Sarah Maas - Throne of Glass

But he couldn’t know. Because, she’d realized last night, if she told him about Cain and the creature he’d unleashed, then he’d ask to see the remains of the creature. And that meant taking him into the secret passage. While he might trust her enough to leave her alone with Dorian, knowing that she had access to an unguarded escape route was a test she wasn’t ready to give Chaol.

Besides, I killed it. It’s over. Elena’s mysterious evil is vanquished. Now I’ll just defeat Cain in the duel, and then no one needs to know.

Chaol stopped before the unmarked door of their practice room, and whirled to face her. “I’m only going to ask you this once, and then I won’t ask it again,” he said, staring at her so intensely that she shifted on her feet. “Do you know what you’re getting into with Dorian?”

She laughed, a harsh, cawing noise. “Are you giving me romantic advice? And is this for my sake or Dorian’s?”

“Both.”

“I didn’t realize that you cared enough about me to bother. Or even notice.”

To his credit, he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he just unlocked the door. “Just remember to use your brain, will you?” he said over his shoulder, and entered the room.

An hour later, sweating and still panting from the swordplay practice, Celaena wiped her brow on her sleeve as they made their way back to her rooms.

“The other day, I saw you were reading Elric and Emide ,” he said. “I thought you hated poetry.”

“It’s different.” She swung her arms. “Epic poetry isn’t boring—or pretentious.”

“Oh?” A crooked smile twisted across his face. “A poem about massive battles and boundless love isn’t pretentious?” She playfully punched his shoulder, and he laughed. Surprisingly delighted at his laughter, she cackled. But then they turned a corner, and guards filled the hall, and she saw him.

The King of Adarlan.

The king. Celaena’s heart gave a screech and dove behind her spine. Each of the little scars on her hand throbbed. He strode toward them, his monstrous form filling the too-small hallway, and their eyes met. She went cold and hot at once. Chaol halted and bowed low.

Slowly, not wishing to find herself swinging from the gallows just yet, Celaena bowed, too. He stared at her with eyes of iron. The hair on her arms rose. She could feel him searching, looking for something inside of her. He knew that something was wrong, that something had changed in his castle—something to do with her. Celaena and Chaol rose and stepped aside.

His head turned to examine her as he strode past. Could he see what lay beyond her flesh? Did he know that Cain had the ability to open portals, real portals, to other worlds? Did he know that even though he’d banned magic, the Wyrdmarks still commanded a power of their own? Power the king could wield if he learned to summon demons like the ridderak . . .

There was a darkness in his eyes that felt cold and foreign, like the gaps between the stars. Could one man destroy a world? Was his ambition so consuming? She could hear the din of war. The king’s head shifted to look at the hallway ahead.

Something dangerous lurked about him. It was an air of death that she’d felt standing before that black void summoned by Cain. It was the stench of another world, a dead world. What was Elena’s goal in demanding that she get close to him?

Celaena managed to walk, one step at a time, away from the king. Her eyes were far away and distant, and though she didn’t look at Chaol, she felt him studying her face. Thankfully, he didn’t say a word. It was nice to have someone who understood.

Chaol also didn’t say anything when she moved closer to him for the remainder of their walk.

Chaol paced through his room, his time with Celaena over until she’d train with the other Champions that afternoon. After lunch, he’d returned to his room to read the report detailing the king’s journey. And in the past ten minutes, he’d read the thing three times. He crumpled the paper in his fist. Why had the king arrived alone? And, more importantly, how had everyone in his traveling party died? It wasn’t clear where he’d gone. He’d mentioned the White Fang Mountains, but . . . Why were they all dead?

The king had vaguely hinted at some sort of issue with rebels poisoning their food stores, but the details were murky enough to suggest that the truth was buried somewhere else. Perhaps he hadn’t explained it fully because it would upset his subjects. But Chaol was his Captain of the Guard. If the king didn’t trust him . . .

The clock struck and Chaol’s shoulders sagged. Poor Celaena. Did she know that she looked like a frightened animal when the king appeared? He’d almost wanted to pat her on the back. And the effect the king had on her lasted long after their encounter; she’d been distant during lunch.

She was incredible now, so fast he had difficulty keeping up with her. She could scale a wall with ease, and had even demonstrated by climbing up to her own balcony with nothing but her bare hands. It unnerved him, especially when he remembered she was only eighteen. He wondered if this was how she’d been before Endovier. She never hesitated when they sparred, but she seemed to sink far within herself, into a place that was calm and cool, but also angry and burning. She could kill anyone, Cain included, in a matter of seconds.

But if she became Champion, could they let her loose into Erilea once more? He was fond of her, but Chaol didn’t know if he could sleep at night knowing that he had retrained and released the world’s greatest assassin. If she won, though, she’d be here for four years.

What had the king thought when he saw them together, laughing? Surely, that hadn’t been his reason for neglecting to tell him what happened to his men. No—the king wouldn’t bother to care about that kind of thing, especially if Celaena might soon be his Champion.

Chaol rubbed his shoulder. She’d looked so small when she saw the king.

Since returning from his travels, the king hadn’t seemed any different, and was just as gruff with Chaol as he’d always been. But the sudden disappearance, then returning without a single soul . . . There was something brewing, a cauldron that the king had journeyed to stir. Celaena somehow knew it, too.

The Captain of the Guard leaned against a wall, staring at the ceiling. He shouldn’t press into the king’s business. Right now, his focus was on solving the murders of the Champions, and on making sure Celaena won. It wasn’t even about Dorian’s pride anymore; Celaena wouldn’t survive another year in Endovier.

Chaol smiled slightly. She’d stirred up enough trouble in the months she’d been in the castle. He could only imagine what would happen over the next four years.

Celaena panted as she and Nox lowered their swords, the Weapons Master shouting at the five Champions to get some water. Tomorrow was their last Test before the duel. She kept her distance when Cain lumbered toward the water jug on the table by the far wall, watching his every movement. She eyed his muscles, his height, his girth—all strength stolen from the dead Champions. She studied the black ring on his finger. Did it somehow have a connection to his horrible abilities? He hadn’t even looked all that surprised to see her alive when she’d entered the training hall. He’d just given her a small, taunting smile and picked up his practice sword.

“Is something the matter?” Nox said, his breathing ragged as he stopped by her side. Cain, Grave, and Renault were talking amongst themselves. “You were a bit off-balance.”