The Assassin's Blade by Sarah J. Maas

There were hands on her, prying her weapons out of her grip, then setting her into a sitting position against the wall. Fresh air poured into the room, but she could hardly feel it on her tingling face.

She couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t move anything. She was paralyzed.

She managed to open her eyes, only to find Farran crouched in front of her, that feline smile still on his face. The smoke had cleared from the room, and his mask lay discarded behind him.

“Hello, Celaena,” he purred.

Someone had betrayed her. 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.

Farran’s dark gray clothes were immaculate. “I’ve been waiting a few years to meet you, you know,” he said, sounding rather cheerful despite the blood and bodies.

“To be honest,” he went on, his eyes devouring every inch of her in a way that made her stomach start to twist, “I’m disappointed. You walked right into our little trap. You didn’t even stop to think twice about it, did you?” Farran smiled. “Never underestimate the power of love. Or is it revenge?”

She couldn’t convince her fingers to shift. Even blinking was an effort.

“Don’t worry—the numbness from the gloriella is already fading, though you won’t be able to move much at all. It should wear off in about six hours. At least, that’s how long it lasted on your companion after I caught him. It’s a particularly effective tool for keeping people sedated without the constraints of shackles. Makes the process much more … enjoyable, even if you can’t scream as much.”

Gods above. Gloriella—the same poison Ansel had used on the Mute Master, somehow warped into incense. He must have caught Sam, brought him back here, used the smoke on him, and … He was going to torture her, too. She could withstand some torture, but considering what had been done to Sam, she wondered how quickly she’d break. If she’d had control over herself, she’d have ripped out Farran’s throat with her teeth.

Her only glimmer of hope came from the fact that Arobynn and the others would arrive soon, and even if one of her kind had betrayed her, when Arobynn found out … when he saw whatever Farran had started to do to her … He’d keep Farran alive, if only so when she recovered, she could gut him herself. Gut him, and take a damn long time to do it.

Farran stroked the hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. She’d shatter that hand, too. The way Sam’s hands had been methodically shattered. Behind Farran, guards began dragging the bodies away. No one touched Jayne’s corpse, still sprawled on the table.

“You know,” Farran murmured, “you’re really quite beautiful.” He ran a finger down her cheek, then along her jaw. Her rage became a living thing thrashing inside of her, fighting for just one chance to break free. “I can see why Arobynn kept you as a pet for so many years.” His finger went lower, sliding across her neck. “How old are you, anyway?”

She knew he didn’t expect an answer. His eyes met hers, dark and ravenous.

She wouldn’t beg. If she were to die like Sam, she’d do so with dignity. With that rage still burning. And maybe … maybe she’d get the chance to butcher him.

“I’m half-tempted to keep you for myself,” he said. He brushed his thumb over her mouth. “Instead of handing you over, perhaps I’ll take you downstairs, and if you survive …” He shook his head. “But that wasn’t part of the bargain, was it?”

Words boiled up in her, but her tongue didn’t move. She couldn’t even open her mouth.

“You’re dying to know what the bargain was, aren’t you? Let’s see if I remember correctly … 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.” His hands were roving over her neck now, sensual caresses that promised unbearable agony. With each passing second, some of the numbness did indeed wear off—but hardly any control of her body returned. “Pity that I need you to take the blame for Jayne’s death. And if only handing you over to the king wouldn’t make such a nice gift.”

The king. He wasn’t going to torture her, or kill her, but give her to the king as a bribe to keep royal eyes from looking Farran’s way. She could have faced torture, endured the violations she could practically see in Farran’s eyes, but if she went to the king … She shoved the thought away, refusing to follow its path.

She had to get out.

He must have seen the panic enter her eyes. Farran smiled, a hand closing around her throat. Too-sharp nails pricked her skin. “Don’t be afraid, Celaena,” he whispered into her ear, digging his nails in deeper. “If the king lets you survive, I’m in your eternal debt. You’ve handed me my crown, after all.”

There was one word on her lips, but she couldn’t get it out, no matter how much she tried.

Who?

Who had betrayed her so foully? She could understand hating her, but Sam … Everyone had adored Sam, even Wesley …

Wesley. He had tried to tell her: 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. Had Arobynn sent Wesley to warn her? Harding, the assassin who had been talking about the window, had always had an eye on her position as Arobynn’s heir. And he’d practically spoon-fed her the details about where to break in, how to break in … It had to be him. Maybe Wesley had figured it out just as she was breaking out of the Keep. Because the alternative … No, she couldn’t even think of the alternative.