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

“For the time being,” she snapped. “Perhaps I won’t be so courteous next time, and I’ll just vomit all over you instead.”

“If you can catch me,” he said with a half smile.

She wanted to punch the smirk off his face, but as she took a step, her knees shook, and she put her hands against the tree again, waiting for the retching to renew. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him looking at her back, most of which was exposed by her damp, white undershirt. She stood. “Are you enjoying looking at my scars?”

He sucked on his lower lip for a moment. “When did you get those?” She knew he meant the three enormous lines that ran down her back.

“When do you think?” she said. He didn’t reply, and she looked up at the canopy of leaves above them. A morning breeze sent them all shuddering, ripping a few from where they clung to the skeletal branches. “Those three, I received my first day in Endovier.”

“What did you do to deserve it?”

“Deserve it?” She laughed sharply. “No one deserves to be whipped like an animal.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I arrived in Endovier, and they dragged me into the center of the camp, and tied me between the whipping posts. Twenty-one lashes.” She stared at him without entirely seeing him as the ash-gray sky turned into the bleakness of Endovier, and the hiss of the wind became the sighing of slaves. “That was before I had befriended any of the other slaves—and I spent that first night wondering if I would make it until morning, if my back would become infected, or if I would bleed out and die before I knew what was happening.”

“No one helped you?”

“Only in the morning. A young woman slipped me a tin of salve while we were waiting in line for breakfast. I never got to thank her. Later that day, four overseers raped and killed her.” She clenched her hands into fists as her eyes stung. “The day I snapped, I stopped by their section of the mines to repay them for what they did to her.” Something frozen rushed through her veins. “They died too quickly.”

“But you were a woman in Endovier,” Chaol said, his voice rough and quiet. “No one ever . . .” He trailed off, unable to form the word.

She gave him a slow, bitter smile. “They were afraid of me to begin with. And after the day I almost touched the wall, none of them dared to come too close to me. But if one guard tried to get too friendly . . . Well, he’d become the example that reminded the others I could easily snap again, if I felt like it.” The wind stirred around them, ripping strands of hair from her braid. She didn’t need to voice her other suspicion—that perhaps somehow Arobynn had bribed the guards in Endovier for her safety. “We each survive in our own way.”

Celaena didn’t quite understand the softness in the look he gave her as he nodded. She only stared at him for a moment longer before she burst into a run, up toward the hill—where the first rays of sunshine began to peek through.

•

The following afternoon, the Champions stood gathered around Brullo, who lectured them on different weapons and other nonsense she’d learned years ago and didn’t need to hear again. She was just contemplating whether she could sleep while standing up when, from the corner of her eye, a sudden movement by the balcony doors caught her attention. Celaena turned just in time to see one of the larger Champions—one of the discharged soldiers—shove a nearby guard, knocking him to the ground. The guard’s head hit the marble with a crack, and he was instantly unconscious. She didn’t dare to move—none of the Champions did—as the man hurtled toward the door, toward the gardens and escape.

But Chaol and his men moved so fast that the fleeing Champion didn’t have time to touch the glass door before an arrow went clean through his throat.

Silence fell, and half of the guards encircled the Champions, hands on their swords, while the others, Chaol included, rushed to the dead Champion and fallen guard. Bows groaned as the archers on the mezzanine pulled their strings taut. Celaena kept still, as did Nox, who was standing close beside her. One wrong movement and a spooked guard could kill her. Even Cain didn’t breathe too deeply.

Through the wall of Champions, guards, and their weapons, Celaena beheld Chaol kneeling by the unconscious guard. No one touched the fallen Champion, who lay facedown, his hand still outstretched toward the glass door. Sven had been his name—though she didn’t know why he’d been expelled from the army.

“Gods above,” Nox breathed, so softly that his lips barely moved. “They just . . . killed him.” She thought about telling him to shut up, but even snapping at him seemed risky. Some of the other Champions were murmuring to each other, but no one dared to take a step. “I knew they were serious about not letting us leave, but . . .” Nox swore, and she felt him glance sidelong at her. “I was granted immunity by my sponsor. He tracked me down and said I wouldn’t go to prison if I lost the competition.” At that point, she knew he was speaking more to himself, and when she didn’t respond, Nox stopped talking. She stared and stared at the dead Champion.

What had made Sven risk it? And why here, right now? There were still three days until their second Test; what had made this moment so special? The day she snapped at Endovier, she hadn’t been thinking about freedom. No, she’d picked the time and place, and started swinging. She’d never meant to escape.