“I sense much worry in you,” Nehemia said suddenly, “and I hear much that you do not say. You never voice any of your troubles, though your eyes betray them.” Was she so transparent? “We’re friends,” Nehemia said softly. “When you need me, I’ll be there.” Celaena’s throat tightened, and she put a hand on Nehemia’s shoulder. “No one has called me friend in a long time,” the assassin said. “I—” An inky black crept into the corner of her memory, and she struggled against it. “There are parts of me that I …” She heard it then, the sound that haunted her dreams. Hooves pounding, thunderous hooves.
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