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

Celaena stumbled back from the woman and slammed into the wall. A coating of dust flew into the air around her.

Then this man was Gavin, the first King of Adarlan. And this was Elena, the first princess of Terrasen, Brannon’s daughter, and Gavin’s wife and queen.

Celaena’s heart pounded so violently that she felt sick. But she couldn’t make her feet move. She shouldn’t have entered the tomb, she shouldn’t have strayed into the sacred places of the dead when she was so stained and tainted by her crimes. Something would come after her, and haunt and torture her for disturbing their peace.

But why was their tomb so neglected? Why had no one been to honor the dead this day? Why were there not flowers at her head? Why was Elena Galathynius Havilliard forgotten?

Against the far wall of the chamber sat piles of jewels and weapons. A sword was prominently displayed before a suit of golden armor. She knew that sword. She stepped toward the treasure. It was the legendary sword of Gavin, the sword he had wielded in the fierce wars that had almost ripped apart the continent, the sword that had slain the Dark Lord Erawan. Even after a thousand years, it hadn’t rusted. Though magic might have vanished, it seemed that the power that had forged the blade lived on. “Damaris,” she whispered, naming the blade.

“You know your history,” said a light, female voice, and Celaena jumped, yelping as she tripped over a spear and fell into a gold-filled chest. The voice laughed. Celaena grappled for a dagger, a candlestick, anything. But then she saw the owner of the voice, and froze.

She was beautiful beyond reckoning. Her silver hair flowed around her youthful face like a river of moonlight. Her eyes were a crystal, sparkling blue, and her skin was white as alabaster. And her ears were ever so slightly pointed.

“Who are you?” the assassin breathed, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it.

“You know who I am,” Elena Havilliard said.

Her likeness had been perfectly rendered on the sarcophagus. Celaena didn’t move from where she had fallen into the chest, despite her throbbing spine and legs. “Are you a ghost?”

“Not quite,” said Queen Elena, helping Celaena rise from the chest. Her hand was cold, but solid. “I’m not alive, but my spirit doesn’t haunt this place.” She flicked her eyes toward the ceiling, and her face became grave. “I’ve risked much coming here tonight.”

Celaena, despite herself, took a step away. “Risked?”

“I cannot stay here long—and neither can you,” said the queen. What sort of absurd dream was this? “They are distracted for now, but . . .” Elena Havilliard looked at her husband’s sarcophagus.

Celaena’s head ached. Was Gavin Havilliard distracting something above? “Who needs distracting?”

“The eight guardians; you know of whom I speak.”

Celaena stared at her blankly, but then understood. “The gargoyles on the clock tower?”

The queen nodded. “They guard the portal between our worlds. We have managed to buy some time, and I was able to slip past . . .” She grasped Celaena’s arms. To her surprise, it hurt. “You must listen to what I tell you. Nothing is a coincidence. Everything has a purpose. You were meant to come to this castle, just as you were meant to be an assassin, to learn the skills necessary for survival.”

The nausea returned. She hoped Elena wouldn’t speak of what her heart refused to remember, hoped that the queen wouldn’t mention what she had spent so long forgetting.

“Something evil dwells in this castle, something wicked enough to make the stars quake. Its malice echoes into all worlds,” the queen went on. “You must stop it. Forget your friendships, forget your debts and oaths. Destroy it, before it is too late, before a portal is ripped open so wide that there can be no undoing it.” Her head whipped around, as if she heard something. “Oh, there is no time,” she said, the whites of her eyes showing. “You must win this competition and become the King’s Champion. You understand the people’s plight. Erilea needs you as the King’s Champion.”

“But what is—”

The queen reached into her pockets. “They must not catch you here. If they do—all will be lost. Wear this.” She pushed something cold and metallic into Celaena’s hand. “It will protect you from harm.” She yanked Celaena to the door. “You were led here tonight. But not by me. I was led here, too. Someone wants you to learn; someone wants you to see . . .” Her head snapped to the side as a growl rippled through the air. “They are coming,” she whispered.

“But I don’t understand! I’m not—I’m not who you think I am!”

Queen Elena put her hands on Celaena’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Courage of the heart is very rare,” she said with sudden calm. “Let it guide you.”

A distinct howl shook the walls and made Celaena’s blood icy. “Go,” said the queen, shoving Celaena into the hallway. “Run!”

Needing no more encouragement, Celaena staggered up the stairs. She fled so fast that she had little idea of where she was going. There was a scream below, and snarling, and Celaena’s stomach rose in her throat as she hurled herself upward. The light of her chambers appeared, and as it neared, she heard a faint voice cry from behind her, almost in sudden realization and anger.