Assassin's Blade (54 page)
She was going to Endovier—she was to be a slave in the Salt Mines of Endovier.
Fear, ravenous and cold, dragged her under.
BEGINNING
Celaena Sardothien knew she was nearing the Salt Mines when, two weeks later, the trees of Oakwald gave way to gray, rough terrain, and jagged mountains pierced the sky. She’d been lying on the floor since dawn and had already vomited once. And now she couldn’t bring herself to stand up.
Sounds in the distance—shouting and the faint crack of a whip.
Endovier.
She wasn’t ready.
The light turned brighter as they left the trees behind. She was glad Sam wasn’t here to see her like this.
She let out a sob so violent she had to press her fist to her mouth to keep from being heard.
She’d never be ready for this, for Endovier and the world without Sam.
A breeze filled the wagon, lifting away the smells of the past
two weeks. Her trembling paused for a heartbeat. She knew that breeze.
She knew the chill bite beneath it, knew it carried the hint of pine and snow, knew the mountains from which it hailed. A northern breeze, a breeze of Terrasen.
She
must
stand up.
Pine and snow and lazy, golden summers—a city of light and music in the shadow of the Staghorn Mountains. She must stand, or be broken before she even entered Endovier.
The wagon slowed, wheels bouncing over the rough path. A whip snapped.
“My name is Celaena Sardothien …,” she whispered onto the floor, but her lips shook hard enough to cut off the words.
Somewhere, someone started screaming. From the shift in the light, she knew they were nearing what had to be a giant wall.
“My name is Celaena Sardothien …,” she tried again. She gasped down uneven breaths.
The breeze grew into a wind, and she closed her eyes, letting it sweep away the ashes of that dead world—of that dead girl. And then there was nothing left except something new, something still glowing red from the forging.
Celaena opened her eyes.
She would go into Endovier. Go into Hell. And she would not crumble.
She braced her palms on the floor and slid her feet beneath her.
She had not stopped breathing yet, and she had endured Sam’s death and evaded the king’s execution. She would survive this.
Celaena stood, turning to the window and looking squarely at the mammoth stone wall rising up ahead of them.
She would tuck Sam into her heart, a bright light for her to take out whenever things were darkest. And then she would remember
how it had felt to be loved, when the world had held nothing but possibility. No matter what they did to her, they could never take that away.
She would not break.
And someday … someday, even if it took her until her last breath, she’d find out who had done this to her. To Sam. Celaena wiped away her tears as the wagon entered the shade of the tunnel through the wall. Whips and screams and the clank of chains. She tensed, already taking in every detail she could.
But she squared her shoulders. Straightened her spine.
“My name is Celaena Sardothien,” she whispered, “
and I will not be afraid
.”
The wagon cleared the wall and stopped.
Celaena raised her head.
The wagon door was unlocked and thrown open, flooding the space with gray light. Guards reached for her, mere shadows against the brightness. She let them grab her, let them pull her from the wagon.
I will not be afraid
.
Celaena Sardothien lifted her chin and walked into the Salt Mines of Endovier.
Elements of these stories have been floating through my imagination for the past decade, but getting the chance to write them all down was something I never believed I’d be blessed enough to do. It was a delight to originally share these novellas as e-books, but seeing them printed as a physical book is a dream come true. So it’s with immense gratitude that I thank the following people:
My husband, Josh—for making dinner, bringing me coffee (and tea … and chocolate … and snacks), walking Annie, and for all of the unconditional love. I could not do this without you.
My parents—for buying multiple copies of every novel and novella, for being my #1 fans, and for all of the adventures (a few of which inspired these stories).
My incomparable agent, Tamar Rydzinski, who called one summer afternoon with a crazy idea that would eventually become these novellas.
My editor, Margaret Miller, who never fails to challenge me to be a better writer.
And the entire worldwide team at Bloomsbury—for the unfailing enthusiasm, brilliance, and support. Thank you for all that you’ve done for the Throne of Glass series. I am so proud to call myself a Bloomsbury author.
Writing a book is definitely not a solitary task, and without the following people, these novellas would not be what they are:
Alex Bracken, whom I’ll never stop owing for the genius suggestion regarding
The Assassin and the Underworld
(and for all the other incredible feedback, too).
Jane Zhao, whose unwavering enthusiasm for the world of Throne of Glass was one of the things I clung to most on the long path to publication. Kat Zhang, who always finds time to critique despite an impossibly hectic schedule. Amie Kaufman, who cried and swooned in all the right places.
And Susan Dennard—my wonderful, honest, fierce Sooz. You remind me that sometimes—just sometimes—the universe can get things right. No matter what happens, I will always be grateful for the day you came into my life.
Additional love and thanks to my incredible friends: Erin Bowman, Dan Krokos, Leigh Bardugo, and Biljana Likic.
And you, dear reader: thank you for coming with me on this journey. I hope that you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into Celaena’s past—and I hope that you’ll enjoy seeing where her adventures take her in
Throne of Glass
!
Throne of Glass
Crown of Midnight
R
EAD ON FOR AN EXCERPT FROM THE FIRST
BOOK IN THE
T
HRONE OF
G
LASS
SERIES
After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena is summoned to the castle of a vicious king, where she hopes to finally win her freedom. If she defeats twenty-three killers, thieves, and warriors in a competition, she will be released from prison to serve as the King’s Champion. But something evil dwells in the castle—and it’s there to kill. Celaena’s fight for freedom becomes a fight for survival—and a desperate quest to root out the evil before it destroys her world.
After a year of slavery in the Salt Mines of Endovier, Celaena Sardothien was accustomed to being escorted everywhere in shackles and at sword-point. Most of the thousands of slaves in Endovier received similar treatment—though an extra half-dozen guards always walked Celaena to and from the mines. That was expected by Adarlan’s most notorious assassin. What she did not usually expect, however, was a hooded man in black at her side—as there was now.
He gripped her arm as he led her through the shining building in which most of Endovier’s officials and overseers were housed. They strode down corridors, up flights of stairs, and around and around until she hadn’t the slightest chance of finding her way out again.
At least, that was her escort’s intention, because she hadn’t failed to notice when they went up and down the same staircase within a matter of minutes. Nor had she missed when they zigzagged between levels, even though the building was a standard grid of hallways and stairwells.
As if she’d lose her bearings that easily. She might have been insulted if he wasn’t trying so hard.
They entered a particularly long hallway, silent save for their footsteps. Though the man grasping her arm was tall and fit, she could see nothing of the features concealed beneath his hood. Another tactic meant to confuse and intimidate her. The black clothes were probably a part of it, too. His head shifted in her direction, and Celaena flashed him a grin. He looked forward again, his iron grip tightening.
It was flattering, she supposed, even if she
didn’t
know what was happening, or why he’d been waiting for her outside the mine shaft. After a day of cleaving rock salt from the innards of the mountain, finding him standing there with six guards hadn’t improved her mood.
But her ears had pricked when he’d introduced himself to her overseer as Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Royal Guard, and suddenly, the sky loomed, the mountains pushed from behind, and even the earth swelled toward her knees. She hadn’t tasted fear in a while—hadn’t
let
herself taste fear. When she awoke every morning, she repeated the same words:
I will not be afraid
. For a year, those words had meant the difference between breaking and bending; they had kept her from shattering in the darkness of the mines. Not that she’d let the captain know any of that.
Celaena examined the gloved hand holding her arm. The dark leather almost matched the dirt on her skin.
She adjusted her torn and filthy tunic with her free hand and held in her sigh. Entering the mines before sunrise and departing after dusk, she rarely glimpsed the sun. She was frightfully pale beneath the dirt. It was true that she had been attractive once, beautiful even, but—well, it didn’t matter now, did it?
They turned down another hallway, and she studied the stranger’s finely crafted sword. Its shimmering pommel was shaped like an eagle midflight. Noticing her stare, his gloved hand descended to rest upon its golden head. Another smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“You’re a long way from Rifthold, Captain,” she said, clearing her throat. “Did you come with the army I heard thumping around earlier?” She peered into the darkness beneath his hood but saw nothing. Still, she felt his eyes upon her face, judging, weighing, testing. She stared right back. The Captain of the Royal Guard would be an interesting opponent. Maybe even worthy of some effort on her part.
Finally, the man raised his sword hand, and the folds of his cloak fell to conceal the blade. As his cloak shifted, she spied the gold wyvern embroidered on his tunic. The royal seal.
“What do you care for the armies of Adarlan?” he replied. How lovely it was to hear a voice like her own—cool and articulate—even if he was a nasty brute!
“Nothing,” she said, shrugging. He let out a low growl of annoyance.
Oh, it’d be nice to see his blood spill across the marble. She’d lost her temper once before—once, when her first overseer chose the wrong day to push her too hard. She still remembered the feeling of embedding the pickax into his gut, and the stickiness of his blood on her hands and face. She could disarm two of these guards in a heartbeat. Would the captain fare better than her late overseer? Contemplating the potential outcomes, she grinned at him again.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” he warned, and his hand drifted back toward his sword. Celaena hid her smirk this time. They passed a series of wooden doors that she’d seen a few minutes ago. If she wanted to escape, she simply had to turn left at the next hallway and take the stairs down three flights. The only thing all the intended disorientation had accomplished was to familiarize her with the building. Idiots.
“Where are we going again?” she said sweetly, brushing a strand of her matted hair from her face. When he didn’t reply, she clenched her jaw.
The halls echoed too loudly for her to attack him without alerting the whole building. She hadn’t seen where he’d put the key to her
irons, and the six guards who trailed them would be nuisances. Not to mention the shackles.
They entered a hallway hung with iron chandeliers. Outside the windows lining the wall, night had fallen; lanterns kindled so bright they offered few shadows to hide in.
From the courtyard, she could hear the other slaves shuffling toward the wooden building where they slept. The moans of agony amongst the clank of chains made a chorus as familiar as the dreary work songs they sang all day. The occasional solo of the whip added to the symphony of brutality Adarlan had created for its greatest criminals, poorest citizens, and latest conquests.