena's grip tightened to an almost painful vice. The rustles grew louder, and Celaena thought she heard a howl.
"There's no time," Elena muttered, then cupped the back of Celaena's neck, and kissed her forehead. "You bear many names, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius," she murmured. "But in the end, you are nameless. And I'm so incredibly sorry about that. But we don't have time for me to explain it now."
There was definitely howling then, coupled with the unmistakeable thud of running feet. Whines and roars whirled around in her ears as Elena used her hold on her wrist to shove her away. "Run," she said. "Do not let them find you here."
Celaena ran, out of the door, ignoring a barked farewell from Mort, down the damp stairs. She ran until her heart was beating so fast she thought it might beat out of her chest, and she keeled to the side, everything going dark.
"I'm so sorry to hear about Lady Rosamund's untimely death, Your Highness," simpered Kaltain, waving her lace fan. "Such a tragedy it is."
Dorian's hand, poised to lift the crystal glass and tip the contents down his throat, clenched until his tendons were strips of white against the golden skin. He didn't want to be here, dining with his mother's tittering court, but he'd had little choice in the matter. It was this or spend more time with Aedion Ashryver, which in hindsight, might have been a better choice. Both options were aggravating, and risked his newfound. . . talent, being discovered if he became riled, but at least with Aedion there would be fewer witnesses if he did lose control - and the only witness would likely be one already sympathetic to magic. After all, how could he turn in a gifted royal, when his own cousin had been hunted for being exactly the same thing?
He suspected that was wishful thinking towards the end, but it was true: he'd rather than company of a Wolf than these. . . peahens.
And he'd known Kaltain Rompier was a power hungry, gold digging, cold hearted bitch, but he hadn't expected even her to exploit the sudden and heart breaking death of Lady Rosamund, who'd been his greatest love, and had died not two weeks before.
He felt that alien power roil in his gut and he gritted his teeth, willing with an iron fist for it to stay down because if it erupted here, then he would be shipped to the gallows probably even before he came to from blacking out at the sudden loss of energy.
At least, that was what he'd found in the books he'd nicked from the library. The millions of volumes in there provided an excellent place to hide the books about magic he'd coveted recently. It had turned out that one of the librarians had kept them against king's wishes in the case that the powers he knew his family to be generously gifted with ever returned. It had only taken a little cajoling (and borderline blackmail) to get him to hand them over.
But he had gotten a hold on them, and he'd spent hours leafing through the yellow, wrinkled pages, the edges worn sharp and smooth by the hundreds of people who'd thumbed them before him. He'd absorbed every snippet of information he could find that could in anyway help him control his power. But the only thing that he'd come across so far was iron.
Iron could subdue magic. Iron could suppress magic. Iron could eliminate magic.
The only problem was he didn't think it would go unnoticed if he started wearing iron shackles everywhere. Chaol certainly would, in the very least.
So he willed himself to control his emotions, even he gave Kaltain a stiff nod, lips pressed so tightly together they'd gone white.
"If you ever feel the need to. . . talk about her," Kaltain added. She leaned forward, and placed her hand onto his shoulder. Her nails were long and they dug into his shoulder through his silk shirt. Whatever gods-awful perfume she had on wasn't enough to cover the lingering scent of opium, and Dorian fought the urge to gag. "I am here. I'll always be here for you to talk to. I know that one's childhood sweetheart can be difficult to get over."
As though Rosamund was just that: an infatuation, a crush. He gritted his teeth harder, until his jaw ached. His hands had started trembling when the second woman spoke.
"That's so sweet, Kaltain," Dorian's mother butted in. A woman not quite out of her prime, she had silver-streaked auburn hair, a face subtly pinched with the beginnings of wrinkles, and a faintly youthful glow, even if her green eyes glinted dully. "It's such a shame about your engagement to Duke Perrington. You would have made a fine queen."
Kaltain swallowed, and her dark-eyed gaze flicked to Dorian for an instant, before they were fixed adoringly on Queen Georgina, like they'd never moved to begin with. "Actually, Your Highness," she began, but she was cut off by the guards that swarmed into the room suddenly.
Several people screamed. Dorian got to his feet, and his mother did the same. He marched up to the nearest guard, recognising him as one of Chaol's, and demanded, "What is the meaning of this?"
The guard looked like he was about to brush past, then realised who it was, and bowed. "Your Highness," he intoned. "We are under orders to arrest Lady Kaltain Rompier. We received a tip from a reliable source that she was involved in the poisoning and subsequent murder of Lady Rosamund."
Dorian froze. His heart was beating one name through his veins.
Rosamund Rosamund Rosamund Rosamund Rosamund.
He turned to look at Kaltain. Her face was bloodless under the rouge on her cheeks, and her lips were beige. Her eyes had widened until they resembled two endless pits of darkness.
That creature inside him was writhing, wanting to be free from his iron grip on it, wanting to see what all the fuss was about. It began gnawing at his grip, loosening it, and he had to take several even breaths to reassert his control over himself.
When he spoke, his voice was deadly.
"You killed her?"
Kaltain shook her head frantically, taking a step back as the guards approached. Eventually her back collided with the queen's throne, and she could go no further. "No!" She shrieked, and her voice was a high pitched dagger in his ears. "I didn't! I swear I didn't!"
"Our source insists you did." The guard said in monotone voice. "Please, Miss Rompier. His Grace insists-"
"Ha!" She screeched, jabbing her finger at her. She shook her head so hard her elegantly coiled hair fell from its up-do, spilling round her face like tangled waves of ink. "Perrington told you, did he?" She was shaking all over; she looked positively demonic. "He's a liar! He's a rutting liar! He provided the hemlock!"
Everyone froze.
Kaltain gulped.
There was nothing more incriminating for her to say.
As if realising the game was up, she didn't object as two guards seized her and dragged her down to the dungeons.
Kaltain was seething.
That backstabber! Perrington had told her the poison would be untraceable. He'd told her there was no way she - no way they - would get caught. He'd told her that once Lady Rosamund - a lazy, simpering girl, in no was fit to be queen - married Dorian, she would have brought the empire to ruin, and that he wholeheartedly believed she needed to be eliminated.
And then he goes and rats her out to the King? What sort of monster did that?
The guards' hands were cold, even through the thin sleeves of her white dress. Dorian liked white, she reminisced fondly, then the thought turned bitter. It didn't matter now whether or not he thought her attractive in white; he surely hated her for her philanthropic actions. He should be thanking her for ridding him of that horrible girl! But no; instead all she got was anger and betrayal, merely because he couldn't see past his childish infatuation to understand the enormity of the favour she'd done her nation.
"Please," she croaked; her voice had been all but scraped raw by her screaming upstairs. "Please. It wasn't me."
She knew the words were worthless, but that didn't stop her from saying them, as they descended into the mouldy darkness of the palace dungeons. Kaltain heard a drip of water, and shivered as it hit her between her shoulder blades.
The guard only looked down at her in disgust. "I have no time for the lies of a murderer." He shoved a rusted key into a door, and the barred door swung open with a screech. The threw her in; she grazed her elbow as she fell and banged it off the wall. She lunged the guards leg as he walked away; he cried out in pain - agony - when she fastened her hands round his ankle. He staggered back, then shot a kick at her, and sneered. "You can stay down here with the other woman like you and rot."
The retreating footsteps were loud in Kaltain's ears; she felt one of her regular headaches begin to pound behind her eyes.
But the words the other woman like you rang in her mind, and she looked up, at the cell across from her, and caught the glint of dimly filtered light off of gold hair, matted with blood and dirt, but gold all the same. Her limbs, scantily covered by a prisoner's shift, were adorned with scars like grotesque bracelets. She looked beaten and bruised and abused to within an inch of her life, but her turquoise eyes were bright with a predatory gleam as she took in the fine, now muddied dress, and Kaltain's unbound hair.
"Murderer, eh?" The woman said. No, not a woman, Kaltain realised and she scrutinised her. Barely a few months past seventeen. A girl. "What did you do, stab someone to death with one of your hairpins? Is that why they confiscated them?"
"Nothing so inelegant as that!" She defended. "I used hemlock." The girl snorted, a mocking smile playing about her lips. Kaltain felt her anger rise. "I was only trying to rescue my country from a frightful woman who had her claws in the Crown Prince." The girl lifted her hand and inspected her own nails, then chuckled. They were broken and scratched from her time in captivity; they did indeed resemble claws.
"Don't give me that," Kaltain said haughtily. "The guard said you were a murderer?"
She chuckled again. "I'm an assassin, actually."
Kaltain's saliva dried in her throat. How many female assassins had she heard of? This can't be. . .
The girl got to her feet, and made a mock bow. "Celaena Sardothien, at your service."
"You make an interesting point," the King of Adarlan said.
Aedion restrained the urge to curl his hands into fists. He sat at the council table with the rest of the snivelling councilmen, listening to Duke Perrington's ideas for what he thought they should do with the assassin currently residing in the dungeons. He resisted the urge to punch the man.
He had a fool proof - not that he was calling Aelin a fool - plan to get his cousin out of the sentence in Endovier. And having this idiot butt in to meddle with the plans of what the King did with Aelin, was very much not appreciated.
"If we keep Celaena Sardothien in the dungeons until Yulemas, we could use her after the last Test for the Champions. When we reach a winner, we can have them face off against her to prove their worth against someone who the people know is a formidable opponent. Make a public event of it. Her time in the dungeons will have weakened her, so I have no doubt that whoever's chosen would best her with ease. A public execution, of sorts. And the defeat would be a message, loud and clear, to all the assassins and thieves and criminals of Erilea: The King's Champion is better than the best of you." He gestured with his hands like he could picture it. "It would surely dissuade any of the larger criminals from performing crimes dire enough for Your Majesty to get involved in."
"This is ridiculous!" The Crown Prince shouted suddenly, standing up. "She's a young girl."
The King turned to his heir. "How would this factor affect anything?" He asked, politely, but there was warning brewing behind his eyes.
The Prince didn't flinch from it. "Because," he said, and even Aedion had to admit he was impressed with the man's quick thinking. It was obvious that this wasn't the problem he had with the arrangements, but he voiced it anyway. "The people will be shocked to find that Adarlan's Assassin is a teenage girl. It will cause the opposite of the affect Perrington - His Grace - is looking for; they'll feel that we've pulled some sort of stunt, and that it means nothing that the Champion had defeated a child."
The King of Adarlan nodded, looking thoughtful. "I will consider both of your points," was all he said. "You are all dismissed."
Aedion was vaguely aware of Dorian storming out, but he was too busy hurrying out himself, to inform Aelin of the change of plan, and to pray that the King didn't take Perrington's ideas on.
The prison wagons were easy to break a person out of. The royal dungeons, however, were not.
As she made the bow, the pendant Elena had given her almost slipped from beneath her shift, and Celaena gritted her teeth against the cold of the metal against her breasts as she sat back down. She'd woken from the dream with it on; she didn't know how, but she had.
The poor woman's face had gone the colour of her dress (or the colour her dress had been, before it had graced the floor and become spotted with brown and red) and her lips trembled slightly. She pressed them together, until they too grew white. Celaena scoffed inwardly. What did the coward think she could do to her?
"Now," she said. "You know my name, I think it's only fair I know yours."
Apparently, the woman wasn't so petrified she couldn't speak. She gasped out with a small voice, "Kaltain Rompier." She shivered, and Celaena's eyes narrowed. She wasn't that scared was she? Now that would just be ridiculous.
But no; she wasn't shivering from fear, Celaena realised as another chilly breeze sliced through the air, and Kaltain was racked with a shudder. The girl clutched at her head with a whimper, and murmured, almost indistinguishably, "Wings. Make it stop."
Celaena didn't think as she picked up the cloak Aedion had managed to smuggle her in his last visit, screwed it up into a loosed ball, and tossed it across, into Kaltain's cell.
The woman flinched as it landed, but once she'd had the chance to study it, her brows creased in confusion, she looked up at Celaena. She only clipped out, "For the cold," before very pointedly turning away, and becoming silent.
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