to resume the life that had splintered in a few agonizing minutes. But she also dreaded it.
At least, here at the edge of the world, that night—and all of Rifthold and the people it contained—seemed very far away.
She stayed in the pool until her hands turned uncomfortably pruny.
Ansel wasn’t in their tiny, rectangular room when Celaena arrived, though someone had unpacked Celaena’s belongings. Aside from her sword and daggers, some undergarments, and a few tunics, she hadn’t brought much—and hadn’t bothered to bring her finer clothing. Which she was grateful for, now that she’d seen how quickly the sand had worn through the bulky clothes the nomad had made her wear.
There were two narrow beds, and it took her a moment to figure out which was Ansel’s. The red stone wall behind it was bare. Aside from the small iron wolf figurine on the bedside table, and a humansized dummy that must be used to store Ansel’s extraordinary armor, Celaena would have had no idea that she was sharing a room with anyone.
Peeking through Ansel’s chest of drawers was equally futile. Burgundy tunics and black pants, all neatly folded. The only things that offset the monotony were several white tunics—garb that many of the men and women had been wearing. Even the undergarments were plain—and folded. Who folded their undergarments? Celaena thought of her enormous closet back home, exploding with color and different fabrics and patterns, all tossed together. Her undergarments, while expensive, usually wound up in a heap in their drawer.
Sam probably folded his undergarments. Though, depending on how much of him Arobynn had left intact, he might not even be able to now. Arobynn would never permanently maim her, but Sam might have fared worse. Sam had always been the expendable one.
She shoved the thought away and nestled farther into the bed. Through the small window, the silence of the fortress lulled her to sleep.
She’d never seen Arobynn so angry, and it was scaring the hell out of her. He didn’t yell, and he didn’t curse—he just went very still and very quiet. The only signs of his rage were his silver eyes, glittering with a deadly calm.
She tried not to flinch in her chair as he stood from the giant wooden desk. Sam, seated beside her, sucked in a breath. She couldn’t speak; if she started talking, her trembling voice would betray her. She couldn’t endure that kind of humiliation.
“Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?” Arobynn asked her softly.
Celaena’spalms began sweating. It was worth it, she told herself. Freeing those two hundred slaves was worth it. No matter what was about to happen, she’d never regret doing it.
“It’s not her fault,” Sam cut in, and she flashed him a warning glare. “We both thought it was—”
“Don’t lie to me, Sam Cortland,” Arobynn growled. “The only way you became involved in this was because she decided to do it—and it was either let her die trying, or help her.”
Sam opened his mouth to object, but Arobynn silenced him with a sharp whistle through his teeth. His office doors opened. Wesley, Arobynn’s bodyguard, peered in. Arobynn kept his eyes on Celaena as he said, “Get Tern, Mullin, and Harding.”
This wasn’t a good sign. She kept her face neutral, though, as Arobynn continued watching her. Neither she nor Sam dared speak in the long minutes that passed. She tried not to shake.
At last, the three assassins—all men, all cut from muscle and armed to the teeth, filed in. “Shut the door,” Arobynn said to Harding, the last one to enter. Then he told the others, “Hold him.”
Instantly, Sam was dragged out of his chair, his arms pinned back by Tern and Mullin. Harding took a step in front of them, his fist flexing.
“No,” Celaena breathed as she met Sam’s wide-eyed stare. Arobynn wouldn’t be that cruel—he wouldn’t make her watch as he hurt Sam. Something tight and aching built in her throat.
But Celaena kept her head high, even as Arobynn said quietly to her, “You are not going to enjoy this. You will not forget this. And I don’t want you to.”
She whipped her head back to Sam, a plea for Harding not to hurt him on her lips.
She sensed the blow only a heartbeat before Arobynn struck her.
She toppled out of her chair and didn’t have time to raise herself properly before Arobynn grabbed her by the collar and swung again, his fist connecting with her cheek. Light and darkness reeled. Another blow, hard enough that