Throne of Glass: Chapters 20–29

Her rooms were so silent that the music seemed obtrusive.

“Would you like me to explain why, or is it enough for me to say that I don’t take jewels and trinkets as payment for my affection?”

Perhaps she’d also realized that there was fun to be had in riling him, too.

Surprisingly, no one had fallen yet—perhaps because the path to the flag was fairly easy: balconies, windowsills, and trellises covered most of the space.

Cain hooked his long rope around a leering gargoyle’s neck and swung across an expanse of flat wall, landing on a balcony ledge fifteen feet below the flag.

He bent under the guise of adjusting his boot, and Celaena saw a small dagger glint in the sunlight.

The rope sent them careening toward the wall.

“You’re doing exactly like we planned,” Chaol went on. “Though I’d hardly consider your valiant rescue to be entirely discreet.”

Apparently, daring rescues weren’t part of a jewel thief’s repertoire.

The new murder cast a pall over the next two weeks, and the two Tests they brought with them.

Celaena screamed as excruciating pain shot down her back, barely heralded by the crack of the whip.

Just yesterday, the duke presented a plan: they would deploy more legions, and keep Nehemia here to discourage any retaliation from the rebels.

Dorian’s Eyllwe was just competent enough that he understood the gist of it to be: “His Highness certainly knows how to keep women entertained.”

“There is no difference,” the princess retorted, her accent thick and a bit unwieldy.

Nehemia might not be fully versed in their language, but she was smart enough to know the power of saying those two words.

“But—well, it’s a party, and everyone loves parties.”
“Shall I bring you a trinket from the revelry?”

“I—well, I should hope I’m more than just some simpering courtier,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster.

The bottom of the stairs soon appeared, and she came to a halt before three equally dark and imposing portals.

Knowing how the story always went, Celaena lifted the candle to the arches above the portals, looking for any inscriptions regarding the sure death that would meet her if she walked beneath a specific arch.

She was a honed blade made by the King of Assassins for his own profit.

She chose the portal on the right, for the other two were dank and unwelcoming, and this one seemed to be warm and pleasant.

A shaft of moonlight shot through a small hole in the ceiling, falling upon the face of a beautiful marble statue lying upon a stone slab. No—not a statue. A sarcophagus. It was a tomb.

In her hand lay a coin-size gold amulet on a delicate chain.

The Eye Eater and the other two Champions’ killings hadn’t been just a fluke, or a drunken brawl, as the investigation had determined.

In the daytime, a ray of sunlight shone into the tomb, making all the dust motes she stirred up swirl like falling snow.

No wonder Chaol had looked so disheveled this morning!

“Any word from your father?” Chaol asked in a voice that indicated he knew something was amiss.

Still, why did Elena have to be so oblique about everything?

Despite the ostentatious nature of the glass castle, she had to admit that it did look rather beautiful at times.

The guards at the door just watched, their faces impassive.

A few days later, Celaena turned the crisp yellow pages of a heavy tome, squirming in her seat.

Neither of them had mentioned Xavier’s murder, and she’d gleaned no more information about it.

Something groaned, and Celaena’s head swung toward the back of the library. It was a guttural noise, an animalistic noise—

If she became his father’s Champion, and later gained her freedom, would she remain the same? Or was this all a facade to get what she wanted?

It was enough. Enough of the pretending and the meekness.

Only Nox dared speak to her after that. Surprisingly, Chaol didn’t reprimand her, either.

When she was safely back in her rooms after the Test, Celaena watched the snowflakes drift from the hills beyond Rifthold. They swept toward her, harbingers of the storm that was to come.

In the center stood a stag, magnificent and virile, gazing sideways at Elena.

Across the castle, Kaltain Rompier clapped lightly as a troupe of acrobats finished their tumbling.

I’m an excellent judge of character; I knew how extraordinary you were the moment you entered the court. Only you are suitable for a man of Perrington’s prowess.