The Assassin's Blade by Sarah J. Maas

“I try.” He sketched a bow, then beckoned her closer. “So, tell me, girl from the North, when have you seen Spidersilk?”

She clenched her fingers into fists to keep from touching the priceless material. “I know a courtesan in Rifthold whose madam had a handkerchief made from it—given to her by an extraordinarily wealthy client.”

And that handkerchief had probably cost more than most peasants made in a lifetime.

“That was a kingly gift. She must have been skilled.”

“She didn’t become madam of the finest courtesans in Rifthold for nothing.”

The merchant let out a low laugh. “So if you associate with the finest courtesans in Rifthold, then what brings you to this bit of desert scrub?”

She shrugged. “This and that.” In the dim light beneath the canopy, the Spidersilk still glittered like surface of the sea. “But I would like to know how you came across so much of this. Did you buy it, or find the stygian spiders on your own?”

He traced a finger down the plane of fabric. “I went there myself. What else is there to know?” His midnight eyes darkened. “In the depths of the Ruhnn Mountains, everything is a labyrinth of mist and trees and shadows. So you don’t find the stygian spiders—they find you.”

Celaena stuffed her hands in her pockets to keep from touching the Spidersilk. Though her fingers were clean, there were still grains of red sand under her nails. “So why are you here, then?”

“My ship to the southern continent doesn’t leave for two days; why not set up shop? Xandria might not be Rifthold, but you never know who might approach your stall.” He winked at her. “How old are you, anyway?”

She raised her chin. “I turned seventeen two weeks ago.” And what a miserable birthday that had been. Trudging across the desert with no one to celebrate with except her recalcitrant guide, who just patted her shoulder when she announced it was her birthday. Horrible.

“Not much younger than me,” he said. She chuckled, but paused when she didn’t find him smiling.

“And how old are you?” she asked. There was no mistaking it—he had to be at least forty. Even if his hair wasn’t sprinkled with silver, his skin was weathered.

“Twenty-five,” he said. She gave a start. “I know. Shocking.”

The yards of Spidersilk lifted in a breeze from the nearby sea.

“Everything has a price,” he said. “Twenty years for a hundred yards of Spidersilk. I thought they meant to take them off the end of my life. But even if they’d warned me, I would have said yes.” She eyed the caravan behind him. This much Spidersilk was enough to enable him to live what years he had left as a very, very wealthy man.

“Why not take it to Rifthold?”

“Because I’ve seen Rifthold, and Orynth, and Banjali. I’d like to see what a hundred yards of Spidersilk might fetch me outside of Adarlan’s empire.”

“Is there anything to be done about the years you lost?”

He waved a hand. “I followed the western side of the mountains on my way here, and met an old witch along the way. I asked if she could fix me, but she said what was taken was taken, and only the death of the spider who consumed my twenty years could return them to me.” He examined his hands, already lined with age. “For a copper more, she told me that only a great warrior could slay a stygian spider. The greatest warrior in the land … Though perhaps an assassin from the North might do.”

“How did you—”

“You can’t honestly think no one knows about the sessiz suikast? Why else would a seventeen-year-old girl bearing exquisite daggers be here unescorted? And one who holds such fine company in Rifthold, no less. Are you here to spy for Lord Berick?”

Celaena did her best to quell her surprise. “Pardon me?”

The merchant shrugged, glancing toward the towering palace. “I heard from a city guard that strange dealings go on between Berick and some of the Silent Assassins.”

“Perhaps,” was all Celaena said. The merchant nodded, not all that interested in it anymore. But Celaena tucked the information away for later. Were some of the Silent Assassins actually working for Berick? Perhaps that was why Ansel had insisted on keeping the meeting so secret—maybe the Master didn’t want the names of the suspected traitors getting out.

“So?” the merchant asked. “Will you retrieve my lost years for me?”

She bit her lip, thoughts of spies instantly fading away. To journey into the depths of the Ruhnn Mountains, to slay a stygian spider. She could certainly see herself battling the eight-legged monstrosities. And witches. Though after Ansel’s story, meeting a witch—especially one belonging to the Ironteeth Clans—was the last thing she ever wanted to do. For a heartbeat, she wished Sam were with her. Even if she told him about this encounter, he’d never believe her. But would anyone ever believe her?

As if he could read her daydreams, he said: “I could make you rich beyond your wildest imaginings.”

“I’m already rich. And I’m unavailable until the end of the summer.”

“I won’t be back from the southern continent for at least a year, anyway,” he countered.

She examined his face, the gleam in his eyes. Adventure and glory aside, anyone who’d sell twenty years of his life for a fortune couldn’t be trusted. But …