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CHAPTER
1
Seated in the council room of the Assassins’ Keep, Celaena Sardothien leaned back in her chair. “It’s past four in the morning,” she said, adjusting the folds of her crimson silk dressing gown and crossing her bare legs beneath the wooden table. “This had better be important.”
“Perhaps if you hadn’t been reading all night, you wouldn’t be so exhausted,” snapped the young man seated across from her. She ignored him and studied the four other people assembled in the underground chamber.
All male, all far older than she, and all refusing to meet her stare. A chill that didn’t have to do with the drafty room ran down her spine. Picking at her manicured nails, Celaena schooled her features into neutrality. The five assassins gathered at the long table—including herself—were five of Arobynn Hamel’s seven most trusted companions.
This meeting was undeniably important. She’d known that from the moment the serving girl pounded on her door, insisting Celaena come downstairs and not even bother to get dressed. When Arobynn summoned you, you didn’t keep him waiting. Thankfully, her sleepwear was as exquisite as her daytime wardrobe—and cost nearly as much. Still, being sixteen in a room with men made her keep an eye on the neckline of her robe. Her beauty was a weapon—one she kept honed—but it could also be a vulnerability.
Arobynn Hamel, King of the Assassins, lounged at the head of the table, his auburn hair shining in the light from the glass chandelier. His silver eyes met hers, and he frowned. It might have just been the late hour, but Celaena could have sworn that her mentor was paler than usual. Her stomach twisted.
“Gregori’s been caught,” Arobynn finally said. Well, that would explain one person missing from this meeting. “His mission was a trap. He’s now being held in the royal dungeons.”
Celaena sighed through her nose. This was why she’d been awakened? She tapped a slippered foot on the marble floor. “Then kill him,” she said.
She’d never liked Gregori, anyway. When she was ten, she’d fed his horse a bag of candy and he’d thrown a dagger at her head for it. She’d caught the dagger, of course, and ever since, Gregori had borne the scar on his cheek from her return throw.
“Kill Gregori?” demanded Sam, the young man seated at Arobynn’s left—a place that usually went to Ben, Arobynn’s second-in-command. Celaena knew very well what Sam Cortland thought of her. She’d known since they were children, when Arobynn took her in and declared her—not Sam—to be his protégée and heir. That hadn’t stopped Sam from trying to undermine her at every turn. And now, at seventeen, Sam was still a year older than she, and he still hadn’t forgotten that he would always be second best.
She bristled at the sight of Sam in Ben’s seat. Ben would probably throttle Sam for it when he arrived. Or she could just save Ben the effort and do it herself.
Celaena looked to Arobynn. Why hadn’t he reprimanded Sam for sitting in Ben’s place? Arobynn’s face, still handsome despite the silver starting to show in his hair, remained impassive. She hated that unreadable mask, especially when controlling her own expressions—and temper—remained a tad difficult.
“If Gregori’s been caught,” Celaena drawled, brushing back a strand of her long, golden hair, “then the protocol’s simple: send an apprentice to slip something into his food. Nothing painful,” she added as the men around her tensed. “Just enough to silence him before he talks.”
Which Gregori might very well do, if he was in the royal dungeons. Most criminals who went in there never came out again. Not alive. And not in any recognizable shape.
The location of the Assassins’ Keep was a well-guarded secret, one she’d been trained to keep until her last breath. But even if she didn’t, no one was likely to believe that an elegant manor house on a very respectable street in Rifthold was home to some of the greatest assassins in the world. What better place to hide than in the middle of the capital city?
“And if he’s already talked?” challenged Sam.
“And if Gregori’s already talked,” she said, “then kill everyone who heard.” Sam’s brown eyes flashed as she gave him a little smile that she knew made him irate. Celaena turned to Arobynn. “But you didn’t need to drag us here to decide this. You already gave the order, didn’t you?

“Just so you know,” she said, speaking to all of them but still watching Sam, “I’m going to retrieve Ben’s body.”

A muscle feathered in Sam’s jaw, though he wisely kept his eyes averted. “But don’t expect me to extend the same courtesy to the rest of you when your time comes.”

With that, she turned on her heel and ascended the spiral staircase to the manor above. Fifteen minutes later, no one stopped her when she slipped out the front gate and into the silent city streets. “Just so you know,” she said, speaking to all of them but still watching Sam, “I’m going to retrieve Ben’s body.”

A muscle feathered in Sam’s jaw, though he wisely kept his eyes averted. “But don’t expect me to extend the same courtesy to the rest of you when your time comes.”

With that, she turned on her heel and ascended the spiral staircase to the manor above. Fifteen minutes later, no one stopped her when she slipped out the front gate and into the silent city streets.



TBC

CHAPTER
2
Two months, three days, and about eight hours later, the clock on the mantel chimed noon. Captain Rolfe, Lord of the Pirates, was late. Then again, so were Celaena and Sam, but Rolfe had no excuse, not when they were already two hours behind schedule. Not when they were meeting in his office.
And it wasn’t her fault for being tardy. She couldn’t control the winds, and those skittish sailors had certainly taken their time sailing into the archipelago of the Dead Islands. She didn’t want to think about how much gold Arobynn had spent bribing a crew to sail into the heart of pirate territory. But Skull’s Bay was on an island, so they hadn’t really had a choice about their mode of transportation.
Celaena, concealed behind a far-too-stuffy black cloak, tunic, and ebony mask, rose from her seat before the Pirate Lord’s desk. How dare he make her wait! He knew precisely why they were here, after all.
Three assassins had been found murdered by pirate hands, and Arobynn had sent her to be his personal dagger—to extract retribution, preferably the gold kind, for what their deaths would cost the Assassins’ Guild.
“With every minute he makes us wait,” Celaena said to Sam, the mask making her words low and soft, “I’m adding an extra ten gold pieces to his debt.”
Sam, who didn’t wear a mask over his handsome features, crossed his arms and scowled. “You’ll do no such thing. Arobynn’s letter is sealed, and it’s going to remain that way.”
Neither of them had been particularly happy when Arobynn announced that Sam would be sent to the Dead Islands with Celaena. Especially when Ben’s body—which Celaena had retrieved—had barely been in the ground for two months. The sting of losing him hadn’t exactly worn off.
Her mentor had called Sam an escort, but Celaena knew what his presence meant: a watchdog. Not that she’d do anything bad when she was about to meet the Pirate Lord of Erilea. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Even though the tiny, mountainous island and ramshackle port city hadn’t really made much of an impression so far.
She’d been expecting a manor house like the Assassins’ Keep, or at least a fortified, aging castle, but the Pirate Lord occupied the entire top floor of a rather suspect tavern. The ceilings were low, the wooden floors creaked, and the cramped room combined with the already-sizzling temperature of the southern islands meant Celaena was sweating buckets beneath her clothing. But her discomfort was worth it: as they’d strode through Skull’s Bay, heads had turned at the sight of her—the billowing black cape, the exquisite clothing, and the mask transformed her into a whisper of darkness. A little intimidation never did any harm.
Celaena walked to the wooden desk and picked up a piece of paper, her black-gloved hands turning it over to read the contents. A weather log. How dull.
“What are you doing?”
Celaena lifted another piece of paper. “If His Pirateness can’t be bothered to clean for us, then I don’t see why I can’t have a look.”

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Continuation


“He’ll be here any second,” Sam hissed. She picked up a flattened map, examining the dots and markings along the coastline of their continent. Something small and round gleamed beneath the map, and she slipped it into her pocket before Sam could notice.
“Oh, hush,” she said, opening the hutch on the wall adjacent to the desk. “With these creaky floors, we’ll hear him a mile off.” The hutch was crammed with rolled scrolls, quills, the odd coin, and some very old, very expensive-looking brandy. She pulled out a bottle, swirling the amber liquid in the sunlight streaming through the tiny porthole window. “Care for a drink?”
“No,” Sam snapped, half-twisting in his seat to watch the door. “Put it back. Now.”
She cocked her head, twirled the brandy once more in its crystal bottle, and set it down. Sam sighed. Beneath her mask, Celaena grinned.
“He can’t be a very good lord,” she said, “if this is his personal office.” Sam gave a stifled cry of dismay as Celaena plopped into the giant armchair behind the desk and set about opening the pirate's ledgers and turning over his papers. His handwriting was cramped and near-illegible, his signature nothing more than a few loops and jagged peaks.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly. Her brows rose a bit at the sight of a piece of purple, perfumed paper, signed by someone named Jacqueline. She leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the desk, and read it.
“Damn it, Celaena!”
She raised her brows, but realized he couldn’t see. The mask and clothes were a necessary precaution, one that made it far easier to protect her identity. In fact, all of Arobynn’s assassins had been sworn to secrecy about who she was—under the threat of endless torture and eventual death.
Celaena huffed, though her breath only made the interior of the insufferable mask hotter. All that the world knew about Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan’s Assassin, was that she was female. And she wanted to keep it that way. How else would she be able to stroll the broad avenues of Rifthold or infiltrate grand parties by posing as foreign nobility? And while she wished that Rolfe could have the chance to admire her lovely face, she had to admit that the disguise also made her rather imposing, especially when the mask warped her voice into a growling rasp.
“Get back in your seat.” Sam reached for a sword that wasn’t there. The guards at the entrance to the inn had taken their weapons. Of course, none of them had realized that Sam and Celaena were weapons themselves. They could kill Rolfe just as easily with their bare hands.
“Or you’ll fight me?” She tossed the love letter onto the desk. “Somehow, I don’t think that’d make a favorable impression on our new acquaintances.” She crossed her arms behind her head, gazing at the turquoise sea visible between the dilapidated buildings that made up Skull’s Bay.
Sam half-rose from his chair. “Just get back in your seat.”
“I’ve spent the past ten days at sea. Why should I sit in that uncomfortable chair when this one’s far more suited to my tastes?”
Sam let out a growl. Before he could speak, the door opened.
Sam froze, but Celaena only inclined her head in greeting as Captain Rolfe, Lord of the Pirates, entered his office.
“I’m glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.” The tall, dark-haired man shut the door behind him. Bold move, considering who was waiting in his office.
Celaena remained where she sat. Well, he certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. It wasn’t every day that she was surprised, but … she’d imagined him to be a bit dirtier—and far more flamboyant. Considering the tales she’d heard of Rolfe’s wild adventures, she had trouble believing that this man—lean but not wiry, well dressed but not overtly so, and probably in his late twenties—was the legendary pirate. Perhaps he, too, kept his identity a secret from his enemies.
Sam stood, bowing his head slightly. “Sam Cortland,” he said by way of greeting.
Rolfe extended a hand, and Celaena watched his tattooed palm and fingers as they clasped Sam’s broad hand. The map—that was the mythic map that he’d sold his soul to have inked on his hands. The map of the world’s oceans—the map that changed to show storms, foes … and treasure.
“I suppose you don’t need an introduction.” Rolfe turned to her.
“No.” Celaena leaned back farther in his desk chair. “I suppose I don’t.”
Rolfe chuckled, a crooked smile spreading across his tanned face. He stepped to the hutch, giving her the chance to examine him further. Broad shoulders, head held high, a casual grace to his movements that came with knowing he had all the power here. He didn’t have a sword, either. Another bold move. Wise, too, given that they could easily use his weapons against him. “Brandy?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” Sam said. Celaena felt Sam’s eyes hard upon her, willing her to take her feet off Rolfe’s desk.
“With that mask on,” Rolfe mused, “I don’t think you could have a drink, anyway.” He poured brandy for himself and took a long sip. “You must be boiling in all that clothing.”
Celaena lowered her feet to the ground as she ran her hands along the curved edge of his desk, stretching out her arms. “I’m used to it.”

Rolfe drank again, watching her for a heartbeat over the rim of his glass. His eyes were a striking shade of sea green, as bright as the water just a few blocks away. Lowering the glass, he approached the end of the desk. “I don’t know how you handle things in the North, but down here, we like to know who we’re speaking to.”
She cocked her head. “As you said, I don’t need an introduction. And as for the privilege of seeing my beautiful face, I’m afraid that’s something few men receive.”
Rolfe’s tattooed fingers tightened on the glass. “Get out of my chair.”
Across the room, Sam tensed. Celaena examined the contents of Rolfe’s desk again. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You really need to work on organizing this mess.”
She sensed the pirate grabbing for her shoulder and was on her feet before his fingers could graze the black wool of her cloak. He stood a good head taller than her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she crooned.
Rolfe’s eyes gleamed with the challenge. “You’re in my city, and on my island.” Only a handbreadth separated them. “You’re not in any position to give me orders.”
Sam cleared his throat, but Celaena stared up into Rolfe’s face. His eyes scanned the blackness beneath the hood of her cloak—the smooth black mask, the shadows that concealed any trace of her features. “Celaena,” Sam warned, clearing his throat again.
“Very well.” She sighed loudly, and stepped around Rolfe as if he were nothing but a piece of furniture in her way. She sank into the chair beside Sam, who flashed her a glare that burned enough to melt the entirety of the Frozen Wastes.
She could feel Rolfe watching their every movement, but he merely adjusted the lapels of his midnight-blue tunic before sitting down. Silence fell, interrupted only by the cry of gulls circling above the city and the shouting of pirates calling to one another in the filthy streets.
“Well?” Rolfe rested his forearms on the desk.
Sam glanced at her. Her move.
“You know precisely why we’re here,” Celaena said. “But perhaps all that brandy’s gone to your head. Shall I refresh your memory?”
Rolfe gestured with his green, blue, and black hand for her to continue, as if he were a king on his throne listening to the complaints of the rabble. Ass.
“Three assassins from our Guild were found dead in Bellhaven. The one that got away told us they were attacked by pirates.” She draped an arm along the back of her chair. “Your pirates.”
“And how did the survivor know they were my pirates?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps it was the tattoos that gave them away.” All of Rolfe’s men had their wrists tattooed with an image of a multicolored hand.
Rolfe opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a piece of paper and reading the contents. He said, “Once I caught wind that Arobynn Hamel might blame me, I had the shipyard master of Bellhaven send me these records. It seems the incident occurred at three in the morning at the docks.”
This time Sam answered. “That’s correct.”
Rolfe set down the paper and lifted his eyes skyward. “So if it was three in the morning, and it took place at the docks—which have no street lamps, as I’m sure you know”—she didn’t—“then how did your assassin see all of their tattoos?”
Beneath her mask, Celaena scowled. “Because it happened three weeks ago—during the full moon.”
“Ah. But it’s early spring. Even up in Bellhaven, nights are still cold. Unless my men were without coats, there was no way for—”
“Enough,” Celaena snapped. “I suppose that piece of paper has ten different paltry excuses for your men.” She grabbed the satchel from the floor and yanked out the two sealed documents. “These are for you.” She tossed them on the desk. “From our master.”
A smile tugged on Rolfe’s lips, but he pulled the documents to him, studying the seal. He held it up to the sunlight. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been tampered with.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. Celaena could sense Sam’s smugness oozing out of him.
With two deft flicks of his wrist, Rolfe sliced open both envelopes with a letter-knife she somehow hadn’t spotted. How had she missed it? A fool’s mistake.
In the silent minutes that passed as Rolfe read the letters, his only reaction was the occasional drumming of his fingers on the wooden desk. The heat was suffocating, and sweat slipped down her back. They were supposed to be here for three days—long enough for Rolfe to gather the money he owed them. Which, judging by the growing frown on Rolfe’s face, was quite a lot.
Rolfe let out a long breath when he finished and shuffled the papers into alignment.
“Your master drives a hard bargain,” Rolfe said, looking from Celaena to Sam. “But his terms aren’t unfair. Perhaps you should have read the letter before you started flinging accusations at me and my men. There will be no retribution for those dead assassins. Whose deaths, your master agrees, were not my fault in the least. He must have some common sense, then.” Celaena quelled the urge to lean forward. If Arobynn wasn’t demanding payment for the death of those assassins, then what were they doing here? Her face burned. She’d looked like a fool, hadn’t she? If Sam smiled just the slightest bit …

Rolfe drummed his inked fingers again and ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair. “As for the trade agreement he’s outlined … I’ll have my accountant draw up the necessary fees, but you’ll have to tell Arobynn that he can’t expect any profits until at least the second shipment. Possibly the third. And if he has an issue with that, then he can come down here himself to tell me.”
For once, Celaena was grateful for the mask. It sounded like they’d been sent for some sort of business investment. Sam nodded at Rolfe—as if he knew exactly what the Pirate Lord was talking about. “And when can we tell Arobynn to expect the first shipment?” he asked.
Rolfe stuffed Arobynn’s letters into a desk drawer and locked it. “The slaves will be here in two days—ready for your departure the day after. I’ll even loan you my ship, so you can tell that trembling crew of yours they’re free to return to Rifthold tonight, if it pleases them.”
Celaena stared at him. Arobynn had sent them here for … for slaves? How could he stoop so disgustingly low? And to tell her she was going to Skull’s Bay for one thing but to really send her here for this … She felt her nostrils flare. Sam had known about this deal, but he’d somehow forgotten to mention the truth behind their visit—even during the ten days they’d spent at sea. As soon as she got him alone, she’d make him regret it. But for now … she couldn’t let Rolfe catch on to her ignorance.
“You’d better not botch this,” Celaena warned the Pirate Lord. “Arobynn won’t be pleased if anything goes awry.”
Rolfe chuckled. “You have my word that it will all go according to plan. I’m not Lord of the Pirates for nothing, you know.”
She leaned forward, flattening her voice into the even tones of a business partner concerned about her investment. “How long, exactly, have you been involved in the slave trade?” It couldn’t have been long. Adarlan had only started capturing and selling slaves two years ago—most of them prisoners of war from whatever territories dared rebel against their conquest. Many of them were from Eyllwe, but there were still prisoners from Melisande and Fenharrow, or the isolated tribe in the White Fang Mountains. The majority of slaves went to Calaculla or Endovier, the continent’s largest and most notorious labor camps, to mine for salt and precious metals. But more and more slaves were making their way into the households of Adarlan’s nobility. And for Arobynn to make a filthy trade agreement—some sort of black market deal … It would sully the Assassins’ Guild’s entire reputation.
“Believe me,” Rolfe said, crossing his arms, “I have enough experience. You should be more concerned about your master. Investing in the slave trade is a guaranteed profit, but he might need to expend more of his resources than he’d like in order to keep our business from reaching the wrong ears.”
Her stomach turned over, but she feigned disinterest as best she could and said, “Arobynn is a shrewd businessman. Whatever you can supply, he’ll make the most of it.”
“For his sake, I hope that’s true. I don’t want to risk my name for nothing.” Rolfe stood, and Celaena and Sam rose with him. “I’ll have the documents signed and returned to you tomorrow. For now …” He pointed toward the door. “I have two rooms prepared for you.”
“We only need one,” she interrupted.
Rolfe’s eyebrows rose suggestively.
Beneath her mask, her face burned, and Sam choked on a laugh.
“One room, two beds.”
Rolfe chuckled, striding to the door and opening it for them. “As you wish. I’ll have baths drawn for you as well.” Celaena and Sam followed him out into the narrow, dark hallway. “You could both use one,” he added with a wink.
It took all of her self-restraint to keep from punching him below the belt.




TBCT

ThobbyTurner:
mercichoco
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Okebarn
segzy17
Ikdbarbie
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YINKS89
Debbiesmart

Thanks for the mention. what a start. This looks promising. more blessings on ur brain. *following*

Thanks

CHAPTER
3
It took them five minutes to search the cramped room for any spyholes or signs of danger; five minutes for them to lift the framed paintings on the wood-paneled walls, tap at the floorboards, seal the gap between the door and the floor, and cover the window with Sam’s weatherworn black cloak.
When she was certain that no one could either hear or see her, Celaena ripped off her hood, untied the mask, and whirled to face him.
Sam, seated on his small bed—which seemed more like a cot—raised his palms to her. “Before you bite my head off,” he said, keeping his voice quiet just in case, “let me say that I went into that meeting knowing as little as you.”
She glared at him, savoring the fresh air on her sticky, sweaty face. “Oh, really?”
“You’re not the only one who can improvise.” Sam kicked off his boots and hoisted himself farther onto the bed. “That man’s as much in love with himself as you are; the last thing we need is for him to know that he had the upper hand in there.”
Celaena dug her nails into her palms. “Why would Arobynn send us here without telling us the true reason? Reprimand Rolfe … for a crime that had nothing to do with him! Maybe Rolfe was lying about the content of the letter.” She straightened. “That might very well be—”
“He was not lying about the content of the letter, Celaena,” Sam said. “Why would he bother? He has more important things to do.”
She grumbled a slew of nasty words and paced, her black boots clunking against the uneven floorboards. Pirate Lord indeed. This was the best room he could offer them? She was Adarlan’s Assassin, the right arm of Arobynn Hamel—not some backstreet harlot!
“Regardless, Arobynn has his reasons.” Sam stretched out on his bed and closed his eyes.
“Slaves,” she spat, dragging a hand through her braided hair. Her fingers caught in the plait. “What business does Arobynn have getting involved in the slave trade? We’re better than that—we don’t need that money!”
Unless Arobynn was lying; unless all of his extravagant spending was done with nonexistent funds. She’d always assumed that his wealth was bottomless. He’d spent a king’s fortune on her upbringing—on her wardrobe alone. Fur, silk, jewels, the weekly cost of just keeping herself looking beautiful … Of course, he’d always made it clear that she was to pay him back, and she’d been giving him a cut of her wages to do so, but …

ThobbyTurner even if u no call me I gats show. This is wat yoruba calls 'mo gbo month ya'. Nice write up

Dedicated to stephengee12



Maybe Arobynn wanted to increase what wealth he already had. If Ben were alive, he wouldn’t have stood for it. Ben would have been as disgusted as she was. Being hired to kill corrupt government officials was one thing, but taking prisoners of war, brutalizing them until they stopped fighting back, and sentencing them to a lifetime of slavery …
Sam opened an eye. “Are you going to take a bath, or can I go first?”
She hurled her cloak at him. He caught it with a single hand and tossed it to the ground. She said, “I’m going first.”
“Of course you are.”
She shot him a dirty look and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Of all the dinners she’d ever attended, this was by far the worst. Not because of the company—which was, she grudgingly admitted, somewhat interesting—and not because of the food, which looked and smelled wonderful, but simply because she couldn’t eat anything, thanks to that confounded mask.
Sam, of course, seemed to take second helpings of everything solely to mock her. Celaena, seated at Rolfe’s left, half-hoped the food was poisoned. Sam had only served himself from the array of meats and stews after watching Rolfe eat some himself, so the likelihood of that wish coming true was rather low.
“Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, his dark brows rising high on his forehead. “You must be famished. Or is my food not pleasing enough for your refined palate?”
Beneath the cape and the cloak and the dark tunic, Celaena was not just famished, but also hot and tired. And thirsty. Which, combined with her temper, usually turned out to be a lethal combination. Of course, they couldn’t see any of that.
“I’m quite fine,” she lied, swirling the water in her goblet. It lapped against the sides, taunting her with each rotation. Celaena stopped.
“Maybe if you took off your mask, you might have an easier time eating,” Rolfe said, taking a bite of roasted duck. “Unless what lies beneath it will make us lose our appetites.”
The five other pirates—all captains in Rolfe’s fleet—sniggered.
“Keep talking like that”—Celaena gripped the stem of her goblet—“and I might give you a reason to wear a mask.” Sam kicked her under the table, and she kicked him back, a deft blow to his shins—hard enough that he choked on his water.
Some of the assembled captains stopped laughing, but Rolfe chuckled. She rested her gloved hand atop the stained dining table. The table was freckled with burns and deep gouges; it had clearly seen its fair share of brawls. Didn’t Rolfe have any taste for luxury? Perhaps he wasn’t so well off, if he was resorting to the slave trade. But Arobynn … Arobynn was as rich as the King of Adarlan himself.
Rolfe flicked his sea-green eyes to Sam, who was frowning yet again. “Have you seen her without the mask?”
Sam, to her surprise, grimaced. “Once.” He gave her an all too believably wary look. “And that was enough.”
Rolfe studied Sam for a heartbeat, then took another bite of his meat. “Well, if you won’t show me your face, then perhaps you’ll indulge us with the tale of how, exactly, you became protégée to Arobynn Hamel?”
“I trained,” she said dully. “For years. We aren’t all lucky enough to have a magic map inked on our hands. Some of us had to climb to the top.”
Rolfe stiffened, and the other pirates halted their eating. He stared at her long enough for Celaena to want to squirm, and then set down his fork.
Sam leaned a bit closer to her, but, she realized, only to see better as Rolfe laid both of his hands palm up on the table.
Together, his hands formed a map of their continent—and only that.
“This map hasn’t moved for eight years.” His voice was a low growl. A chill went down her spine. Eight years. Exactly the time that had passed since the Fae had been banished and executed, when Adarlan had conquered and enslaved the rest of the continent and magic had disappeared. “Don’t think,” Rolfe continued, withdrawing his hands, “that I haven’t had to claw and kill my way as much as you.”

If he was nearly thirty, then he’d probably done even more killing than she had. And, from the many scars on his hands and face, it was easy to tell that he’d done a lot of clawing.
“Good to know we’re kindred spirits,” she said. If Rolfe was already used to getting his hands dirty, then trading slaves wasn’t a stretch. But he was a filthy pirate. They were Arobynn Hamel’s assassins—educated, wealthy, refined. Slavery was beneath them.
Rolfe gave her that crooked smile. “Do you act like this because it’s actually in your nature, or is it just because you’re afraid of dealing with people?”
“I’m the world’s greatest assassin.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“Really?” Rolfe asked. “Because I’m the world’s greatest pirate, and I’m afraid of a great number of people. That’s how I’ve managed to stay alive for so long.”
She didn’t deign to reply. Slave-mongering pig. He shook his head, smiling in exactly the same way she smirked at Sam when she wanted to piss him off.
“I’m surprised Arobynn hasn’t made you check your arrogance,” Rolfe said. “Your companion seems to know when to keep his mouth shut.”
Sam coughed loudly and leaned forward. “How did you become Pirate Lord, then?”
Rolfe ran a finger along a deep groove in the wooden table. “I killed every pirate who was better than me.” The three other captains—all older, all more weathered and far less attractive than him—huffed, but didn’t refute it. “Anyone arrogant enough to think they couldn’t possibly lose to a young man with a patchwork crew and only one ship to his name. But they all fell, one by one. When you get a reputation like that, people tend to flock to you.” Rolfe glanced between Celaena and Sam. “You want my advice?” he asked her.
“No.”
“I’d watch your back around Sam. You might be the best, Sardothien, but there’s always someone waiting for you to slip.”
Sam, the traitorous bastard, didn’t hide his smirk. The other pirate captains chuckled.
Celaena stared hard at Rolfe. Her stomach twisted with hunger. She’d eat later—swipe something from the tavern kitchens. “You want my advice?”
He waved a hand, beckoning her to go on.
“Mind your own business.”
Rolfe gave her a lazy smile.
“I don’t mind Rolfe,” Sam mused later into the pitch darkness of their room. Celaena, who’d taken first watch, glared toward where his bed lay against the far wall.
“Of course you don’t,” she grumbled, the free air on her face. Seated on her bed, she leaned against the wall and picked at the threads on the blanket. “He told you to assassinate me.”
Sam chuckled. “It is wise advice.”
She rolled up the sleeves of her tunic. Even at night, this rotten place was scorching hot. “Perhaps it isn’t a wise idea for you to go to sleep, then.”
Sam’s mattress groaned as he turned over. “Come on—you can’t take a bit of teasing?”
“Where my life is concerned? No.”
Sam snorted. “Believe me, if I came home without you, Arobynn would skin me alive. Literally. If I’m going to kill you, Celaena, it’ll be when I can actually get away with it.”
She scowled. “I appreciate that.” She fanned her sweating face with a hand. She’d sell her soul to a pack of demons for a cool breeze right now, but they had to keep the window covered—unless she wanted some spying pair of eyes to discover what she looked like. Though, now that she thought about it, she’d love to see the look on Rolfe’s face if he found out the truth. Most already knew that she was a young woman, but if he knew he was dealing with a sixteen-year-old, his pride might never recover.
They’d only be here for three nights; they could both go without a little sleep if it meant keeping her identity—and their lives—safe.
“Celaena?” Sam asked into the dark. “Should I worry about going to sleep?”
She blinked, then laughed under her breath. At least Sam took her threats somewhat seriously. She wished she could say the same for Rolfe. “No,” she said. “Not tonight.”
“Some other night, then,” he mumbled. Within minutes, he was out.
Celaena rested her head against the wooden wall, listening to the sound of his breathing as the long hours of the night stretched by.

Hmmm excellent so far nice wite up, keep it coming no lele

we get used. Back, more grace bro

wow, thrilled

CHAPTER
4
Even when her turn to sleep came, Celaena lay awake. In the hours she’d spent watching over their room, one thought had become increasingly problematic.
The slaves.
Perhaps if Arobynn had sent someone else—perhaps if it was just a business deal that she found out about later, when she was too busy to care—she might not have been so bothered by it. But to send her to retrieve a shipment of slaves … people who had done nothing wrong, only dared to fight for their freedom and the safety of their families …
How could Arobynn expect her to do that? If Ben had been alive, she might have found an ally in him; Ben, despite his profession, was the most compassionate person she knew. His death left a vacancy that she didn’t think could ever be filled.
She sweated so much that her sheets became damp, and slept so little that when dawn came, she felt like she’d been trampled by a herd of wild horses from the Eyllwe grasslands.
Sam finally nudged her—a none-too-gentle prodding with the pommel of his sword. He said, “You look horrible.”
Deciding to let that set the tone for the day, Celaena got out of bed and promptly slammed the bathroom door.
When she emerged a while later, as fresh as she could get using only the washbasin and her hands, she understood one thing with perfect clarity.
There was no way—no way in any realm of Hell—that she was going to bring those slaves to Rifthold. Rolfe could keep them for all she cared, but she wouldn’t be the one to transport them to the capital city.
That meant she had two days to figure out how to ruin Arobynn and Rolfe’s deal.
And find a way to come out of it alive.
She slung her cape over her shoulders, silently bemoaning the fact that the yards of fabric concealed much of her lovely black tunic—especially its delicate golden embroidery. Well, at least her cape was also exquisite. Even if it was a bit dirty from so much traveling.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked. He sat up from where he lounged on the bed, cleaning his nails with the tip of a dagger. Sam definitely wouldn’t help her. She’d have to find a way to get out of the deal on her own.
“I have some questions to ask Rolfe. Alone.” She fastened her mask and strode to the door. “I want breakfast waiting for me when I return.”
Sam went rigid, his lips forming a thin line. “What?”
Celaena pointed to the hallway, toward the kitchen. “Breakfast,” she said slowly. “I’m hungry.”
Sam opened his mouth, and she waited for the retort, but it never came. He bowed deeply. “As you wish,” he said. They swapped particularly vulgar gestures before she stalked down the hallway.
Dodging puddles of filth, vomit, and the gods knew what else, Celaena found it just a tad difficult to match Rolfe’s long stride. With rain clouds gathering overhead, many of the people in the street—raggedy pirates swaying where they stood, prostitutes stumbling past after a long night, barefoot orphans running amok—had begun migrating into the various ramshackle buildings.
Skull’s Bay wasn’t a beautiful city by any definition, and many of the leaning and sagging buildings seemed to have been constructed from little more than wood and nails. Aside from its denizens, the city was most famous for Ship-Breaker, the giant chain that hung across the mouth of the horseshoe-shaped bay.
It had been around for centuries, and was so large that, as its name implied, it could snap the mast of any ship that came up against it. While mostly designed to discourage any attacks, it also kept anyone from sneaking off. And given that the rest of the island was covered with towering mountains, there weren’t many other places for a ship to safely dock. So, any ship that wanted to enter or exit the harbor had to wait for it to be lowered under the surface—and be ready to pay a hefty fee.
“You have three blocks,” Rolfe said. “Better make them count.”

“When the slaves arrive,” she said, trying to sound as inconvenienced as possible, “will I get the chance to inspect them, or can I trust that you’re giving us a good batch?”
He shook his head at her impertinence, and Celaena jumped over the outstretched legs of an unconscious—or dead—drunk in her path. “They’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon. I was planning to inspect them myself, but if you’re so worried about the quality of your wares, I’ll allow you to join me. Consider it a privilege.”
She snorted. “Where? On your ship?” Better to get a good sense of how everything worked, and then build her plan from there. Knowing how things operated might create some ideas for how to make the deal fall apart with as little risk as possible.
“I’ve converted a large stable at the other end of the town into a holding facility. I usually examine all the slaves there, but since you’re leaving the next morning, we’ll examine yours on the ship itself.”
She clicked her tongue loudly enough for him to hear it. “And how long can I expect this to take?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have better things to do?”
“Just answer the question.” Thunder rumbled in the distance.
They reached the docks, which were by far the most impressive thing about the town. Ships of all shapes and sizes rocked against the wooden piers, and pirates scurried along the decks, tying down various things before the storm hit. On the horizon, lightning flashed above the lone watchtower perched along the northern entrance to the bay—the watchtower from which Ship-Breaker was raised and lowered. In the flash, she’d also seen the two catapults atop one of the tower landings. If Ship-Breaker didn’t destroy a boat, then those catapults finished the job.
“Don’t worry, Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, striding past the various taverns and inns that lined the docks. They had two blocks left. “Your time won’t be wasted. Though getting through a hundred slaves will take a while.”
A hundred slaves on one ship! Where did they all fit?
“As long as you don’t try to fool me,” she snapped, “I’ll consider it time well spent.”
“So you don’t find reasons to complain—and I’m sure you’ll try your best to do just that—I have another shipment of slaves being inspected at the holding facility tonight. Why don’t you join me? That way, you can have something to compare them to tomorrow.”

That would be perfect, actually. Perhaps she could merely claim the slaves weren’t up to par and refuse to do business with him. And then leave, no harm done to either of them. She’d still have to face Sam—and then Arobynn—but … she’d figure them out later.
She waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Send someone for me when it’s time.” The humidity was so thick she felt as if she were swimming through it. They swapped particularly vulgar gestures before she stalked down the hallway.
Dodging puddles of filth, vomit, and the gods knew what else, Celaena found it just a tad difficult to match Rolfe’s long stride. With rain clouds gathering overhead, many of the people in the street—raggedy pirates swaying where they stood, prostitutes stumbling past after a long night, barefoot orphans running amok—had begun migrating into the various ramshackle buildings.
Skull’s Bay wasn’t a beautiful city by any definition, and many of the leaning and sagging buildings seemed to have been constructed from little more than wood and nails. Aside from its denizens, the city was most famous for Ship-Breaker, the giant chain that hung across the mouth of the horseshoe-shaped bay.
It had been around for centuries, and was so large that, as its name implied, it could snap the mast of any ship that came up against it. While mostly designed to discourage any attacks, it also kept anyone from sneaking off. And given that the rest of the island was covered with towering mountains, there weren’t many other places for a ship to safely dock. So, any ship that wanted to enter or exit the harbor had to wait for it to be lowered under the surface—and be ready to pay a hefty fee.
“You have three blocks,” Rolfe said. “Better make them count.”
Was he deliberately walking fast? Steadying her rising temper, Celaena focused on the jagged, lush mountains hovering around the city, on the glittering curve of the bay, on the hint of sweetness in the air. She’d found Rolfe just about to leave the tavern to go to a business meeting, and he’d agreed to let her ask questions as he walked.
“When the slaves arrive,” she said, trying to sound as inconvenienced as possible, “will I get the chance to inspect them, or can I trust that you’re giving us a good batch?”
He shook his head at her impertinence, and Celaena jumped over the outstretched legs of an unconscious—or dead—drunk in her path. “They’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon. I was planning to inspect them myself, but if you’re so worried about the quality of your wares, I’ll allow you to join me. Consider it a privilege.”
She snorted. “Where? On your ship?” Better to get a good sense of how everything worked, and then build her plan from there. Knowing how things operated might create some ideas for how to make the deal fall apart with as little risk as possible.
“I’ve converted a large stable at the other end of the town into a holding facility. I usually examine all the slaves there, but since you’re leaving the next morning, we’ll examine yours on the ship itself.”
She clicked her tongue loudly enough for him to hear it. “And how long can I expect this to take?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have better things to do?”
“Just answer the question.” Thunder rumbled in the distance.
They reached the docks, which were by far the most impressive thing about the town. Ships of all shapes and sizes rocked against the wooden piers, and pirates scurried along the decks, tying down various things before the storm hit. On the horizon, lightning flashed above the lone watchtower perched along the northern entrance to the bay—the watchtower from which Ship-Breaker was raised and lowered. In the flash, she’d also seen the two catapults atop one of the tower landings. If Ship-Breaker didn’t destroy a boat, then those catapults finished the job.
“Don’t worry, Mistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, striding past the various taverns and inns that lined the docks. They had two blocks left. “Your time won’t be wasted. Though getting through a hundred slaves will take a while.”
A hundred slaves on one ship! Where did they all fit?
“As long as you don’t try to fool me,” she snapped, “I’ll consider it time well spent.”
“So you don’t find reasons to complain—and I’m sure you’ll try your best to do just that—I have another shipment of slaves being inspected at the holding facility tonight. Why don’t you join me? That way, you can have something to compare them to tomorrow.”
That would be perfect, actually. Perhaps she could merely claim the slaves weren’t up to par and refuse to do business with him. And then leave, no harm done to either of them. She’d still have to face Sam—and then Arobynn—but … she’d figure them out later.
She waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Send someone for me when it’s time.” The humidity was so thick she felt as if she were swimming through it. everything in his power to prevent her from ruining the deal. And having one enemy was enough. With her plan still unformed, she had to keep Sam out of it. Besides, if worse came to worst, Rolfe might very well kill Sam for being involved. Or simply for knowing her.
“Maybe I’m just unable to resist how handsome he is,” she said.
Sam went rigid. “He’s twelve years older than you.”
“So?” He didn’t think she was serious, did he?
He gave her a look so scathing it could have turned her to ash, and he stalked to the window, ripping his cloak down.
“What are you doing?”
He flung open the wooden shutters to reveal a sky full of rain and forked lightning. “I’m sick of suffocating. And if you’re interested in Rolfe, he’s bound to find out what you look like at some point, isn’t he? So why bother slowly roasting to death?”
“Shut the window.” He only crossed his arms. “Shut it,” she growled.
When he made no move to close the window, she jumped to her feet, upsetting the tray of food on her mattress, and shoved him aside hard enough for him to take a step back. Keeping her head down, she shut the window and shutters and threw his cape over the whole thing.
“Idiot,” she seethed. “What’s gotten into you?”
Sam stepped closer, his breath hot on her face. “I’m tired of all the melodrama and nonsense that happens whenever you wear that ridiculous mask and cloak. And I’m even more tired of you ordering me around.”
So that’s what this was about. “Get used to it.”
She made to turn to her bed, but he grabbed her wrist. “Whatever plan you’re concocting, whatever bit of intrigue you’re about to drag me into, just remember that you’re not head of the Assassins’ Guild yet. You still answer to Arobynn.”
She rolled her eyes, yanking her wrist out of his grasp. “Touch me again,” she said, striding to her bed and picking up the spilled food, “and you’ll lose that hand.”
Sam didn’t speak to her after that.

ThobbyTurner:
Odinz oxysyntabel mutalib24 Foladapo Missmossy gtin Enigurl muxyray Hawlacho Gabbyraze

Tnx for d mention am coming lemme go nd read

seems promising ... got my eye Google here somewhere, ok here it is .. so fire down

ThobbyTurner:
aprilwise IecheM Dapo97 segzy17 sunshine26 Angelinastto sunshine46 souloho19 Matrycx dadebayo1 Evans407 Lovelyn dingdang ighodaovictor Hawlahscho Tinalex wins18 timmyblast dhamiylhola devilmycry akuracy dredmatthew234 peacesamuel94 eunisam Holytitus zeeboss sebastine1994 AlamienDagash Nphzzycute Ikdbabie Rock01 Evans407 Davidhero rachealfst redon12

ANoda bomb! lemme read first ah whud be ryt bCK

Breathtaking!! I cldnt stop reading ... Ride on I'm loving this

CHAPTER
5
Dinner with Sam was silent, and Rolfe appeared at eight to bring them both to the holding facility. Sam didn’t even ask where they were going. He just played along, as if he’d known the whole time.
The holding facility was an enormous wooden warehouse, and even from down the block, something about the place made Celaena’s instincts scream at her to get away. The sharp reek of unwashed bodies didn’t hit her until they stepped inside. Blinking against the brightness of the torches and crude chandeliers, it took her a few heartbeats to sort out what she was seeing.
Rolfe, striding ahead of them, didn’t falter as he passed cell after cell packed with slaves. Instead, he walked toward a large open space in the rear of the warehouse, where a nut-brown Eyllwe man stood before a cluster of four pirates.
Beside her, Sam let out a breath, his face wan. If the smell wasn’t bad enough, the people in the cells, clinging to the bars or cowering against the walls or clutching their children—children—ripped at every shred of her being.
Aside from some occasional muffled weeping, the slaves were silent. Some of their eyes widened at the sight of her. She’d forgotten how she must appear—faceless, cloak waving behind her, striding past them like Death itself. Some of the slaves even sketched invisible marks in the air, warding off whatever evil they thought she was.
She took in the locks on the pens, counting the number of people crammed into each cell. They hailed from all the kingdoms on the continent. There were even some orange-haired, gray-eyed mountain clansmen—wild-looking men who tracked her movements. And women—some of them barely older than Celaena herself. Had they been fighters, too, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Celaena’s heart pounded faster. Even after all these years, people still defied Adarlan’s conquest. But what right did Adarlan—or Rolfe, or anyone—have to treat them like this? Conquest wasn’t enough; no, Adarlan had to break them.
Eyllwe, she’d heard, had taken the brunt of it. Though their king had yielded his power to the King of Adarlan, Eyllwe soldiers still could be found fighting in the rebel groups that plagued Adarlan’s forces. But the land itself was too vital for Adarlan to abandon. Eyllwe boasted two of the most prosperous cities on the continent; its territory—rich in farmland, waterways, and forests—was a crucial vein in trade routes. Now, it seemed, Adarlan had decided that it might make money off its people, too.
The men standing around the Eyllwe prisoner parted as Rolfe approached, bowing their heads. She recognized two of the men from dinner the previous night: the short, bald Captain Fairview and the one-eyed, hulking Captain Blackgold. Celaena and Sam stopped beside Rolfe.
The Eyllwe man had been stripped naked, his wiry body already bruised and bleeding.
“This one fought back a bit,” said Captain Fairview. Though sweat gleamed on the slave’s skin, he kept his chin high, his eyes upon some distant sight. He must have been around twenty. Did he have a family?
“Keep him in irons, though, and he’ll fetch a good price,” Fairview went on, wiping his face on the shoulder of his crimson tunic. The gold embroidery was fraying, and the fabric, which had probably once been rich with color, was faded and stained. “I’d send him to the market in Bellhaven. Lots of rich men there needing strong hands to do their building. Or women needing strong hands for something else entirely.” He winked in Celaena’s direction.
Unyielding rage boiled up so fast the breath was knocked from her. She didn’t realize her hand was moving toward her sword until Sam knotted his fingers through hers. It was a casual-enough gesture, and to anyone else, it might have looked affectionate. But he squeezed her fingers tightly enough for her to know that he was well aware of what she was about to do.
“How many of these slaves will actually be deemed useful?” Sam asked, releasing her gloved fingers. “Ours are all going to Rifthold, but you’re dividing this batch up?”
Rolfe said, “You think your master is the first to strike a deal with me? We have other agreements in different cities. My partners in Bellhaven tell me what the wealthy are looking for, and I supply them. If I can’t think of a good place to sell the slaves, I’ll send them to Calaculla. If your master has leftovers, sending them to Endovier might be a good option. Adarlan’s stingy with what they’ll offer when buying slaves for the salt mines, but it’s better than making no money at all.”
So Adarlan wasn’t just snatching prisoners from battlefields and their homes—they were buying slaves for the Salt Mines of Endovier, too.
“And the children?” she asked, keeping her voice was neutral as possible. “Where do they go?”
Rolfe’s eyes darkened a bit at that, glimmering with enough guilt that Celaena wondered if the slave trade had been a last resort for him. “We try to keep the children with their mothers,” he said quietly. “But at the auction block, we can’t control whether they’re separated.”
She fought the retort on her tongue, and just said, “I see. Are they a burden to sell? And how many children can we expect in our shipment?”
“We have about ten here,” Rolfe said. “Your shipment shouldn’t contain more than that. And they’re not a burden to sell, if you know where to sell them.”
“Where?” Sam demanded.
“Some wealthy households might want them for scullery maids or stableboys.” Though his voice remained steady, Rolfe studied the ground. “A brothel madam might show up at the auction, too.”
Sam’s face went white with fury. If there was one thing that set him off, one subject she knew she could always rely upon to rile him, it was this.
His mother, sold at eight to a brothel, had spent her too-short twenty-eight years clawing her way up from an orphan to one of the most successful courtesans in Rifthold. She’d had Sam only six years before she’d died—murdered by a jealous client. And though she’d amassed some money, it hadn’t been enough to liberate her from her brothel—or to provide for Sam. But she’d been a favorite of Arobynn’s, and when he’d learned that she wanted Sam to be trained by him, he’d taken the boy in.
“We’ll take that into consideration,” Sam said sharply.
It wasn’t enough for Celaena to ensure the deal fell apart. No, that wasn’t nearly enough. Not when all of these people were imprisoned here. Her blood pounded in her veins. Death, at least, was quick. Especially when dealt by her hand. But slavery was unending suffering.
“Very well,” she said, lifting her chin. She had to get out of here—and get Sam out of here before he snapped. A deadly gleam was growing in his eyes. “I look forward to seeing our shipment tomorrow night.” She inclined her head toward the pens behind her. “When will these slaves be sent out?” It was such a dangerous, stupid for Bonnie to pouring out the star ball’s liquid at the four corners of the Gate to making his way through the defenses of this tiny gem of a castle had been for this. For this moment, when his human palate could savor the nectar that was vampire blood.
And it was…heavenly!
This was only the second time in his life that he’d tasted it as a human. Katerina—Katherine, as he thought of her in English—had been the first, of course. And how she could have crept off after that and gone, wearing just her short muslin shift, to the wide-eyed, inexperienced little boy who was his brother, he would never understand.
His disquiet was spreading to Jessalyn. That mustn’t happen. She had to stay calm and tranquil as he took as much as he could of her blood. It wouldn’t hurt her at all, and it meant all the difference to him.
Forcing his consciousness away from the sheer elemental pleasure of what he was doing, he began, very carefully, very delicately, to infiltrate her mind.
It wasn’t difficult to get to the nub of it. Whoever had wrenched this delicate, fragile-boned girl from the human world and had endowed her with a vampire’s nature hadn’t done her any favors. It wasn’t that she had any moral objections to vampirism. She’d taken to the life easily, enjoying it. She would have made a good huntress in the wild. But in this castle? With these servants? It was like having a hundred snooty waiters and two hundred condescending sommeliers staring her down as soon as she opened her mouth to give an order

Everton4life na here u come hide abi

CHAPTER
5
Dinner with Sam was silent, and Rolfe appeared at eight to bring them both to the holding facility. Sam didn’t even ask where they were going. He just played along, as if he’d known the whole time.
The holding facility was an enormous wooden warehouse, and even from down the block, something about the place made Celaena’s instincts scream at her to get away. The sharp reek of unwashed bodies didn’t hit her until they stepped inside. Blinking against the brightness of the torches and crude chandeliers, it took her a few heartbeats to sort out what she was seeing.
Rolfe, striding ahead of them, didn’t falter as he passed cell after cell packed with slaves. Instead, he walked toward a large open space in the rear of the warehouse, where a nut-brown Eyllwe man stood before a cluster of four pirates.
Beside her, Sam let out a breath, his face wan. If the smell wasn’t bad enough, the people in the cells, clinging to the bars or cowering against the walls or clutching their children—children—ripped at every shred of her being.
Aside from some occasional muffled weeping, the slaves were silent. Some of their eyes widened at the sight of her. She’d forgotten how she must appear—faceless, cloak waving behind her, striding past them like Death itself. Some of the slaves even sketched invisible marks in the air, warding off whatever evil they thought she was.
She took in the locks on the pens, counting the number of people crammed into each cell. They hailed from all the kingdoms on the continent. There were even some orange-haired, gray-eyed mountain clansmen—wild-looking men who tracked her movements. And women—some of them barely older than Celaena herself. Had they been fighters, too, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?
Celaena’s heart pounded faster. Even after all these years, people still defied Adarlan’s conquest. But what right did Adarlan—or Rolfe, or anyone—have to treat them like this? Conquest wasn’t enough; no, Adarlan had to break them.
Eyllwe, she’d heard, had taken the brunt of it. Though their king had yielded his power to the King of Adarlan, Eyllwe soldiers still could be found fighting in the rebel groups that plagued Adarlan’s forces. But the land itself was too vital for Adarlan to abandon. Eyllwe boasted two of the most prosperous cities on the continent; its territory—rich in farmland, waterways, and forests—was a crucial vein in trade routes. Now, it seemed, Adarlan had decided that it might make money
off its people, too.
The men standing around the Eyllwe prisoner parted as Rolfe approached, bowing their heads. She recognized two of the men from dinner the previous night: the short, bald Captain Fairview and the one-eyed, hulking Captain Blackgold. Celaena and Sam stopped beside Rolfe.
The Eyllwe man had been stripped naked, his wiry body already bruised and bleeding.
“This one fought back a bit,” said Captain Fairview. Though sweat gleamed on the slave’s skin, he kept his chin high, his eyes upon some distant sight. He must have been around twenty. Did he have a family?
“Keep him in irons, though, and he’ll fetch a good price,” Fairview went on, wiping his face on the shoulder of his crimson tunic. The gold embroidery was fraying, and the fabric, which had probably once been rich with color, was faded and stained. “I’d send him to the market in Bellhaven. Lots of rich men there needing strong hands to do their building. Or women needing strong hands for something else entirely.” He winked in Celaena’s direction.
Unyielding rage boiled up so fast the breath was knocked from her. She didn’t realize her hand was moving toward her sword until Sam knotted his fingers through hers. It was a casual-enough gesture, and to anyone else, it might have looked affectionate. But he squeezed her fingers tightly enough for her to know that he was well aware of what she was about to do.
“How many of these slaves will actually be deemed useful?” Sam asked, releasing her gloved fingers. “Ours are all going to Rifthold, but you’re dividing this batch up?”
Rolfe said, “You think your master is the first to strike a deal with me? We have other agreements in different cities. My partners in Bellhaven tell me what the wealthy are looking for, and I supply them. If I can’t think of a good place to sell the slaves, I’ll send them to Calaculla. If your master has leftovers, sending them to Endovier might be a good option. Adarlan’s stingy with what they’ll offer when buying slaves for the salt mines, but it’s better than making no money at all.”
So Adarlan wasn’t just snatching prisoners from battlefields and their homes—they were buying slaves for the Salt Mines of Endovier, too.
“And the children?” she asked, keeping her voice was neutral as possible. “Where do they go?”
Rolfe’s eyes darkened a bit at that, glimmering with enough guilt that Celaena wondered if the slave trade had been a last resort for him. “We try to keep the children with their mothers,” he said quietly. “But at the auction block, we can’t control whether they’re separated.”
She fought the retort on her tongue, and just said, “I see. Are they a burden to sell? And how many children can we expect in our shipment?”
“We have about ten here,” Rolfe said. “Your shipment shouldn’t contain more than that. And they’re not a burden to sell, if you know where to sell them.”
“Where?” Sam demanded.
“Some wealthy households might want them for scullery maids or stableboys.” Though his voice remained steady, Rolfe studied the ground. “A brothel madam might show up at the auction, too.”
Sam’s face went white with fury. If there was one thing that set him off, one subject she knew she could always rely upon to rile him, it was this.
His mother, sold at eight to a brothel, had spent her too-short twenty-eight years clawing her way up from an orphan to one of the most successful courtesans in Rifthold. She’d had Sam only six years before she’d died—murdered by a jealous client. And though she’d amassed some money, it hadn’t been enough to liberate her from her brothel—or to provide for Sam. But she’d been a favorite of Arobynn’s, and when he’d learned that she wanted Sam to be trained by him, he’d taken the boy in.
“We’ll take that into consideration,” Sam said sharply.
It wasn’t enough for Celaena to ensure the deal fell apart. No, that wasn’t nearly enough. Not when all of these people were imprisoned here. Her blood pounded in her veins. Death, at least, was quick. Especially when dealt by her hand. But slavery was unending suffering.
“Very well,” she said, lifting her chin. She had to get out of here—and get Sam out of here before he snapped. A deadly gleam was growing in his eyes. “I look forward to seeing our shipment tomorrow night.” She inclined her head toward the pens behind her. “When will these slaves be sent out?” It was such a dangerous, stupid question.
Rolfe looked to Captain Fairview, who rubbed his dirty head. “This lot? We’ll divvy them up, and they’ll be loaded onto a new ship tomorrow, probably. They’ll sail around the same time you do, I bet. We need to assemble crews.” He and Rolfe started off on a conversation about manning the ships, and Celaena took that as her cue to leave.
With a final look at the slave still standing there, Celaena strode out of the warehouse that stank of fear and death.
“Celaena, wait!” Sam called, panting as he walked after her.
She couldn’t wait. She’d just started walking, and walking, and walking, and now, as she reached the empty beach far from the lights of Skull’s Bay, she wouldn’t stop walking until she reached the water.
Not too far down the curve in the bay, the watchtower stood guard, Ship-Breaker hanging across the water for the duration of the night. The moon illuminated the powder-fine sand and turned the calm sea into a silver mirror.
She removed her mask and dropped it behind her, then ripped off her cloak, boots, and tunic. The damp breeze kissed her bare skin, fluttering her delicate white undershirt.
“Celaena!”
Bath-warm waves flooded past her, and she kicked up a spray of water as she kept walking. Before she could get deeper than her calves, Sam grabbed her arm.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. She yanked on her arm, but he held firm.
In a single, swift movement, she twirled, swinging her other arm. But he knew the move—because he’d practiced it right alongside her for years—and he caught her other hand. “Stop,” he said, but she swept her foot. She caught him behind the knee, sending him tumbling down. Sam didn’t release her, and water and sand sprayed as they hit the ground.
Celaena landed on top of him, but Sam didn’t pause for a moment. Before she could give him a sharp elbow to the face, he flipped her. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Sam lunged for her, and she had the sense to bring her feet up just as he leapt. She kicked him square in the stomach. He cursed as he dropped to his knees. The surf broke around him, a shower of silver.
She sprang into a crouch, the sand hissing beneath her feet as she made to tackle him.
But Sam had been waiting, and he twisted away, catching her by the shoulders and throwing her to the ground.
She knew she’d been caught before he even finished slamming her into the sand. He pinned her wrists, his knees digging into her thighs to keep her from getting her legs under her again.
“Enough!” His fingers dug painfully into her wrists. A rogue wave reached them, soaking her.
She thrashed, her fingers curling, straining to draw blood, but they couldn’t reach his hands. The sand shifted enough that she could scarcely get a steady surface to support herself, to flip him. But Sam knew her—he knew her movements, knew what tricks she liked to pull.
“Stop,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Please.”
In the moonlight, his handsome face was strained. “Please,” he repeated hoarsely.
The sorrow—the defeat—in his voice made her pause. A wisp of cloud passed over the moon, illuminating the strong panes of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips—the kind of rare beauty that had made his mother so successful. Far above his head, stars flickered faintly, nearly invisible in the glow of the moon.
“I’m not going to let go until you promise to stop attacking me,” Sam said. His face was inches away, and she felt the breath of every one of his words on her mouth.
She took an uneven breath, then another. She had no reason to attack Sam. Not when he’d kept her from gutting that pirate in the warehouse. Not when he’d gotten so riled about the slave children. Her legs trembled with pain.
“I promise,” she mumbled.
“Swear it.”
“I swear on my life.”
He watched her for a second longer, then slowly eased off her. She waited until he was standing, then got to her feet. Both of them were soaked and crusted with sand, and she was fairly certain her hair had come half out of her braid and she looked like a raging lunatic.
“So,” he said, taking off his boots and tossing them onto the sand behind them. “Are you going to explain yourself?” He rolled his pants up to the knees and took a few steps into the surf.
Celaena began pacing, waves splattering at her feet. “I just …,” she began, but waved an arm, shaking her head fiercely.
“You what?” His words were almost drowned out by the crashing waves.
She whirled to face him. “How can you bear to look at those people and not do anything?”
“The slaves?”
She resumed her pacing. “It makes me sick. It makes me … makes me so mad I think I might …” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“Might what?” Splashing steps sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to find him approaching. He crossed his arms, bracing for a fight. “Might do something as foolish as attacking Rolfe’s men in their own warehouse?”
It was now or never. She hadn’t wanted to involve him, but … now that her plans had changed, she needed his help.
“I might do something as foolish as freeing the slaves,” she said.
Sam went so still that he might have been turned into stone. “I knew you were thinking up something—but freeing them …”
“I’m going to do it with or without you.” She’d only intended to ruin the deal, but from the moment she’d walked into that warehouse tonight, she’d known she couldn’t leave the slaves there.
“Rolfe will kill you,” Sam said. “Or Arobynn will, if Rolfe doesn’t first.”
“I have to try,” she said.
“Why?” Sam stepped close enough that she needed to tilt her head back to see his face. “We’re assassins. We kill people. We destroy lives every day.”
“We have a choice,” she breathed. “Maybe not when we were children—when it was Arobynn or death—but now … Now you and I have a choice in the things we do. Those slaves were just taken. They were fighting for their freedom, or lived too close to a battlefield, or some mercenaries passed through their town and stole them. They’re innocent people.”
“And we weren’t?”
Something icy pierced her heart at the glimmer of memory. “We kill corrupt officials and adulterous spouses; we make it quick and clean. These are entire families being ripped apart. Every one of these people used to be somebody.”
Sam’s eyes glowed. “I’m not disagreeing with you. I don’t like the idea of this at all. Not just the slaves, but Arobynn’s involvement. And those children …” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we’re just two people—surrounded by Rolfe’s pirates.”
She gave him a crooked grin. “Then it’s good that we’re the best. And,” she added, “it’s good that I’ve been asking him so many questions about his plans for the next two days.”
Sam blinked. “You realize this is the most reckless thing you’ve ever done, right?”
“Reckless, but maybe the most meaningful, too.”
Sam stared at her long enough for heat to flood her cheek, as if he could see right inside of her—see everything. The fact that he didn’t turn away from whatever he saw made her blood thrum in her veins. “I suppose if we’re going to die, it should be for a noble cause,” he said.
She snorted, using it as an excuse to step away from him. “We’re not going to die. At least, not if we follow my plan.”
He groaned. “You already have a plan?”
She grinned, then told him everything. When she finished, he only scratched his head. “Well,” he admitted, sitting on the sand, “I suppose that’d work. We’d have to time it right, but …”
“But it could work.” She sat beside him.
“When Arobynn finds out …”
“Leave Arobynn to me. I’ll figure out how to deal with him.”
“We could always just … not return to Rifthold,” Sam suggested.
“What, run away?”
Sam shrugged. Though he kept his eyes on the waves, she could have sworn a blush darkened his cheeks. “He might very well kill us.”
“If we ran away, he’d hunt us for the rest of our lives. Even if we took different names, he’d find us.” As if she could leave her entire life behind! “He’s invested too much money in us—and we’ve yet to pay him back entirely. He’d see it as a bad investment.”
Sam’s gaze drifted northward, as if he could see the sprawling capital city and its towering glass castle. “I think there’s more at work here than this trade agreement.”
“What do you mean?”
Sam traced circles in the sand between them. “I mean, why send the two of us here in the first place? His excuse for sending us was a lie. We’re not instrumental to this deal. He could just as easily have sent two other assassins who aren’t at each other’s throats all the time.”
“What are you implying?”
Sam shrugged. “Perhaps Arobynn wanted us out of Rifthold right now. Needed to get city for a month.”
A chill went through her. “Arobynn wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Sam asked. “Did we ever find out why Ben was there the night Gregori got captured?”
“If you’re implying that Arobynn somehow set Ben up to—”
“I’m not implying anything. But some things don’t add up. And there are questions that haven’t been answered.”
“We’re not supposed to question Arobynn,” she murmured.
“And since when do you ever follow orders?”
She stood. “Let’s get through the next few days. Then we’ll consider whatever conspiracy theories you’re inventing.”
Sam was on his feet in an instant. “I don’t have any theories. Just questions that you should be asking yourself, too. Why did he want us gone this month?”
“We can trust Arobynn.” Even as the words left her mouth, she felt stupid for saying them.
Sam stooped to pick up his boots. “I’m going back to the tavern. Are you coming?”
“No. I’m staying here for a little longer.”
Sam gave her an appraising look, but nodded. “We’re to examine Arobynn’s slaves on their ship at four tomorrow afternoon. Try not to stay out here the whole night. We need all the rest we can get.”
She didn’t reply, and turned away before she could watch him head toward the golden lights of Skull’s Bay.
She walked along the curve of the shoreline, all the way to the lone watchtower. After studying it from the shadows—the two catapults near its top, the giant chain anchored above them—she continued on. She walked until there was nothing in the world but the grumble and hiss of the waves, the sigh of the sand beneath her feet, and the glare of the moon on the water.
She walked until a surprisingly cold breeze swept past her. She halted.
Slowly, Celaena turned north, toward the source of the breeze, which smelled of a faraway land she hadn’t seen in eight years. Pine and snow—a city still in winter’s grasp. She breathed it in, staring across the leagues of lonely, black ocean, seeing, somehow, that distant city that had once, long ago, been her home. The wind ripped the strands of hair from her braid, lashing them across her face. Orynth. A city of light and music, watched over by an alabaster castle with an opal tower so bright it could be viewed for miles.
The moonlight vanished behind a thick cloud. In the sudden dark, the stars glowed brighter.
She knew all the constellations by heart, and she instinctively sought out the Stag, Lord of the North, and the immovable star that crowned his head.
Back then, she hadn’t had any choice. When Arobynn offered her this path, it was either that, or death. But now …
She took a shuddering breath. No, she was as limited in her choices as she’d been when she was eight years old. She was Adarlan’s Assassin, Arobynn Hamel’s protégée and heir—and she would always be.
It was a long walk back to the tavern.

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