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

“I”—Celaena thought of a lie—“studied it for several years.”

“You use the intonation of the peasants. Is that taught in your books?”

“I knew an Eyllwe woman who taught it to me.”

“A slave of yours?” Her tone sharpened, and Chaol flicked his eyes toward them.

“No,” Celaena said hurriedly. “I don’t believe in keeping slaves.” Something twisted in her gut at the thought of all those slaves she’d left behind in Endovier, all those people doomed to suffer until they died. Just because she’d left Endovier didn’t mean Endovier had ceased to be.

Nehemia’s voice was soft. “Then you are very unlike your court companions.”

Celaena could only manage a nod to the princess as they turned their attention to the hall ahead. Servants darted past, eyes wide when they beheld the princess and her guards. After a moment of silence, Celaena squared her shoulders. “Why are you in Rifthold, if I might ask?” She added: “Your Highness.”

“You don’t need to bother calling me that.” The princess toyed with one of the gold bangles around her wrist. “I came at the request of my father, the King of Eyllwe, to learn your language and customs so I might better serve Eyllwe and my people.”

Given what she’d heard of Nehemia, Celaena didn’t think that was the entirety of it, but she smiled politely as she said, “How long will you remain in Rifthold?”

“Until my father sends for me again.” She stopped playing with her bracelets as she frowned at the rain pounding the windows. “If I’m fortunate, I’ll only be here until spring. Unless my father decides that a man from Adarlan might make me a good consort, and then I’ll be here until that matter is settled.” Seeing the annoyance in the princess’s eyes, Celaena felt a shred of pity for whatever man her father chose.

A thought struck her, and Celaena tilted her head to the side. “Whom would you marry? Prince Dorian?” It was prying, and a bit impertinent—and she regretted the question the second it came out.

But Nehemia just clicked her tongue. “That pretty boy? He grinned at me far too much—and you should only see how he winked at the other women in the court. I want a husband to warm my bed, and my bed alone.” She glanced sidelong at the assassin, giving her another head-to-toe examination. Celaena caught the princess’s eyes lingering on the few scars on her hands. “Where are you from, Lillian?”

Celaena casually hid her hands in the folds of her gown. “Bellhaven—a city in Fenharrow. It’s a fishing port. Smells terrible.” That wasn’t a lie. Every time she’d visited Bellhaven for a mission, the reek of fish made her gag if she got too near the docks.

The princess chuckled. “Rifthold smells terrible. Too many people. At least in Banjali, the sun burns up everything. And my father’s river palace smells like lotus blossoms.”

Chaol cleared his throat beside them, obviously tired of being excluded from the conversation, and Celaena grinned at him. “Don’t be so glum,” she said in the common tongue. “We must cater to the princess.”

“Stop your gloating,” he said, his brows low. He put a hand on the hilt of his sword, and Nehemia’s guards stepped closer to him. Though Chaol might be Captain of the Guard, Celaena didn’t doubt for a moment that Nehemia’s guards would put him down if he became a threat. “We’re only bringing her back to the king’s council. I’m going to have a word with them about allowing Kaltain to show her around.”

“Do you hunt?” Nehemia interrupted in Eyllwe.

“Me?” The princess nodded. “Oh—er, no,” Celaena said, then switched back to Eyllwe. “I’m more of a reader.”

Nehemia looked toward a rain-splattered window. “Most of our books were burned five years ago, when Adarlan marched in. It didn’t make a difference if the books were about magic”—her voice quieted at the word, even though Chaol and the councilman couldn’t understand them—“or history. They just burned the libraries whole, along with the museums and universities . . .”

A familiar ache filled her chest. Celaena nodded. “Eyllwe wasn’t the only country where that happened.”

Something cold and bitter glittered in Nehemia’s eyes. “Now, most of the books we receive are from Adarlan—books in a language I can barely understand. That’s also what I must learn while I’m here. There are so many things!” She stomped her foot, her jewelry clinking. “And I hate these shoes! And this miserable dress! I don’t care if it’s Eyllwe silk and I’m supposed to be representing my kingdom—the material’s been itching me ever since I put it on!” She stared at Celaena’s elaborate gown. “How can you stand wearing that enormous thing?”

Celaena picked at the skirts of her dress. “It breaks my ribs, to be honest.”

“Well, at least I’m not the only one suffering,” Nehemia said. Chaol stopped before a door and informed the six sentries posted outside to watch the women and the princess’s guards. “What’s he doing?”

“Returning you to the council and ensuring that Kaltain doesn’t lead you around again.”

Nehemia’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’ve only been here for a day, and I wish to leave.” She let out a long sigh through her nose, and again turned to the window, as if she could see all the way back to Eyllwe. Suddenly, she grabbed Celaena’s hand and squeezed it. Her fingers were surprisingly calloused—in all the spots where the hilt of a sword or dagger might rest. Celaena’s eyes met with those of the princess and she dropped her hand.