“And what explanation will you give your cousin when you are reunited? The same you gave the noble captain?” She didn’t want to know how he was aware of that disaster. She hadn’t told Lysandra—since Lysandra still had no idea who she was. She’d think about it later.
“I’ll tell Aedion the truth.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s excuse enough for him.”
It was a physical effort to clamp down on her retort. “I’m tired and don’t feel like having a verbal sparring match today. Just tell me what you want so I can go soak in my tub.” Not a lie. Her muscles ached from tracking Valg foot soldiers across Rifthold the night before.
“You know my facilities are at your disposal.” Arobynn pinned his attention on her right leg, slung over the arm of the chair, as if he’d somehow figured out that it was giving her trouble. As if he knew that the fight at the Vaults had somehow aggravated the old wound she’d received during her duel with Cain. “My healer could rub down that leg for you. I wouldn’t want you to be in pain. Or handicapped for tomorrow.”
Training kept her features bored. “You truly do like hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”
A sensual laugh. “Fine—no verbal sparring.”
She waited, still lounging in the chair.
Arobynn ran an eye down the suit, and when his gaze met hers, there was only a cold, cruel killer staring out at her. “I have it on good authority that you’ve been monitoring patrols of the king’s guard—but leaving them undisturbed. Have you forgotten our little bargain?”
She smiled a little. “Of course not.”
“Then why is my promised demon not in my dungeon?”
“Because I’m not capturing one until after Aedion is freed.”
A blink.
“These things might lead the king right to you. To us. I’m not jeopardizing Aedion’s safety to satisfy your morbid curiosity. And who’s to say you won’t forget to help me when you’re busy playing with your new toy?”
Arobynn pushed off the desk and approached, bending over her chair close enough to share breath. “I’m a man of my word, Celaena.”
Again, that name.
He took a step back and cocked his head. “Though you, on the other hand … I recall you promising to kill Lysandra years ago. I was surprised when she returned unharmed.”
“You did your best to ensure that we hated each other. I figured why not go the opposite way for once? Turns out she’s not nearly as spoiled and selfish as you made me believe.” Ever the petulant protégée, ever the smart-ass. “Though if you want me to kill her, I’ll gladly turn my attention to that instead of the Valg.”
A soft laugh. “No need. She serves me well enough. Replaceable, though, should you decide you’d like to uphold your promise.”
“Was that the test, then? To see if I follow through on my promises?” Beneath her gloves, the mark she’d carved into her palm burned like a brand.
“It was a present.”
“Stick with jewelry and clothes.” She rose and glanced down at her suit. “Or useful things.”
His eyes followed hers and lingered. “You fill it out better than you did at seventeen.”
And that was quite enough. She clicked her tongue and turned away, but he gripped her arm—right where those invisible blades would snap out. He knew it, too. A dare; a challenge.
“You will need to lie low with your cousin once he escapes tomorrow,” Arobynn said. “Should you decide not to fulfill your end of the bargain … you’ll find out very quickly, Celaena darling, how deadly this city can be for those on the run—even fire-breathing bitch-queens.”
“No more declarations of love or offers to walk over coals for me?”
A sensual laugh. “You were always my favorite dance partner.” He came close enough to graze his lips against hers if she should sway a fraction of an inch. “If you want me to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, Majesty, I’ll do just that. But you’ll still get me what I need.”
She didn’t dare pull back. There was always such a gleaming in his silver eyes—like the cold light before dawn. She’d never been able to look away from it.
He angled his head, the sun catching in his auburn hair. “What about the prince, though?”
“Which prince?” she said carefully.