Crown of Midnight (Throne of Glass #2) by Sarah J. Maas

So she knew exactly what would happen when she turned to the guard and gave him a lazy grin.

He charged. As she met his swords, the men who were outside burst in, steel flashing. And then there was nothing but metal ringing and the shouts of the injured going down around her, and she was soaring through them, delighting in the feral song that sang through her blood and bones.

Someone was shouting her name, though—a familiar voice that wasn’t Chaol’s, and as she turned, she saw the flash of a steel-tipped arrow shooting for her, then a glint of golden-brown hair, and then—

Archer hit the ground, the arrow that was meant for her in his shoulder. It took all of two movements to drop one sword and draw the dagger from her boot, hurling it at the guard who had fired. By the time she looked at Archer, he was getting to his feet, putting himself between her and the wall of men, one arm splayed in front of her—facing her. Protecting the men.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he said to her, panting. Blood from the wound in his shoulder leaked down his black robes. Robes. The same robes that these men wore.

Archer was a part of this group; Archer had set her up.

And then that rage, the rage that blurred the events of the night she’d been captured with the events of this night, that made Chaol’s and Sam’s faces bleed together, seized her so fiercely that she reached for another dagger strapped to her waist.

“Please,” Archer said, taking a step toward her, wincing as the movement made the arrow shift. “Let me explain.” As she saw the blood trickle down his robes, saw the agony and fear and desperation in his eyes, her rage flickered.

“Unchain him,” she said, her voice filled with deadly calm. “Now.”

Archer refused to break her stare. “Hear me out first.”

“Unchain him now.”

Archer jerked his chin to the guard who had foolishly launched the last attack against her. Limping, but surprisingly still in one piece, and, still possessing his twin blades, the guard slowly unshackled the Captain of the Guard.

Chaol was on his feet in an instant, but she noted the way he swayed, the wince he tried to hide. Still, he managed to stare down the hooded guard who stood before him, eyes gleaming with the promise of violence. The guard just stepped back, reaching for his swords again.

“You have one sentence to convince me not to kill you all,” she said to Archer as Chaol came to her side. “One sentence.”

Archer began shaking his head, looking between her and Chaol, his eyes filled not with fear or anger or pleading, but sorrow.

“I have been working with Nehemia to lead these people for the past six months.”

Chaol stiffened, but Celaena blinked. It was enough for Archer to know he’d passed the test. He jerked his head to the men around him. “Leave us,” he said, his voice thundering with an authority she hadn’t heard him use before. The men listened, those still on their feet dragging their injured companions away. She didn’t let herself consider how many were dead.

The old man who had exposed his face to her was staring with a mixture of awe and disbelief, and she wondered what sort of monster she looked at that moment. But when he noticed her attention, he bowed his head to her and left with the others, taking that impulsive, brash guard with him.

Alone, she pointed her sword at Archer again, taking a step closer, keeping Chaol behind her. Of course, the Captain of the Guard stepped right up to her side.

Archer said, “Nehemia and I have been leading this movement together. She came here to organize us—to assemble a group that could go into Terrasen and start gathering forces against the king. And to uncover what the king truly plans to do to Erilea.”

Chaol tensed, and Celaena clamped down on her surprise. “That’s impossible.”

Archer snorted. “Is it? Why is it that the princess is so busy all the time? Do you know where she goes at night?”

The frozen rage flickered again, slowing, slowing, slowing the world down.

And then she remembered: remembered how Nehemia convinced her not to look into the riddle she’d found in Davis’s office and had been so slow and forgetful about her promise to research the riddle; remembered the night Dorian had come to her rooms because Nehemia had been out, and he hadn’t been able to find her anywhere in the castle; remembered Nehemia’s words to her before their fight, about how she had important matters in Rifthold to look after, things as important as Eyllwe …

“She comes here,” Archer said. “She comes here to feed us all of the information that you confide in her.”

“If she’s part of your group,” Celaena ground out, “then where is she?”

Archer drew his word and pointed it at Chaol. “Ask him.”

A sharp pain twisted in her gut. “What is he talking about?” she asked Chaol.

But Chaol was staring at Archer. “I don’t know.”

“Lying bastard,” Archer snapped, and bared his teeth with a savagery that made him, for once, look anything but attractive. “My sources told me that the king informed you over a week ago of the threat to Nehemia’s life. When were you planning on telling anyone about that?” He turned to Celaena. “We brought him here because he was ordered to question Nehemia about her behavior. We wanted to know what kind of questions he’d been commanded to ask. And because we wanted you to see what sort of man he really is.”