Celaena’s chest tightened, and she put a hand on Nehemia’s back.
No wonder Nehemia had been so slow about looking into the eye riddle. Shame colored her cheeks.
“What will I do, Elentiya, if he kills another five hundred people? What will I do if he decides to set an example by butchering everyone in Calaculla? How can I turn my back on them?”
Celaena had no answer. She’d spent the week lost in thoughts of Chaol. Nehemia had spent her week trying to balance the fate of her kingdom. And Celaena had clues littering the ground at her feet—clues that might help Nehemia in her cause against the king, and a command from Elena that she’d practically ignored.
Nehemia took her hand. “Promise me,” she said, her dark eyes shining. “Promise me that you’ll help me free Eyllwe from him.”
Ice shot through Celaena’s veins. “Free Eyllwe?”
“Promise me that you’ll see my father’s crown restored to him. That you’ll see my people returned from Endovier and Calaculla.”
“I’m just an assassin.” Celaena pulled her hand out of Nehemia’s. “And the kind of thing you’re talking about, Nehemia …” She got off the bed, trying to control her rapid heartbeat. “That would be madness.”
“There is no other way. Eyllwe must be freed. And with you helping me, we could start to gather a host to—”
“No.” Nehemia blinked, but Celaena shook her head. “No,” she repeated. “Not for all the world would I help you muster an army against him. Eyllwe has been hit hard by the king, but you barely got a taste of the kind of brutality he unleashed elsewhere. You raise a force against him, and he’ll butcher you. I won’t be a part of that.”
“So what will you be a part of, Celaena?” Nehemia stood, jostling Fleetfoot from her lap. “What will you stand for? Or will you only stand for yourself?”
Her throat ached, but Celaena forced the words out. “You have no idea what sort of things he can do to you, Nehemia. To your people.”
“He massacred five hundred rebels and their families!”
“And he destroyed my entire kingdom! You daydream about the power and honor of Terrasen’s royal court, yet you don’t realize what it means that the king was able to destroy them. They were the strongest court on the continent—they were the strongest court on any continent, and he killed them all.”
“He had the element of surprise,” Nehemia countered.
“And now he has an army that numbers in the millions. There is nothing that can be done.”
“When will you say enough, Celaena? What will make you stop running and face what is before you? If Endovier and the plight of my people cannot move you, what will?”
“I am one person.”
“One person chosen by Queen Elena—one person whose brow burned with a sacred mark on the day of that duel! One person who, despite the odds, is still breathing. Our paths crossed for a reason. If you are not gods-blessed, then who is?”
“This is ridiculous. This is folly.”
“Folly? Folly to fight for what is right, for people who cannot stand up for themselves? You think soldiers are the worst he can send?” Nehemia’s tone softened. “There are far darker things gathering on the horizon. My dreams have been filled with shadows and wings—the booming of wings soaring between mountain passes. And every scout and spy we send into the White Fang Mountains, into the Ferian Gap, does not come back. Do you know what the people say in the valleys below? They say they can hear wings, too, riding the winds through the Gap.”
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” But Celaena had seen that thing outside the library.
Nehemia stalked to her, grabbing her by the wrists. “You do understand. When you look at him, you sense that there is a greater, twisted power around him. How did such a man conquer so much of the continent so quickly? With military might alone? How is it that Terrasen’s court fell so quickly, when its retainers had been trained for generations to be warriors? How did the most powerful court in the world get wiped out within a matter of days?”
“You’re tired and upset,” Celaena said as calmly as she could, trying not to think of how similar Nehemia’s and Elena’s words were. She shook off the princess’s grip. “Maybe we should talk about this later—”
“I don’t want to talk about this later!”
Fleetfoot whined, wedging herself between them.
“If we do not strike now,” Nehemia went on, “then whatever he is brewing will only grow more powerful. And then we will be beyond any chance of hope.”
“There is no hope,” Celaena said. “There is no hope in standing against him. Not now, not ever.” That was a truth she’d slowly been realizing. If Nehemia and Elena were right about this mysterious power source, then how could they ever overthrow him? “And I will not be a part of whatever plan you have. I will not help you get yourself killed, and bring down even more innocent people in the process.”
“You will not help because all you care about is yourself.”
“And so what if I do?” Celaena splayed her arms. “So what if I want to spend the rest of my life in peace?”
“There can never be any peace—not while he reigns. When you said you weren’t killing the men on his list, I thought you were finally taking a step toward making a stand. I thought that when the time came, I could count on you to help me start planning. I didn’t realize that you were doing it just to keep your own conscience clean!”
Celaena began storming toward the door.
Nehemia clicked her tongue. “I didn’t realize that you’re just a coward.”
Celaena looked over her shoulder. “Say that again.”
Nehemia didn’t flinch. “You’re a coward. You are nothing more than a coward.”
Celaena’s fingers clenched into fists. “When your people are lying dead around you,” she hissed, “don’t come crying to me.”
She didn’t give the princess the chance to reply before she stalked out of the room, Fleetfoot close on her heels.
Chapter 25
“One of them has to break,” the queen said to the princess. “Only then can it begin.”
“I know,” the princess said softly. “But the prince isn’t ready. It has to be her.”
“Then do you understand what I am asking of you?”
The princess looked up, toward the shaft of moonlight spilling into the tomb. When she looked back at the ancient queen, her eyes were bright. “Yes.”
“Then do what needs to be done.”
The princess nodded and walked out of the tomb. She paused on the threshold, the darkness beyond beckoning to her, and turned back to the queen. “She won’t understand. And when she goes over the edge, there will be nothing to pull her back.”
“She will find her way back. She always does.”
Tears formed, but the princess blinked them away. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.”
Chapter 26
Chaol hated hunting parties. Many of the lords could barely handle a bow, let alone be stealthy. It was painful to watch them—and the poor hounds bursting through the brush, trying to scatter game that the lords would miss anyway. Usually, just to get things over with, he would discreetly kill a few animals and then pretend Lord So-and-So had done it. But the king, Perrington, Roland, and Dorian were all out in the game park today, which meant he had to keep close to them.
Whenever he rode close enough to the lords to overhear their laughing and gossiping and harmless scheming, he sometimes let himself wonder if that was how he would have wound up had he not chosen this path. He hadn’t seen his younger brother in years; had his father allowed Terrin to turn into one of these idiots? Or had his father sent him to train as a warrior, as all lords of Anielle had done in the centuries after the wild mountain men had preyed upon the city on the Silver Lake?
As Chaol trailed behind the king, his new Asterion stallion earning many admiring and envious glances from the hunting party, Chaol allowed himself to consider—for one heartbeat—what his father would make of Celaena. His mother was a gentle, quiet woman, whose face had become a blurred memory in the years since he’d last seen her. But he still remembered her lilting voice and soft laugh, and the way she’d sung him to sleep when he was ill. Even though their marriage had been arranged, his father had wanted someone like his mother—someone submissive. Which meant that someone like Celaena … He cringed to even consider his father and Celaena in a room together. Cringed, and then smiled, because that was a battle of wills that could go down in legend.
“You’re distracted today, Captain,” the king said as he emerged from between the trees. He was massive; the king’s size always surprised Chaol, for some reason.
He was flanked by two of Chaol’s guards—one of which was Ress, who looked more nervous than triumphant at being selected to protect the king today, though he was trying his hardest not to show it. It was why Chaol had also chosen Dannan, the other guard—older and weathered and possessing near-legendary patience. Chaol bowed to his sovereign, and then gave Ress a slight nod of approval. The young guard sat up straighter, but remained alert—his focus now upon their surroundings, the lords riding nearby, the sounds of dogs and arrows.
The king pulled his black horse alongside Chaol’s, falling into a meandering walk. Ress and Dannan fell back a respectable pace, still close enough to intercept any lurking threat. “Whatever will my lords do without you to kill their quarry for them?”
Chaol tried to hide his smile. Perhaps he hadn’t been as discreet as he thought. “Apologies, milord.”
Atop his warhorse, the king looked every inch the conqueror he was. There was something in his eyes that sent a chill down Chaol’s spine—and made him realize why so many foreign rulers had offered him their crowns instead of facing him in battle.
“I am having the Princess of Eyllwe questioned in my council room tomorrow night,” the king said quietly enough that only Chaol could hear, turning his stallion to follow after the pack of hounds that rushed through the thawing woods. “I want six men outside the room. Make sure there are no complications or interruptions.” The look the king gave him suggested exactly the sort of complication he had in mind—Celaena.
Chaol knew it was risky to ask questions, but he said, “Is there anything specific that I should prepare my men for?”
“No,” the king said, nocking an arrow to his bow and firing at a pheasant that surged up from the brush. A clean shot—right through the eye. “That will be all.”
The king whistled to his hounds and followed after the prey he’d killed, Ress and Dannan close behind.
Chaol stilled his stallion, watching the mountain of a man ride through the thicket. “What was that about?” Dorian said, suddenly beside him.
Chaol shook his head. “Nothing.”
Dorian reached over his shoulder to the quiver strapped there and drew an arrow. “I haven’t seen you for a few days.”
“I’ve been busy.” Busy with his duties, and busy with Celaena. “I haven’t seen you around, either.” He made himself meet Dorian’s gaze.
Dorian’s lips were pursed, his face stony as he quietly said, “I’ve been busy, too.” The Crown Prince turned his horse away, heading in another direction, but paused. “Chaol,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Dorian’s eyes were frozen, his jaw clenched. “Treat her well.”
“Dorian,” he started, but the prince rode off to join Roland. Suddenly alone in the teeming forest, Chaol watched his friend disappear.
Chaol didn’t tell Celaena what the king had said, though part of him twisted until it hurt. The king wouldn’t hurt Nehemia—not when she was such a public and well-liked figure. Not when he’d warned Chaol about that anonymous threat to Nehemia’s life. But he had a feeling that whatever was going to be said in the council room wasn’t going to be pleasant.