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

“Your Majesty,” she whispered, “will you swear not to say a word?”

“A word about what?” the queen whispered back.

“Well, Prince Dorian told me something.”

“What did he say?” The queen touched Kaltain’s arm.

“He said that the reason he doesn’t come to court so often is because he’s rather shy.”

The queen withdrew, the light in her eyes fading. “Oh, he’s told me that a hundred times. I was so hoping you’d tell me something interesting, Lady Kaltain. Like if he’s found a young woman he favors.”

Kaltain’s face warmed, and her head pounded mercilessly. She wished for her pipe, but hours remained of this court session, and it wouldn’t be proper to leave until Georgina departed.

“I heard,” said the queen under her breath, “that there’s a young lady, but no one knows who! Or at least when they hear her name, it’s nothing familiar. Do you know her?”

“No, Your Majesty.” Kaltain fought to keep the frustration from her face.

“What a pity. I had hoped that you of all people would know. You’re such a clever girl, Kaltain.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. You are too kind.”

“Nonsense. I’m an excellent judge of character; I knew how extraordinary you were the moment you entered the court. Only you are suitable for a man of Perrington’s prowess. What a pity you didn’t meet my Dorian first!”

Not enough, not enough, the pain sang. This was her time. “Even if I had,” Kaltain chuckled, “Your Majesty surely would not have approved—I’m far too lowly for the attentions of your son.”

“Your beauty and wealth compensate for it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Kaltain’s heart pounded quickly.

If the queen approved of her . . . Kaltain could scarcely think as the queen nestled into her throne, then clapped her hands twice. The music began. Kaltain didn’t hear it.

Perrington had given her the shoes. Now was her time to dance.





Chapter 30

“You’re not focusing.”

“Yes, I am!” Celaena said through her teeth, pulling the bowstring back even farther.

“Then go ahead,” Chaol said, pointing to a distant target along the far wall of the abandoned hallway. An outrageous distance for anyone—except her. “Let’s see you make that.”

She rolled her eyes and straightened her spine a bit. The bowstring quivered in her hand, and she lifted the tip of her arrow slightly.

“You’re going to hit the left wall,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I’m going to hit you in the head if you don’t shut up.” She turned her head to meet his gaze. His brows rose, and, still staring at him, she smiled wickedly as she blindly fired the arrow.

The whiz of the arrow’s flight filled the stone hallway before the faint, dull thud of impact. But they remained gazing at each other. His eyes were slightly purple beneath—hadn’t he gotten any sleep in the three weeks since Xavier had died?

She certainly hadn’t been sleeping well, either. Every noise woke her, and Chaol hadn’t yet discovered who might be targeting the Champions one by one. The who didn’t matter as much to her as the how—how was the killer selecting them? There was no pattern; five were dead, and they had no connection to each other, aside from the competition. She hadn’t been able to see another crime scene to determine if Wyrdmarks had been painted in blood there as well. Celaena sighed, rolling her shoulders. “Cain knows who I am,” she said quietly, lowering her bow.

His face remained blank. “How?”

“Perrington told him. And Cain told me.”

“When?” She’d never seen him look so serious. It made something within her strain.

“A few days ago,” she lied. It had been weeks since their confrontation. “I was in the garden with Nehemia—with my guards, don’t worry—and he approached us. He knows all about me—and knows that I hold back when we’re with the other Champions.”

“Did he lead you to believe that the other Champions know about you?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think they do. Nox doesn’t have a clue.”

Chaol put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “It’s going to be fine. The element of surprise is gone, that’s all. You’ll still beat Cain in the duels.”

She half smiled. “You know, it’s starting to sound like you actually believe in me. You’d better be careful.”

He began to say something, but running footsteps sounded from around the corner, and he paused. Two guards skidded to a stop and saluted them. Chaol gave them a moment to collect their breath before he said, “Yes?”

One of the guards, an aging man with thinning hair, saluted a second time and said, “Captain—you’re needed.”

Though his features remained neutral, Chaol’s shoulders shifted, and his chin rose a bit higher. “What is it?” he said, a bit too quickly to pass for unconcerned.

“Another body,” replied the guard. “In the servant’s passages.”

The second guard, a slender, frail-looking young man, was deathly pale. “You saw the body?” Celaena asked him. The guard nodded. “How fresh?”