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

The High Priestess walked onto the stone platform and raised her hands above her head. The folds of her midnight-blue gossamer robe fell around her, and her white hair was long and unbound. An eight-pointed star was tattooed upon her brow in a shade of blue that matched her gown, its sharp lines extending to her hairline. “Welcome all, and may the blessings of the Goddess and all her gods be upon you.” Her voice echoed across the chamber to reach even those in the back.

Celaena stifled a yawn. She respected the gods—if they existed, and when it suited her to ask for their assistance—but religious ceremonies were . . . brutal.

It had been years and years since she’d attended anything of this sort, and as the High Priestess lowered her arms and stared at the crowd, the assassin shifted in her seat. It would be the usual prayers, then the Yulemas prayers, then the sermon, then the songs, and then the procession of the gods.

“You’re squirming already,” Chaol said under his breath.

“What time is it?” she whispered, and he pinched her arm.

“Today,” the priestess said, “is the day on which we celebrate the end and the beginning of the great cycle. Today is the day on which the Great Goddess gave birth to her firstborn, Lumas, Lord of the Gods. With his birth, love was brought into Erilea, and it banished the chaos that arose from the Gates of the Wyrd.”

A weight pressed on her eyelids. She had woken up so early—and slept so little after that encounter with Nehemia . . . Unable to stop, Celaena wandered into the Land of Sleep.

•

“Get up,” Chaol snarled in her ear. “Now.”

She sat up with a jolt, the world bright and foggy. Several lesser nobles in her pew laughed silently. She gave Chaol an apologetic look and turned her gaze to the altar. The High Priestess had finished her sermon, and the songs of Yulemas were over. She only had to sit through the procession of the gods, and then she would be free.

“How long was I asleep?” she whispered. He didn’t respond. “How long was I asleep?” she asked again, and noticed a hint of red in his cheeks. “You were asleep, too?”

“Until you began drooling on my shoulder.”

“Such a self-righteous young man,” she cooed, and he poked her leg.

“Pay attention.”

A choir of priestesses stepped off the platform. Celaena yawned, but nodded with the rest of the congregation as the choir gave their blessings. An organ sounded, and everyone leaned to stare down the aisle for the procession of the gods.

The sound of pattering footsteps filled the temple, and the congregation stood. Each blindfolded child was no more than ten years old, and though they looked rather foolish dressed in the costumes of the gods, there was something charming about it. Every year, nine children were chosen. If a child stopped before you, you received the blessings of the god and the small gift the child carried as a symbol of the god’s favor.

Farnor, God of War, stopped at the front row near Dorian, but then moved to the right, across the aisle, to give the miniature silver sword to Duke Perrington. Not surprising.

Clad in glistening wings, Lumas, God of Love, strode past her. She crossed her arms.

What a foolish tradition.

Deanna, Goddess of the Hunt and Maidens, approached. Celaena shifted from one foot to the other, wishing she hadn’t demanded that Chaol give her the aisle seat. To her dread and dismay, the girl stopped before her and removed the blindfold.

She was a pretty little thing: her blond hair hung in loose curls, and her brown eyes were flecked with green. The girl smiled at Celaena and reached to touch the assassin’s forehead. Celaena’s back began sweating as she felt hundreds of eyes upon her. “May Deanna, the Huntress and Protector of the Young, bless and keep you this year. I bestow upon you this golden arrow as a symbol of her power and good graces.” The girl bowed as she extended the slender arrow. Chaol prodded her back and Celaena grabbed the arrow. “Yulemas blessings to you,” the girl said, and Celaena nodded her thanks. She gripped the arrow as the girl bounded away. It couldn’t be used, of course. But it was made of solid gold.

It’ll fetch a nice price.

With a shrug, Celaena handed the arrow to Chaol. “I suppose I’m not allowed to have this,” she said, sitting down with the rest of the crowd.

He put it back in her lap. “I wouldn’t want to test the gods.” She stared at him for a moment. Did he look different? Something had changed in his face. Nudging him with an elbow, Celaena grinned.





Chapter 38

Yards of silk, clouds of powder, brushes, combs, pearls, and diamonds glistened before Celaena’s eyes. As Philippa arranged the last strand of Celaena’s hair neatly around her face, secured a mask over her eyes and nose, and placed a small crystal tiara on her head, Celaena couldn’t help but feel, despite herself, like a princess.

Philippa knelt to polish the lump of crystal on Celaena’s silver slippers. “If I didn’t know better, I’d call myself a Faerie Queen. It’s like m—” Philippa caught herself before she spoke the word the King of Adarlan had so effectively outlawed, then quickly said, “I barely recognize you!”

“Good,” Celaena said. This would be her first ball where she wasn’t there to kill someone. True, she was mostly going to make sure Nehemia didn’t hurt herself or the court. But . . . a ball was a ball. Maybe if she was lucky, she could dance a little.