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October 2 - October 8, 2023
“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.”
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.
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.”
It was worth it, though. She was free, and Sam was free, and Arobynn … He had done his best to hurt her, to break her.
It wasn’t because she didn’t want his money—though she truly didn’t—but rather because, for the first time ever, this was a place that was hers. And though she cared deeply for Sam, she wanted to keep it that way.
Fighting in the Vaults wasn’t only about knocking out your opponent—it was about making a show out of it. The crowd near savage with elation, Sam probably had been giving them one hell of a performance. And, judging by the blood on Sam, it seemed like this performance was probably one of several encores.
She gripped her arms. She hadn’t had a contract in the month since she’d left Arobynn, and though she and Sam continued training as best they could … Oh, the urge to jump into that pit and take them all down was overwhelming.
Those assassins had tried to hide, but it had only been a matter of time before they’d been found. And the consequences hadn’t been pleasant.
Yet as they stood there, their bodies twining around each other, there was still one question that remained unasked—one question neither of them dared voice. Would Arobynn Hamel let them leave?
He’d make them play this game of exchanging niceties until he wanted to answer their question. Beside her, Sam was rigid in his seat. She could practically feel the hot rage rippling off of him as Arobynn said my assassins. Another razor-sharp use of words. She bit down on her own rising anger.
“You two are my best,” Arobynn said with maddening calm. “If you leave, then the respect and the money you’d provide the Guild would be lost. I have to account for that. This price is generous.”
And once that’s done, we’re leaving—and I expect to never be bothered by you or the Guild again. Understood?”
“Is the issue that he demanded so much money, or that I’m paying it?”
money.” “Then you’re a fool. If we leave Rifthold on bad terms, we’ll never be able to settle anywhere—not if we want to keep our current occupation. And even if we decided to find honest professions instead, I’d always wonder if he or the Guild would show up one day and demand that money. So if I have to give him every last copper in my bank account to ensure that I can sleep in peace for the rest of my life, so be it.”
She cared for him more than she’d ever cared for anyone. Now that she’d ruined the career he’d worked for his whole life, she’d hand over all her money to make sure that he could at least be free. But she couldn’t just explain that she paid for everything because she felt guilty. He’d resent that.
building, it had been decreed that magic was outlawed, and that labor camps like Calaculla and Endovier were to be established.
the murderer who called himself king dwelled, the man she feared above all others.
wretched fear splintering through her. Her only consolation was that most people from the kingdoms conquered by the king probably felt the same way. When he’d marched into Terrasen nine years ago, his invasion had been swift and brutal—so brutal that it made even Celaena sick to recall some of the atrocities that had been committed to secure his rule.
If someone reads this novella BEFORE reading the main books, they never realize that the invasion and decree Celaena mentions has something to do with her as an heir of a former powerful fae kingdom.
“What I don’t know is why you and Sam think it’s a good idea to dispatch Ioan Jayne and Rourke Farran.”
“Even I wouldn’t take on Jayne.” Arobynn’s gaze burned. “And I’m saying that as someone who has spent years thinking of ways to put that man in a grave.”
“While you were trailing Jayne today, he approached me in the street, and seemed surprised that you hadn’t said anything about his visit.
he found you half-dead on that riverbank when we were children.”
Oh, this is foul. Arobynn knows that IF Sam has an ounce of curiosity, he will tell everything and definitely trying to make a ruse between Sam and Celaena.
She swallowed hard. “He said those things to you? About … about where I came from?”
Sam must have seen something like fear in her eyes, because he suddenly shook his head, his shoulders slumping.
I wonder if he ever finds out about Celaena's actual heritage, how would he react?
Maybe he’d hidden in the Assassins’ Keep for the night. Unlikely, but … it was probably the safest place to hide after you’d killed Rourke Farran.
Celaena halted. The King of the Assassins slowly got to his feet. She saw the expression in his eyes and knew what he was going to say long before he opened his mouth and whispered, “I’m sorry.” The silence struck.
Down and down, then along the narrow, dark passageway. To the door across from the dungeon entrance. She knew that door. Knew the room behind it. The mortuary where they kept their members until—No, it had been a mistake.
Footsteps, then Arobynn’s hands were on her shoulder, on her waist, pulling her away. He was dead. Sam was dead.
She wouldn’t leave him. Footsteps heading toward the door—then the snick of it closing as Arobynn left. Celaena closed her eyes. She wouldn’t leave him. She wouldn’t leave him.
“We strike tonight,” Arobynn growled. “Farran lives at the house, and if we time it right, we’ll kill them both while they’re in their beds.” “Getting to the second floor isn’t as simple as walking up the stairs,” Harding challenged. “Even the exteriors are guarded. If we can’t get through the front, then there’s a small second-story window that we can leap through using the roof of the house next door.”
He had locked her in. To keep her from going with them? To keep her from helping to pay back Farran for every inch of flesh he’d tortured, every bit of pain Sam had endured? Farran was a master of torture, and he’d kept Sam all night.
She’d kill Jayne first. And then she’d drag Farran to a place where she could properly repay him and take however long she wanted.
She knew this smoke—knew this smell. It had been on Sam’s corpse. That musky, strange— Someone sealed the window, shutting out the air. Smoke everywhere, fogging everything. Her eyes stung, but she dropped a sword to reach for that last dagger, the one that would find its home in Farran’s skull. The world jolted to the side. No.
Not Arobynn. Not when he hated Jayne and Farran so much. If she’d been betrayed, it would have been one of the wretches in the Guild—someone who would have benefited most from her death. It couldn’t be Arobynn.
“Never underestimate the power of love. Or is it revenge?” She couldn’t convince her fingers to shift. Even blinking was an effort.
We kill Sam Cortland,” Farran recited, “you go berserk and break in here, then you kill Jayne”—he gave a nod toward the huge body on the table—“and I take Jayne’s place.”
It’s all just a— And his face hadn’t been set with irritation, but with grief—grief and rage, directed not at her, but at someone else.
Sam was still dead.
“I didn’t believe the rumors until now,” the king said, “but it seems the guards were not lying about your age.”
The brutal story of a girl who was now gone. Arobynn had always seen to it that the world knew of her handiwork.
“Girl,” the councilman said a bit shrilly, “we will take your lack of response to mean you do not deny them. Do you understand that?”
The blood drained from her face. Those black eyes were poised to devour the world; the features were harsh and weathered. He wore a sword at his side—the sword whose name everyone knew—and a fine tunic and fur cloak. No crown rested on his head.
They passed the Assassins’ Keep where she had trained and bled and lost so much, the place where Sam’s body lay, waiting for her to bury him.
Arobynn’s attention drifted back to the wagon, already a small dot in the rolling foothills above Rifthold. “Because I don’t like sharing my belongings.”
The moon illuminated the mist swirling along the leaf-strewn ground, and made the trees cast long shadows like lurking wraiths. And there—standing in a copse of thorns—was a white stag. Celaena’s breath hitched.
So the people of Terrasen will always know how to find their way home,
So they can look up at the sky, no matter where they are, and know Terrasen is forever with them.
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’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.
