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

A cold smile that didn’t reach her eyes spread across her face. “Oh, down to the last copper. And he then went out and spent all of it. Over five hundred thousand gold coins. Gone in three hours.” Chaol started from his seat. She shoved the memory down so deep that it stopped hurting. “You still haven’t apologized,” she said, changing the subject before Chaol could inquire further.

“Apologized? For what?”

“For all the horrid things you said yesterday afternoon when I was sparring with Nehemia.”

He narrowed his eyes, taking the bait. “I won’t apologize for speaking the truth.”

“The truth? You treated me like I’m a crazed criminal!”

“And you said that you hated me more than anyone alive.”

“I meant every word of it.” However, a smile began to tug at her lips—and she soon found it reflected on his face. He tossed a piece of bread at her, which she caught in one hand and threw back at him. He caught it with ease. “Idiot,” she said, grinning now.

“Crazed criminal,” he returned, grinning, too.

“I really do hate you.”

“At least I didn’t come in eighteenth place,” he said. Celaena felt her nostrils flare, and it was all Chaol could do to duck the apple she chucked at his head.

It wasn’t until later that Philippa brought the news. The Champion who hadn’t shown up for the Test had been found dead in a servant’s stairwell, brutally mauled and dismembered.

•

The new murder cast a pall over the next two weeks, and the two Tests they brought with them. Celaena passed the Tests—stealth and tracking—without drawing much attention to herself or risking her neck to save anyone. No other Champions were murdered, thankfully, but Celaena still found herself looking over her shoulder constantly, even though Chaol seemed to consider the two murders to be just unfortunate incidents.

Every day, she got better at running, going farther and faster, and managed to keep from killing Cain when he taunted her at training. The Crown Prince didn’t bother to show his face in her rooms again, and she only saw him during the Tests, when he usually just grinned and winked at her and made her feel ridiculously tingly and warm.

But she had more important things to worry about. There were only nine weeks left until the final duel, and some of the others, including Nox, were doing well enough that those four spots were starting to seem rather precious. Cain would definitely be there, but who would the other final three be? She’d always been so sure she’d make it.

But, if she were honest with herself, Celaena wasn’t so sure anymore.





Chapter 23

Celaena gaped at the ground. She knew these sharp, gray rocks—knew how they crunched beneath her feet, how they smelled after the rain, how they could so easily cut into her skin when she was thrown down. The rocks stretched for miles, rising into jagged, fang-like mountains that pierced the cloudy sky. In the frigid wind, she had little clothing to protect her from its stinging gusts. As she touched the dirty rags, her stomach rose in her throat. What had happened?

She pivoted, shackles clanking, and took in the desolate waste that was Endovier.

She had failed, failed and been sent back here. There was no chance of escape. She had tasted freedom, come so close to it, and now—

Celaena screamed as excruciating pain shot down her back, barely heralded by the crack of the whip. She fell onto the ground, stone slicing into her raw knees.

“Get on your feet,” someone barked.

Tears stung her eyes, and the whip creaked as it rose again. She would be killed this time. She would die from the pain of it.

The whip fell, slicing into bone, reverberating through her body, making everything collapse and explode in agony, shifting her body into a graveyard, a dead—

•

Celaena’s eyes flew open. She panted.

“Are you . . . ,” someone said beside her, and she jerked.

Where was she?

“It was a dream,” said Chaol.

She stared at him, then looked around the room, running a hand through her hair. Rifthold. Rifthold—that’s where she was. In the glass castle—no, in the stone castle beneath.

She was sweating, and the sweat on her back felt uncomfortably like blood. She felt dizzy, nauseated, too small and too large all at once. Though her windows were shut, an odd draft from somewhere in her room kissed her face, smelling strangely of roses.

“Celaena. It was a dream,” the Captain of the Guard said again. “You were screaming.” He gave her a shaky smile. “I thought you were being murdered.”

Celaena reached around to touch her back, beneath her nightshirt. She could feel the three ridges—and some smaller ones, but nothing, nothing—

“I was being whipped.” She shook her head to remove the memory from her mind. “What are you doing here? It’s not even dawn.” She crossed her arms, flushing slightly.

“It’s Samhuinn. I’m canceling our training today, but I wanted to see if you planned to attend the service.”

“Today’s—what? It’s Samhuinn today? Why has no one mentioned it? Is there a feast tonight?” Could she have become so enmeshed in the competition that she’d lost track of time?

He frowned. “Of course, but you’re not invited.”

“Of course. And will you be summoning the dead to you this haunted night or lighting a bonfire with your companions?”