Throne of Glass: Chapters 41–55

She stepped closer to the archway and froze when she saw the steps that descended into the murky darkness.

He dragged a hand across the floor before the darkness, and greenish lights sprung up from where his fingers passed before being sucked into the void like wraiths on the wind.

It was something out of an ancient god’s nightmares. Its hairless gray skin was stretched tightly across its misshapen head, displaying a gaping mouth filled with black fangs.

Its vaguely human body sank onto its haunches, and it slid its long front arms across the stone floor.

Cain had incapacitated Verin while he summoned the creature; it liked its blood hot.

“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?”

Could one man destroy a world? Was his ambition so consuming?

She could hear the din of war.

She eyed his muscles, his height, his girth—all strength stolen from the dead Champions.

How had Cain learned to summon that creature—and what was that blackness from whence it had appeared?

“All of this time, I thought you were just some pretty girl from Bellhaven who stole jewels to get her father’s attention. Little did I know that the blond-haired girl was Queen of the Underworld.” He smiled ruefully.

The fire had dwindled to embers; a cold gray light seeped in through her curtains.

The roofs were still snow-covered, and lights twinkled in every home. It might have looked beautiful, had she not known what corruption and filth dwelt within it. And what monstrosity ruled over it all.

Standing on the wide veranda that encompassed the obsidian clock tower, Celaena tried not to shiver.

Her gaze shifted to Nehemia, whose fierce and graceful eyes warmed the marrow of her bones and steadied her arms.

She bit down on her grimace at the sight of his teeth. Of course, she’d have to duel the grotesque one. At least Renault had been clean looking.

“May it be your offering to the Mother who bore us all. Drink, and let Her bless you, and replenish your strength.”

She yelped as the blade sliced across her thigh, clothing and flesh ripping. Blood colored her pants. Despite it, she stood again, her face set in defiant rage.

From the far end of the veranda, a gust of wind sent the head of the staff rolling in her direction. It clattered to a stop, still a few tantalizing feet away.

She leapt back a step and sliced open Cain’s arm with the broken end of the staff, ripping through muscle and sinew.

She turned to the king, beseechingly, but he, too, looked away, his face crumpled with distaste.

And if he ever found out that Perrington or his father had sanctioned it, or somehow played a hand in Kaltain drugging her…Dorian’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

She was rather disgraceful at the duel; I don’t know if I can have a blubbering woman as my Champion, poison or no.

Perhaps he might someday work up the nerve to demand retribution for what his father had done to those rebels in Eyllwe.

Swaddled in blankets and bandages, she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“Our paths might be entwined, but...but I think you must continue to travel your own road for now. Adjust to your new position.”

The treachery of Lady Kaltain was disturbing, but had he known of Perrington’s plan to reveal her character—even to prove how easily she’d adapt to their plans, and how strong her determination ran—he would have prevented it.

“Cain proved the physical transformative effects, and Kaltain proves the ability to influence thoughts and emotions. I would like to test its full ability to hone the minds of a few others.”
“Part of me wishes Kaltain hadn’t been so susceptible,” grumbled Perrington.

Celaena leaned back in her seat and propped her feet on the table, balancing the chair precariously on its hind legs.

Philippa was already busy with the task of cleaning out Celaena’s closet to accommodate more clothing.

When she finally did sleep, her dreams were filled with archaic words and long-forgotten faces, with Wyrdmarks that glowed blue, with the king, and with a dead army summoned from the realms of Hell.

“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “The bandage is just to elicit sympathy now.”

Suddenly, she was back at the duel, prostrate on the ground, Cain laughing behind her, but all she could see, all she could hear, was Chaol as he knelt and reached for her.

He straightened, but she crushed her body into his, even though it still aggravated her wounds to do so.

The queen’s blazing, glacier-blue eyes were as ethereal as her lovely face.