The Assassin's Blade by Sarah J. Maas

“I’m scared to go home,” she said at last, staring out at the dunes beyond the walls.

The predawn light was bright enough for her to see the Master’s brows rise. Why?

“Because everything will be different. Everything is already different. I think everything changed when Arobynn punished me, but … Some part of me still thinks that the world will go back to the way it was before that night. Before I went to Skull’s Bay.”

The Master’s eyes shone like emeralds. Compassionate—sorrowful.

“I’m not sure I want it to go back to the way it was before,” she admitted. “And I think … I think that’s what scares me the most.”

The Master smiled at her reassuringly, then rolled his neck and stretched his arms over his head before standing atop the merlon.

Celaena tensed, unsure if she should follow.

But the Master didn’t look at her as he began a series of movements, graceful and winding, as elegant as a dance and deadly as the asp that lurked on the roof.

The asp.

Watching the Master, she could see each of the qualities she had copied for the past few weeks—the contained power and swiftness, the cunning and the smooth restraint.

He went through the motions again, and it took only a glance in her direction to get her to her feet atop the parapet wall. Mindful of her balance, she slowly copied him, her muscles singing with the rightness of the movements. She grinned as night after night of careful observation and mimicry clicked into place.

Again and again, the sweep and curve of her arm, the twisting of her torso, even the rhythm of her breathing. Again and again, until she became the asp, until the sun broke over the horizon, bathing them in red light.

Again and again, until there was nothing left but the Master and her as they greeted the new day.



An hour after sunup, Celaena crept into her room, bracing herself for another fight, but found Ansel already gone to the stables. Since Ansel had abandoned her to do the chores by herself yesterday, Celaena decided to return the favor. She sighed with contentment as she collapsed atop her bed.

She was later awoken by someone shaking her shoulder—someone who smelled like manure.

“It had better be afternoon,” Celaena said, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow.

Ansel chuckled. “Oh, it’s almost dinner. And the stables and pens are in good order, no thanks to you.”

“You left me to do it all yesterday,” Celaena mumbled.

“Yes, well … I’m sorry.”

Celaena peeled her face from the pillow to look at Ansel, who stood over the bed. Ansel twisted her hands. She was wearing her armor again. At the sight of it, Celaena winced as she recalled what she’d said about her friend’s homeland.

Ansel tucked her red hair behind her ears. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I don’t think you’re spoiled or selfish.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I am—very much so.” Celaena sat up. Ansel gave her a weak smile. “But,” she went on, “I’m sorry for what I said, too. I didn’t mean it.”

Ansel nodded, glancing toward the shut door, as if she expected someone to be there. “I have lots of friends here, but you’re the first true friend I’ve had. I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“I still have five days,” Celaena said. Given how popular Ansel was, it was surprising—and somewhat relieving—to hear that she’d also felt slightly alone.

Ansel flicked her eyes to the door again. What was she nervous about? “Try to remember me fondly, will you?”

“I’ll try. But it might be hard.”

Ansel let out a quiet laugh and took two goblets from the table beneath the window. “I brought us some wine.” She handed one to Celaena. Ansel lifted her copper goblet. “To making amends—and fond memories.”

“To being the most fearsome and imposing girls the world has ever seen.” Celaena raised her goblet high before she drank.

As she swallowed a large mouthful of wine, she had two thoughts.

The first was that Ansel’s eyes were now filled with unmasked sorrow.

And the second—which explained the first—was that the wine tasted strange.

But Celaena didn’t have time to consider what poison it was before she heard her own goblet clatter to the floor, and the world spun and went black.





CHAPTER

10




Someone was hammering against an anvil somewhere very, very close to her head. So close that she felt each beat in her body, the sound shattering through her mind, stirring her from sleep.

With a jolt, Celaena sat up. There was no hammer and no anvil—just a pounding headache. And there was no assassins’ fortress, only endless miles of red dunes, and Kasida standing watch over her. Well, at least she wasn’t dead.

Cursing, she got to her feet. What had Ansel done?

The moon illuminated enough of the desert for her to see that the assassins’ fortress was nowhere in sight, and that Kasida’s saddlebags were full of her belongings. Except for her sword. She searched and searched, but it wasn’t there. Celaena reached for one of her two long daggers, but stiffened when she felt a scroll of paper tucked into her belt.

Someone had also left a lantern beside her, and it took only a few moments for Celaena to get it lit and nestled into the dune. Kneeling before the dim light, she unrolled the paper with shaking hands. It was in Ansel’s handwriting, and wasn’t long.