Assassin's Blade (41 page)
She found Sam slumped against the wall of another alley. She rushed to him where he knelt with a hand over his chest, panting heavily.
“Are you hurt?” she demanded, scanning the alley for any sign of
guards. An orange glow spread behind them. She hoped the servants had gotten out of Doneval’s house in time.
“I’m fine,” Sam rasped. But in the moonlight, she could see the gash on his arm. “The guards spotted me in the cellar and shot at me.” He grabbed at the breast of his suit. “One of them hit me right in the heart. I thought I was dead, but the arrow clattered right out. It didn’t even touch my skin.”
He peeled open the gash in the front of his suit, and a glimmer of iridescence sparkled. “Spidersilk,” he murmured, his eyes wide.
Celaena smiled grimly and pulled off the mask from her face.
“No wonder this damned suit was so expensive,” Sam said, letting out a breathy laugh. She didn’t feel the need to tell him the truth. He searched her face. “It’s done, then?”
She leaned down to kiss him, a swift brush of her mouth against his.
“It’s done,” she said onto his lips.
CHAPTER
12
The rain clouds had vanished and the sun was rising when Celaena strode into Arobynn’s study and stopped in front of his desk. Wesley, Arobynn’s bodyguard, didn’t even try to stop her. He just shut the study doors behind her before resuming his sentry position in the hall outside.
“Doneval’s partner burned his own documents before I could see them,” she said to Arobynn by way of greeting. “And then poisoned himself.” She’d slipped Doneval’s documents under his bedroom door last night, but had decided to wait to explain everything to him until that morning.
Arobynn looked up from his ledger. His face was blank. “Was that before or after you torched Doneval’s house?”
She crossed her arms. “Does it make a difference?”
Arobynn looked at the window and the clear sky beyond. “I sent the documents to Leighfer this morning. Did you look through them?”
She snorted. “Of course I did. Right in between killing Doneval and fighting my way out of his house, I found the time to sit down for a cup of tea and read them.”
Arobynn still wasn’t smiling.
“I’ve never seen you leave such a mess in your wake.”
“At least people will think Doneval died in the fire.”
Arobynn slammed his hands onto his desk. “Without an identifiable body, how can anyone be sure he’s dead?”
She refused to flinch, refused to back down. “He’s dead.”
Arobynn’s silver eyes hardened. “You won’t be paid for this. I know for certain Leighfer won’t pay you. She wanted a body and
both
documents. You only gave me one of the three.”
She felt her nostrils flare. “That’s fine. Bardingale’s allies are safe now, anyway. And the trade agreement isn’t happening.” She couldn’t mention that she hadn’t even
seen
a trade agreement document among the papers—not without revealing that she’d read the documents.
Arobynn let out a low laugh. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”
Celaena’s throat tightened.
Arobynn leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, I expected more from you. All the years I spent training you, and you couldn’t piece together what was happening right before your eyes.”
“Just spit it out,” she growled.
“There was no trade agreement,” Arobynn said, triumph lighting his silver eyes. “At least, not between Doneval and his source in Rifthold. The real meetings about the slave-trade negotiations have been going on in the glass castle—between the king and Leighfer. It was a key point of persuasion in convincing him to let them build their road.”
She kept her face blank, kept herself from flinching. The man who poisoned himself—he hadn’t been there to trade documents to
sell out those opposed to slavery. He and Doneval had been working to—
Doneval loves his country
, Philip had said.
Doneval had been working to set up a system of safe houses and form an alliance of people against slavery across the empire. Doneval, bad habits or not, had been working to
help
the slaves.
And she’d killed him.
Worse than that, she’d given the documents over to Bardingale—who didn’t want to stop slavery at all. No, she wanted to profit from it and use her new road to do it. And she and Arobynn had concocted the perfect lie to get Celaena to cooperate.
Arobynn was still smiling. “Leighfer has already seen to it that Doneval’s documents are secured. If it’ll ease your conscience, she said she won’t give them to the king—not yet. Not until she’s had a chance to speak to the people on this list and … persuade them to support her business endeavors. But if they don’t, perhaps those documents will find their way into the glass castle after all.”
Celaena fought to keep from trembling. “Is this punishment for Skull’s Bay?”
Arobynn studied her. “While I might regret beating you, Celaena, you
did
ruin a deal that would have been extremely profitable for us.” “Us,” like she was a part of this disgusting mess. “You might be free of me, but you shouldn’t forget who I am. What I’m capable of.”
“As long as I live,” she said, “I’ll never forget that.” She turned on her heel, striding for the door, but stopped.
“Yesterday,” she said, “I sold Kasida to Leighfer Bardingale.” She’d visited Bardingale’s estate in the morning of the day she was set to infiltrate Doneval’s house. The woman had been more than happy to purchase the Asterion horse. She hadn’t once mentioned her former husband’s impending death.
And last night, after Celaena had killed Doneval, she’d spent a
while staring at the signature at the end of the transfer of ownership receipt, so stupidly relieved that Kasida was going to a good woman like Bardingale.
“And?” Arobynn asked. “Why should I care about your horse?”
Celaena looked at him long and hard. Always power games, always deceit and pain. “The money is on its way to your vault at the bank.”
He said nothing.
“As of this moment, Sam’s debt to you is paid,” she said, a shred of victory shining through her growing shame and misery. “From right now until forever, he’s a free man.”
Arobynn stared back, then shrugged. “I suppose that’s a good thing.” She felt the final blow coming, and she knew she should run, but she stood like an idiot and listened as he said, “Because I spent all the money you gave me when I was at Lysandra’s Bidding last night. My vault feels a little empty because of it.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in.
The money she had sacrificed so much to get …
He’d used it to win Lysandra’s Bidding.
“I’m moving out,” she whispered. He just watched her, his cruel, clever mouth forming a slight smile. “I’ve purchased an apartment, and I’m moving there. Today.”
Arobynn’s smile grew. “Do come back and visit us some time, Celaena.”
She had to bite her lip to keep it from wobbling. “Why did you do it?”
Arobynn shrugged again. “Why shouldn’t I enjoy Lysandra after all these years of investing in her career? And why do you care what I do with my own money? From what I’ve heard, you have Sam now. Both of you are free of me.”
Of course he’d found out already. And of course he’d try to make this about her—try to make it
her
fault. Why shower her with gifts only to do this? Why deceive her about Doneval and then torture
her with it? Why had he saved her life nine years ago just to treat her this way?
He’d spent
her
money on a person he
knew
she hated. To belittle her. Months ago, it would have worked; that sort of betrayal would have devastated her. It still hurt, but now, with Doneval and Philip and others dead by
her
hand, with those documents now in Bardingale’s possession, and with Sam steadfastly at her side … Arobynn’s petty, vicious parting shot had narrowly missed the mark.
“Don’t come looking for me for a good, long while,” she said. “Because I might kill you if I see you before then, Arobynn.”
He waved a hand at her. “I look forward to the fight.”
She left. As she strode through his study doors, she almost slammed into the three tall men who were walking in. They all took one look at her face and then muttered apologies. She ignored them, and ignored Wesley’s dark stare as she strode past him. Arobynn’s business was his own. She had her own life now.
Her boot heels clicked against the marble floor of the grand entrance. Someone yawned from across the space, and Celaena found Lysandra leaning against the banister of the staircase. She was wearing a white silk nightgown that barely covered her more private areas.
“You’ve probably already heard, but I went for a record price,” Lysandra purred, stretching out the beautiful lines of her body. “Thank you for that; rest assured that your gold went a long, long way.”
Celaena froze and slowly turned. Lysandra smirked at her.
Fast as lightning, Celaena hurled a dagger.
The blade imbedded itself into the wooden railing a hair’s breadth from Lysandra’s head.
Lysandra began screaming, but Celaena just walked out of the front doors, across the lawn of the Keep, and kept walking until the capital swallowed her up.
Celaena sat on the edge of her roof, looking out across the city. The convoy from Melisande had already left, taking the last of the rain clouds with them. Some of them wore black to mourn Doneval’s death. Leighfer Bardingale had ridden Kasida, prancing down the main avenue. Unlike those in mourning colors, the lady had been dressed in saffron yellow—and was smiling broadly. Of course, it was just because the King of Adarlan had agreed to give them the funds and resources to build their road. Celaena had half a mind to go after her—to get those documents back and repay Bardingale for her deceit. And take back Kasida while she was at it, too.
But she didn’t. She’d been fooled and had lost—badly. She didn’t want to be a part of this tangled web. Not when Arobynn had made it perfectly clear that she could never win.
To distract her from that miserable thought, Celaena had then spent the whole day sending servants between the Keep and her apartment, fetching all the clothes and books and jewelry that now belonged to her and her alone. The late afternoon light shifted into a deep gold, setting all the green rooftops glowing.
“I thought you might be up here,” Sam said, striding across the flat roof to where she sat atop the wall that lined the edge. He surveyed the city. “Some view; I can see why you decided to move.”
She smiled slightly, turning to look at him over her shoulder. He came to stand behind her, and reached out a tentative hand to run through her hair. She leaned into the touch. “I heard what he did—about both Doneval and Lysandra,” Sam murmured. “I never imagined he’d sink that low—or use your money like that. I’m sorry.”
“It was what I needed.” She watched the city again. “It was what I needed to make me tell him I was moving out.”
Sam gave a nod of approval. “I’ve just sort of … left my belongings in your main room. Is that all right?”
She nodded. “We’ll find space for it later.”
Sam fell silent. “So, we’re free,” he said at last.
She turned fully to look at him. His brown eyes were vivid.
“I also heard that you paid off my debt,” he said, his voice strained. “You—you sold your Asterion horse to do it.”
“I had no choice.” She pivoted from her spot on the roof and stood. “I’d never leave you shackled to him while I walked away.”
“Celaena.” He said her name like a caress, slipping a hand around her waist. He pressed his forehead against hers. “How can I ever repay you?”
She closed her eyes. “You don’t have to.”
He brushed his lips against hers. “I love you,” he breathed against her mouth. “And from today onward, I want to never be separated from you. Wherever you go, I go. Even if that means going to Hell itself, wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Forever.”
Celaena put her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, giving him her silent reply.
Beyond them, the sun set over the capital, turning the world into crimson light and shadows.
AFTER
Curled into the corner of a prison wagon, Celaena Sardothien watched the splotches of shadows and light play on the wall. Trees—just beginning to shift into the rich hues of autumn—seemed to peer at her through the small, barred window.
She rested her head against the musty wooden wall, listening to the creak of the wagon, the clink of the shackles around her wrists and ankles, the rumbling chatter and occasional laughter of the guards who had been escorting the wagon along its route for two days now.
But while she was aware of it all, a deafening sort of silence had settled over her like a cloak. It shut out everything. She knew she was thirsty, and hungry, and that her fingers were numb with cold, but she couldn’t feel it keenly.
The wagon hit a rut, jostling her so hard that her head knocked into the wall. Even that pain felt distant.