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She’d never seen Arobynn so angry, and it was scaring the hell out of her. He didn’t yell, and he didn’t curse—he just went very still and very quiet. The only signs of his rage were his silver eyes, glittering with a deadly calm.
The last thing she remembered was a pang of guilt at the sight of her blood staining Arobynn’s exquisite red carpet. And then darkness, blissful darkness, full of relief that she hadn’t seen him hurt Sam.
“Celaena, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Celaena. Though I’m sure you gossips know everything about her already.”
“Lord Berick might want to kill us, but he knows better than to try to get rid of us through poisons. We’re far too skilled to fall for that sort of thing.
The horse was black as pitch, with dark eyes that bored into Celaena’s own. She’d heard of Asterion horses, of course. The most ancient breed of horse in Erilea. Legend claimed that the Fae had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before her.
No; it was the memory of Sam’s face that had stopped her from kissing him.
“If you can learn to endure pain, you can survive anything. Some people learn to embrace it—to love it. Some endure it through drowning it in sorrow, or by making themselves forget. Others turn it into anger.
I often forget I have the capacity for speech, but there are some times when words are necessary—when explanations are needed that mere gestures cannot convey.”
He’s making you pay back a fortune that he forced you to borrow.”
“When you give your master his letter, also give him this. And tell him that in the Red Desert, we do not beat our disciples.”
