The Assassin's Blade by Sarah J. Maas

She frowned. “Don’t expect me to apologize for that.”

“Do I ever expect you to apologize for anything?”

In the candlelight, the lovely panes of his face seemed velvet-smooth and inviting. “You could have let me die,” she mused. “I’m surprised you weren’t dancing with glee over the grate.”

He let out a low laugh that traveled along her limbs, warming her. “No one deserves that sort of death, Celaena. Not even you. And besides, I thought we were beyond that.”

She swallowed hard, but was unable to break his gaze. “Thank you for saving me.”

His brows rose. She’d said it once on their way back, but it had been a quick, breathless string of words. This time, it was different. Though her fingers ached—especially her broken nails—she reached for his hand. “And … And I’m sorry.” She made herself look at him, even as his features crossed into incredulity. “I’m sorry for involving you in what happened in Skull’s Bay. And for what Arobynn did to you because of it.”

“Ah,” he said, as if he somehow understood some great puzzle. He examined their linked hands, and she quickly let go.

The silence was suddenly too charged, his face too beautiful in the light. She lifted her chin and found him looking at the scar along her neck. The narrow ridge would fade—someday. “Her name was Ansel,” she said, her throat tightening. “She was my friend.” Sam slowly sat on the bed. And then the whole story came out.

Sam only asked questions when he needed clarification. The clock chimed one by the time she finished telling him about the final arrow she’d fired at Ansel, and how, even with her heart breaking, she’d given her friend an extra minute before releasing what would have been a killing shot. When she stopped speaking, Sam’s eyes were bright with sorrow and wonder.

“So, that was my summer,” she said with a shrug. “A grand adventure for Celaena Sardothien, isn’t it?”

But he merely reached out and ran his fingers down the scar on her neck, as if he could somehow erase the wound. “I’m sorry,” he said. And she knew he meant it.

“So am I,” she murmured. She shifted, suddenly aware of how little her nightgown concealed. As if he’d noticed, too, his hand dropped from her neck and he cleared his throat. “Well,” she said, “I suppose our mission just got a little more complicated.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

She shook off the blush his touch had brought to her face and gave him a slow, wicked smile. Philip had no idea who he’d tried to dispatch, or of the world of pain that was headed his way. You didn’t try to drown Adarlan’s Assassin in a sewer and get away with it. Not in a thousand lifetimes. “Because,” she said, “my list of people to kill is now one person longer.”





CHAPTER

9




She slept until noon, took the two baths she’d promised herself, and then went to Arobynn’s study. He was nursing a cup of tea as she opened the door.

“I’m surprised to see you out of the bathtub,” he said.

Telling Sam the story about her month in the Red Desert had reminded her of why she’d wanted so badly to come home this summer, and of what she had accomplished. She had no reason now to tiptoe around Arobynn—not after what he’d done, and what she’d been through. So Celaena merely smiled at the King of the Assassins as she held open the door for the servants outside. They carried in a heavy trunk. Then another. And another.

“Do I dare ask?” Arobynn massaged his temples.

The servants hurried out, and Celaena shut the door behind them. Without a word, she opened the lids of the trunks. Gold shone in the noontime sun.

She turned to Arobynn, clinging to the memory of what it had felt like to sit on the roof after the party. His face was unreadable.

“I think this covers my debt,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “And then some.”

Arobynn remained seated.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. Why had she thought this was a good idea?

“I want to keep working with you,” she said carefully. He’d looked at her like this before—on the night he’d beaten her. “But you don’t own me anymore.”

His silver eyes flicked to the trunks, then to her. In a moment of silence that lasted forever, she stood still as he took her in. Then he smiled, a bit ruefully. “Can you blame me for hoping that this day would never come?”

She almost sagged with relief. “I mean it: I want to keep working with you.”

She knew in that moment that she couldn’t tell him about the apartment and that she was moving out—not right now. Small steps. Today, the debt. Perhaps in a few weeks, she could mention that she was leaving. Perhaps he wouldn’t even care that she was getting her own home.

“And I’ll always be happy to work with you” he said, but remained seated. He took a sip from his tea. “Do I want to know where that money came from?”

She became aware of the scar on her neck as she said, “The Mute Master. Payment for saving his life.”

Arobynn picked up the morning paper. “Well, allow me to extend my congratulations.” He looked at her over the top of the paper. “You’re now a free woman.”

She tried not to smile. Perhaps she wasn’t free in the entire sense of the word, but at least he wouldn’t be able to wield the debt against her anymore. That would suffice for now.