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

The door to her chambers opened, and she found Nehemia standing in the doorway. The princess only smiled slightly at her as she closed the bedroom door and approached. Fleetfoot lifted her head, her tail slapping against the bed as she wagged it in earnest.

“Hello,” Celaena said in Eyllwe.

“How are you feeling?” Nehemia replied in the common tongue, without a hint of her accent. Fleetfoot climbed over Celaena’s sore legs to greet the princess.

“Exactly how I look,” Celaena said, her mouth aching at the movement.

Nehemia took a seat on the edge of the mattress. As it shifted beneath her, Celaena winced. Recovery wasn’t going to be easy. Fleetfoot, done licking and sniffing at Nehemia, curled up in a ball between them and went to sleep. Celaena buried her fingers in her velvet-soft ears.

“I won’t waste time dancing around the truth,” Nehemia said. “I saved your life at the duel.”

She had a hazy memory of Nehemia’s fingers making strange symbols in the air. “I didn’t hallucinate all of that? And—and you saw everything, too?” Celaena tried to sit up a little higher, but found it too painful to even move an inch.

“No, you didn’t,” the princess said. “And yes, I saw everything that you saw; my gifts enable me to see what others normally cannot. Yesterday, the bloodbane Kaltain put in your wine made you see it, too: what lurks beyond the veil of this world. I don’t think Kaltain intended that effect, but it reacted to your blood in that way. Magic calls to magic.” Celaena shifted uncomfortably at the words.

“Why did you pretend to not understand our language all these months?” Celaena asked, eager to change the subject, but also wondering why the question stung as much as her wounds.

“It was originally a defense,” Nehemia said, gently setting her hand on Celaena’s good arm. “You’d be surprised how much people are willing to reveal when they think you can’t understand them. But with each day that I pretended to not know anything, being around you became harder and harder.”

“But why make me give you lessons?”

Nehemia looked up at the ceiling. “Because I wanted a friend. Because I liked you.”

“So you truly were reading that book when I came across you in the library.”

Nehemia nodded. “I . . . I was doing research. On the Wyrdmarks, as you call them in your language. I lied to you when I said I didn’t know anything about them. I know all about them. I know how to read them—and how to use them. My entire family does, but we keep it a secret, passed down from generation to generation. They are only to be used as a last defense against evil, or in the gravest of illnesses. And here, with magic banned . . . well, even though the Wyrdmarks are a different kind of power, I’m sure that if people discovered I was using them, I’d be imprisoned for it.”

Celaena tried to sit up straighter, cursing herself for being unable to move without wanting to faint from pain. “You were using them?”

Nehemia nodded gravely. “We keep them a secret because of the terrible power that they wield. Terrible, in that it can be used for good or evil—though most have used their power for wicked deeds. Since the moment I arrived here, I was aware that someone was using the Wyrdmarks to call forth demons from the Otherworlds—realms beyond our realm. That fool Cain knew enough about the Wyrdmarks to summon the creatures, but didn’t know how to control them and send them back. I’ve spent months banishing and destroying the creatures he summoned; that is why I’ve sometimes been so absent.”

Shame burned on Celaena’s cheeks. How could she ever have believed Nehemia was the one killing the Champions? Celaena lifted her right hand so she could see the scars on it. “That was why you didn’t ask questions the night my hand was bitten. You—you used the Wyrdmarks to heal me.”

“I still don’t know how or where you came across the ridderak—but I think that’s a tale for another time.” Nehemia clicked her tongue. “The marks you found under your bed were drawn by me.” Celaena jolted a bit at that. She hissed as her body gave a collective, miserable throb of pain.

“Those symbols are for protection. You have no idea what a nuisance it was to have to keep redrawing them every time you washed them away.” A smile tugged on the edges of Nehemia’s full lips. “Without them, I think the ridderak would have been drawn to you far sooner.”

“Why?”

“Because Cain hated you, of course. And wanted to eliminate you from the competition. I wish he weren’t dead, so I might ask him where he learned to rip open portals like that. When the poison made you hover between worlds, his very presence somehow brought those creatures to the In-Between to shred you apart. Though after all he’s done, I think he deserved Chaol running him through like that.”

Celaena looked toward the bedroom door. She still hadn’t seen Chaol since yesterday. Had the king punished him for all that he had done to help her?

“That man cares for you more than either of you realize,” Nehemia said, a smile in her voice. Celaena’s face burned.

Nehemia cleared her throat. “I suppose you wish to know how I saved you.”

“If you’re so willing,” Celaena said, and the princess grinned.

“With the Wyrdmarks, I was able to open a portal into one of the realms of the Otherworld—and let through Elena, first queen of Adarlan.”