But what would the assassin have to say about this journey?
“Summon my Champion,” he said. In the ensuing silence, the council members murmured to each other, and his son tried to catch Westfall’s eye. But the captain avoided looking at the prince.
The king smiled slightly, twisting the black ring on his finger. A pity Perrington wasn’t here to see this. He was off dealing with the slave uprising in Calaculla—news of which had been kept so secret that even the messengers had forfeited their lives. The duke would have been greatly amused by today’s turn of events. But he wished Perrington here for more important reasons, too—to help him find out who had opened a portal last night.
He’d sensed it in his sleep—a sudden shift in the world. It was open for only a few minutes before someone closed it again. Cain was gone; who else in this castle possessed that kind of knowledge, or that power in the blood? Was it the same person who had killed Baba Yellowlegs?
He put a hand on Nothung, his sword.
There had been no body—but he didn’t think for one moment that Yellowlegs had just disappeared. The morning after she’d vanished, he’d gone to the carnival himself to look at the ruined wagon. He’d seen the flecks of dark blood staining the wooden floor.
Yellowlegs had been a queen among her people, one of the three brutal factions that had destroyed the Crochan family five hundred years ago. They’d relished erasing much of the wisdom of the Crochan women who had ruled justly for a thousand years. He’d invited the carnival here to meet with her—to purchase a few of her mirrors, and learn what remained of the Ironteeth Alliance that had once been strong enough to rip apart the Witch Kingdom.
But before she had yielded any decent information, she had died. And it frustrated him not to know why. Her blood had been spilled at his castle; others might come to demand answers and retribution. If they came, he would be ready.
Because in the shadows of the Ferian Gap, he’d been breeding new mounts for his gathering armies. And his wyverns still needed riders.
The doors to the council room opened. The assassin walked in, shoulders thrown back in that insufferable way of hers. She coolly took in the details of the room before stopping a few feet away from the table and bowing low. “Your Majesty summoned me?”
She kept her eyes averted, as she usually did. Except for that delightful day when she’d come in and practically flayed Mullison alive. Part of him wished he didn’t now have to free the sniveling councilman from the dungeons.
“Your companion, Captain Westfall, has come up with a rather … unusual idea,” the king said, and waved a hand at Chaol. “Why don’t you explain, Captain?”
The Captain twisted in his chair, then rose to his feet to face her. “I have suggested that we send you to Wendlyn to dispatch the king and his heir. While you are there, you will also seize their naval and military defense plans—so that once the country is in chaos, we will be able to navigate their impenetrable barrier reefs and take the country for ourselves.”
The assassin looked at him for a long moment, and the king noticed that his son had gone very, very still. Then she smiled, a cruel, twisted thing. “It would be an honor to serve the crown in such a way.”
He had never learned anything about the mark that had glowed on her head during the duel. The Wyrdmark was impossible to decipher. It either meant “nameless” or “unnamed,” or something akin to “anonymous.” But gods-blessed or not, from the wicked grin on her face, the king knew she’d enjoy this task.
“Perhaps we’ll have some fun with it,” the king mused. “Wendlyn is having their Solstice ball in a few months. What a message it would send if the king and his son were to meet their end right under the noses of their own court, on their day of triumph.”
Though the captain shifted on his feet at the sudden change of plans, the assassin smiled at him again, dark glee written all over her. What hellhole had she come from, to find delight in such things? “A brilliant idea, Your Majesty.”
“It’s done, then,” the king said, and they all looked at him. “You’ll leave tomorrow.”
“But,” his son interrupted, “surely she needs some time to study Wendlyn, to learn its ways and—”
“It’s a two-week journey by sea,” he said. “And then she’ll need time to infiltrate the castle in time for the ball. She can take whatever materials she needs and study them onboard.”
Her brows had lifted slightly, but she just bowed her head. The captain was still standing, stiffer than usual. And his son was glaring—glaring at him and at the captain, so angry that he wondered whether he’d snap.
But the king wasn’t particularly interested in their petty dramas, not when this brilliant plan had arisen. He’d have to send riders immediately to the Ferian Gap and the Dead Islands, and have General Narrok ready his legion. He didn’t mean to make mistakes with this one chance in Wendlyn.
And it would be the perfect opportunity to test a few of the weapons he’d been forging in secret all these years.
Tomorrow.
She was leaving tomorrow.
And Chaol had come up with the idea? But why? She wanted to demand answers, wanted to know what he was thinking when he’d come up with this plan. She’d never told him the truth about the king’s threats—that he would execute Chaol if she didn’t return from a mission, if she failed. And she could fake the deaths of petty lords and merchants, but not the King and Crown Prince of Wendlyn. Not in a thousand lifetimes could she find a way out of it.
She paced and paced, knowing Chaol wouldn’t be back in his rooms yet, and wound up going down to the tomb, if only to give herself something to do.
She expected Mort to lecture her about the portal—which he did, thoroughly—but she didn’t expect to find Elena waiting for her inside the tomb. “You have enough power to appear to me now, but you couldn’t help close the portal last night?”
She took one look at the queen’s frown and began pacing again.
“I could not,” Elena said. “Even now, this visit is draining me faster than it should.”
Celaena scowled at her. “I can’t go to Wendlyn. I—I can’t go. Chaol knows what I’m doing for you—so why would he make me go there?”
“Take a breath,” Elena said softly.