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

“Lillian!” It was Nehemia. She shook Celaena’s shoulders. “Lillian! What happened to you?”

Celaena remembered little of the next few moments. Strong arms lifted her up and rushed her into the bathing chamber. Nehemia strained as she carried Celaena into the bathing pool, where she stripped away Celaena’s clothes. Celaena’s hand burned when it touched the water, and she thrashed, but the princess held her firm, saying words in a tongue the assassin didn’t understand. The light in the room pulsed, and her skin tingled. Celaena found her arms covered in glowing turquoise marks—Wyrdmarks. Nehemia held her in the water, rocking back and forth.

Blackness swallowed her up.





Chapter 43

Celaena opened her eyes.

She was warm, and the candlelight was golden. She could smell lotus blossoms and a bit of nutmeg. She made a small noise and blinked, attempting to raise herself from the bed. What had happened? She could only recall climbing the stairs, then concealing the secret door behind the tapestry—

Celaena gave a start and grabbed at her tunic, gaping as she found that it had somehow turned into a nightgown, and then marveled at her hand as she lifted it into the air. It was healed—completely healed. The only remnants of the wounds was a half-moon-shaped scar between her thumb and index finger and little bite marks from the ridderak’s lower teeth. She ran a finger over each of the chalk-white scars, tracing their curve, then wiggled her fingers to ensure no nerves had been severed.

How was this possible? It was magic—someone had healed her. She lifted herself and saw she was not alone.

Nehemia sat in a chair nearby, staring at her. There was no smile on her lips, and Celaena shifted as she beheld the mistrust in the young woman’s eyes. Fleetfoot lay at her feet.

“What happened?” Celaena asked.

“That’s what I have been waiting to ask you,” said the princess in Eyllwe. She gestured at Celaena’s body. “If I hadn’t found you, you would have died from that bite within a few minutes.”

Even the blood she’d dropped on the floor had been cleaned. “Thank you,” she said, then started as she looked to the darkened sky beyond the windows. “What day is it?” If somehow two days had passed and she’d missed the last Test—

“It’s only been three hours.”

Celaena’s shoulders sagged. She hadn’t missed it. She still had tomorrow to train, and the Test the day after that. “I don’t understand. How did—”

“That is not important,” Nehemia interrupted. “I want to know where you received that bite. There was blood only in your bedroom—no traces of it in the hallway or anywhere else.”

Celaena clenched and unclenched her right hand, watching the scars stretch and contract. She had come so close to dying. She flicked her eyes to the princess, then back to her hand. Whatever Nehemia’s involvement was, it wasn’t with Cain.

“I’m not who I pretend to be,” Celaena said quietly, unable to meet her friend’s eyes. “Lillian Gordaina doesn’t exist.” Nehemia didn’t say anything. Celaena made herself look her in the eye. Nehemia had saved her; how had she dared to believe that Nehemia might be the one controlling that creature? The truth was the least she owed her friend. “My name is Celaena Sardothien.”

Nehemia’s mouth parted. Slowly, she shook her head. “But they sent you to Endovier. You were supposed to be in Endovier with—” Nehemia’s eyes widened. “You speak the Eyllwe of the peasants—of those enslaved in Endovier. That was how you learned.” Celaena’s breathing became a bit difficult. Nehemia’s lips trembled. “You went . . . you went to Endovier? Endovier is a death camp. But . . . why did you not tell me? Do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do,” she said. Especially now that she’d proven beyond a doubt that she wasn’t the one responsible for those murders. “I was ordered by the king not to speak a word of it.”

“A word of what?” Nehemia said sharply, blinking back her tears. “The king knows you’re here? He gives you orders?”

“I’m here for his amusement.” Celaena sat up straighter in bed. “I’m here because he’s hosting a competition to be the King’s Champion. And after I win—if I win, I’m to work for the king for four years as his lackey and assassin. And then I’ll be freed, and my name cleared.”

Nehemia just looked at her, damning her with that blank stare.

“You think I want to be here?” Celaena shouted, even though it made her head pound. “It was either this or Endovier! I had no choice.” She put her hands on her chest. “Before you start lecturing me on my morality, or before you run away and hide behind your bodyguards, just know that there’s not a moment that goes by when I don’t wonder what it will be like to kill for him—the man who destroyed everything that I loved!”

She couldn’t breathe fast enough, not as the door inside her mind opened and closed, and the images that Celaena had made herself forget flashed before her eyes. She closed them, wishing for darkness. Nehemia remained silent. Fleetfoot whined. In the quiet, people, places, words echoed in her mind.

Then, footsteps. They brought her back. The mattress groaned and sighed as Nehemia sat. A second, lighter weight joined her—Fleetfoot.