Throne of Glass (Throne of Glass #1) by Sarah J. Maas

But all of this . . . everything that had happened with the ridderak meant all the books she’d read were true. What if Cain could summon anything to him—like the dead? There were many people who lost their fortunes when magic vanished. Even the king himself might be intrigued by this sort of power.

“You’re trembling,” Dorian said. She was. Like a damned idiot, she was trembling. “Are you all right?” He moved around the table to sit beside her.

She couldn’t tell him; no, he could never know. Just as he couldn’t know that when she’d checked under her bed before dinner, there were fresh chalk marks for her to wash away. Cain knew that she’d discovered how he was eliminating the competition. Perhaps he’d hunt her down tonight, or perhaps not—she hadn’t the faintest idea. But she’d get little sleep tonight—or until Cain was impaled on the end of her sword.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was little more than a whisper. But if he kept asking, she was bound to tell him.

“Are you sure that you’re feeling—” he began, but she surged forward and kissed him.

She almost knocked him to the floor. But he shot out an arm to the back of the chair and braced himself as his spare arm wrapped around her middle. She let the touch, the taste of him fill the room of her mind with water. She kissed him, hoping to steal some of his air. Her fingers entangled themselves in his hair, and as he kissed her fiercely, she let everything fade away.

•

The clock chimed three. Celaena sat on her bed, knees curled to her chest. After hours of kissing and talking and more kissing on her bed, Dorian had left only minutes before. She’d been tempted to ask him to stay—the smart thing would have been to ask him to stay—but the thought of Dorian being here when Cain or the ridderak came for her, of Dorian being hurt, made her let him go.

Too tired to read, but too awake to sleep, she just stared at the crackling fire. Every bump and footstep made her jolt, and she’d managed to swipe a few pins from Philippa’s sewing basket when she wasn’t looking. But a makeshift knife, a heavy book, and a candlestick weren’t protection against what Cain could summon.

You shouldn’t have left Damaris in the tomb. Going back down there wasn’t an option—not while Cain lived. She hugged her knees, shivering as she recalled the utter blackness from which the thing had come.

Cain must have learned about the Wyrdmarks in the White Fang Mountains—that cursed borderland between Adarlan and the Western Wastes. They said that evil still crept out of the ruins of the Witch Kingdom—and that old women with iron teeth still wandered the lonely roads in the mountain passes.

The hair on her arms rose, and she grabbed a fur blanket from her bed to wrap around herself. If she could stay alive until the duels, she’d defeat Cain, and this would all be over. Then she could sleep soundly again—unless Elena had something else, something bigger in mind.

Celaena rested her cheek against her knee, listening to the clock tick-tick-tick long into the night.

•

Thundering hooves beat the frozen ground, faster and faster as the rider whipped the horse. Snow and mud lay thick on the earth, and rogue snowflakes drifted through the night sky.

Celaena ran—swifter than her young legs could manage. Everything hurt. Trees ripped at her dress and hair; stones sliced her feet. She scrambled through the woods, breathing so hard she couldn’t muster the air to cry for help. She must reach the bridge. It couldn’t cross the bridge.

Behind her, a sword shrieked as it was drawn from its sheath.

She fell, slamming into mud and rock. The sound of the approaching demon filled the air as she struggled to rise. But the mud held fast, and she could not run.

Reaching for a bush, her small hands bleeding, the horse now close behind, she—

•

Celaena gasped and awoke. She put a hand to her heart and pushed against her chest as it lifted and fell. It was a dream.

The fire had dwindled to embers; a cold gray light seeped in through her curtains. It was only a nightmare. She must have dozed off at some point during the night. She clutched her amulet, running a thumb across the stone in the center.

Some protection you were when that thing attacked me the other night.

Frowning, she gently arranged her covers around Fleetfoot, and stroked the dog’s head for a moment. Dawn was near. She’d made it through another night.

Sighing, Celaena lay back and closed her eyes.

A few hours later, when news of Nox’s departure spread, she received notice that the last Test had been canceled. She would duel against Grave, Renault, and Cain tomorrow.

Tomorrow—and then her freedom would be decided.





Chapter 46

The forest was still and frozen around Dorian, and snow collapsed from the trees in large clumps as he passed by. His eyes darted among the branches and bushes. He’d needed to come out for a hunt today, if only to let the freezing air rush through him.

He saw her face each time he closed his eyes. She haunted his thoughts, made him wish to do grand and wonderful things in her name, made him want to be a man who deserved to wear a crown.

But Celaena—he didn’t know how she felt. She kissed him—greedily, at that—but the women he’d loved in the past had always been eager. They’d gazed at him adoringly, while she just looked at him like a cat watching a mouse. Dorian straightened, detecting nearby movement. A stag stood ten yards away, feeding on bark. He stopped his horse and drew an arrow from its quiver. But he slackened the bow.