The arrow soared, turning relentlessly. The red dunes passed beneath in a blur, closing the distance. A sliver of winged darkness edged with steel. A quick, bloody death.
Hisli’s tail flicked to the side as the arrow buried itself in the sand just inches behind her rear hooves.
But Ansel didn’t dare look over her shoulder. She kept riding, and she did not stop.
Celaena lowered her bow and watched until Ansel disappeared beyond the horizon. One arrow, that had been her promise.
But she’d also promised Ansel that she had twenty minutes to get out of range.
Celaena had fired after twenty-one.
The Master called Celaena to his chamber the following morning. It had been a long night, but Ilias was on the mend, the wound having narrowly missed puncturing any organs. All of Lord Berick’s soldiers were dead, and were in the process of being carted back to Xandria as a reminder to Berick to seek the King of Adarlan’s approval elsewhere. Twenty assassins had died, and a heavy, mourning silence filled the fortress.
Celaena sat on an ornately carved wooden chair, watching the Master as he stared out the window at the sky. She nearly fell out of her seat when he began speaking.
“I am glad you did not kill Ansel.” His voice was raw, and his accent thick with the clipped yet rolling sounds of some language she’d never heard before. “I have been wondering when she would decide what to do with her fate.”
“So you knew—”
The Master turned from the window. “I have known for years. Several months after Ansel’s arrival, I sent inquiries to the Flatlands. Her family had not written her any letters, and I was worried that something might have happened.” He took a seat in a chair across from Celaena. “My messenger returned to me some months later, saying that there was no Briarcliff. The lord and his eldest daughter had been murdered by the High King, and the youngest daughter—Ansel—was missing.”
“Why didn’t you ever . . . confront her?” Celaena touched the narrow scab on her left cheek. It wouldn’t scar if she looked after it properly. And if it did scar . . . then maybe she’d hunt down Ansel and return the favor.
“Because I hoped she would eventually trust me enough to tell me. I had to give her that chance, even though it was a risk. I hoped she would learn to face her pain—that she’d learn to endure it.” He smiled sadly at Celaena. “If you can learn to endure pain, you can survive anything. Some people learn to embrace it—to love it. Some endure it through drowning it in sorrow, or by making themselves forget. Others turn it into anger. But Ansel let her pain become hate, and let it consume her until she became something else entirely—a person I don’t think she ever wished to be.”
Celaena absorbed his words, but set them aside for consideration at a later time. “Are you going to tell everyone about what she did?”
“No. I would spare them that anger. Many believed Ansel was their friend—and part of me, too, believes that at times she was.”
Celaena looked at the floor, wondering what to do with the ache in her chest. Would turning it into rage, as he said, help her endure it?
“For what it is worth, Celaena,” he rasped, “I believe you were the closest thing to a friend Ansel has ever allowed herself to have. And I think she sent you away because she truly cared for you.”
She hated her mouth for wobbling. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“I didn’t think it would. But I think you will leave a lasting imprint on Ansel’s heart. You spared her life, and returned her father’s sword. She will not soon forget that. And maybe when she makes her next move to reclaim her title, she will remember the assassin from the North and the kindness you showed her, and try to leave fewer bodies in her wake.”
He walked to a latticework hutch, as if he were giving her the time to regain her composure, and pulled out a letter. By the time he returned to her, Celaena’s eyes were clear. “When you give this to your master, hold your head high.”
She took the letter. Her recommendation—what she’d been working for this past month. It seemed inconsequential in the face of everything that had just happened. “How is it that you’re speaking to me now? I thought your vow of silence was eternal.”
He shrugged. “The world seems to think so, but as far as my memory serves me, I’ve never officially sworn to be silent. I choose to be silent most of the time, and I’ve become so used to it that I often forget I have the capacity for speech, but there are some times when words are necessary—when explanations are needed that mere gestures cannot convey.”
She nodded, trying her best to hide her surprise. After a pause, the Master said, “If you ever want to leave the North, you will always have a home here. I promise you the winter months are far better than the summer. And I think my son would be rather happy if you decided to return, too.” He chuckled, and Celaena blushed. He took her hand. “When you leave tomorrow, you’ll be accompanied by a few of my people.”
“Why?”
“Because they will be needed to drive the wagon to Xandria. I know that you are indentured to your master—that you still owe him a good deal of money before you are free to live your own life. He’s making you pay back a fortune that he forced you to borrow.” He squeezed her hand before approaching one of three trunks pushed against the wall. “For saving my life—and sparing hers.” He flipped open the lid of a trunk, then another, and another.
Sunlight gleamed on the gold inside, reflecting through the room like light on water. All that gold . . . and the piece of Spidersilk the merchant had given her . . . she couldn’t think of the possibilities that wealth would open to her, not right now.
“When you give your master his letter, also give him this. And tell him that in the Red Desert, we do not beat our disciples.”
Celaena smiled slowly, her eyes stinging. “I think I can manage that.”
She looked to the open window, to the world beyond. For the first time in a long while, she heard the song of a northern wind, calling her home. And she was not afraid.
Enter the Kingdom of Endovier, where freedom can come with a deadly price . . .
The Assassin and the Pirate Lord
Throne of Glass Novella #1
On a remote island in a tropical sea, Celaena Sardothien, feared assassin, has come for retribution. She’s been sent by the Assassin’s Guild to collect on a debt they are owed by the Lord of the Pirates. But when Celaena learns that the agreed payment is not in money, but in slaves, her mission suddenly changes—and she will risk everything to right the wrong she’s been sent to bring about.
AVAILABLE NOW
The Assassin and the Underworld
Throne of Glass Novella #3
When the King of the Assassins gives Celaena Sardothien a special assignment that will help fight slavery in the kingdom, Celaena jumps at the chance to strike a blow against the evil practice. The mission is a dark and deadly affair that takes Celaena from the rooftops of the city to the bottom of the sewer—and she doesn’t like what she finds there.
AVAILABLE MAY 2012
Throne of Glass
The Novel
In a land without magic, where the king rules with an iron hand, an assassin is summoned to the castle. She comes not to kill the king but to win her freedom. If she defeats twenty-three killers, thieves, and warriors in a competition, she is released from prison to serve as the king’s champion. Her name is Celaena Sardothien.
The Crown Prince will befriend her. The Captain of the Guard will protect her. But something evil dwells in the castle of glass—and it’s there to kill. When her competitors start dying one by one, Celaena’s fight for freedom becomes a fight for survival, and a desperate quest to root out the evil before it destroys her world.
AVAILABLE AUGUST 2012
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For more information on Sarah J. Maas, visit www.sarahjmaas.com
Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin, New York and Sydney
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This electronic edition first published in Great Britain in March 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP
First published in the United States of America in March 2012 by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
Copyright © Sarah Maas 2012
All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
eISBN 978 1 4088 3421 3
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