Throne of Glass

Chapter 53

Celaena leaned back in her seat and propped her feet on the table, balancing the chair precariously on its hind legs. She savored the stretch and release of tension in her stiff muscles, and turned the page in the book she was holding aloft. Fleetfoot dozed beneath the table, snoring faintly. Outside, the sunny afternoon had transformed the snow into dripping, shimmering water that cast light about the whole bedroom. Her injuries had stopped being so irksome, but she still couldn’t walk without limping. With any luck, she’d start running again soon.

It had been a week since the duel. Philippa was already busy with the task of cleaning out Celaena’s closet to accommodate more clothing. All the clothing Celaena planned to buy when she was free to venture into Rifthold and do some shopping for herself, once she had her outrageous salary as King’s Champion. Which she’d hopefully start receiving as soon as she signed her contract . . . whenever that would be.

With Philippa occupied, Nehemia and Dorian had taken to attending her—and the prince often read aloud to her long into the night. 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. Upon waking, she did her best to forget them—especially the magic.

Her doorknob clicked and her heart leapt into her throat. Was it time to finally sign her contract with the king? But it wasn’t Dorian or Nehemia, not even a page. The world stopped when Chaol entered instead.

Fleetfoot rushed to him, tail wagging. Celaena almost fell out of her chair as she removed her feet from the table, and winced at the pain that shot through the wound on her leg. She was standing in an instant, but when she opened her mouth, she had nothing to say.

After Chaol gave Fleetfoot a friendly rub on the head, the dog trotted back beneath the table, circled twice, and curled up.

Why wouldn’t he move from the doorway? Celaena glanced at her nightgown and blushed as she noticed him staring at her bare legs.

“How are your injuries?” he asked. His voice was soft—and she realized he wasn’t staring at the amount of skin she was showing, but rather the bandage wrapped around her thigh.

“I’m all right,” she said quickly. “The bandage is just to elicit sympathy now.” She tried to smile, but failed. “I—I haven’t seen you in a week.” It had felt like a lifetime. “Have you . . . Are you all right?”

His brown eyes met hers. 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. Her throat tightened. She had understood something in that moment. But she couldn’t remember what. Maybe it had been a hallucination, too.

“I’m fine,” he said, and she took a step toward him, all too aware of how short her nightgown was. “I just . . . wanted to apologize for not checking in on you sooner.”

She stopped barely a foot away from him and cocked her head. He wasn’t wearing his sword. “I’m sure you’ve been busy,” she said.

He only stood there. She swallowed, and tucked a strand of her unbound hair behind an ear. She took another step closer to him, now having to tip her head back to look into his face. His eyes were so sorrowful. She bit her lip. “You—you saved my life, you know. Twice.”

Chaol’s brows narrowed slightly. “I did what I had to.”

“And that’s why I owe you my gratitude.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, his voice strained. And when his eyes flickered, her heart tightened.

She took his hand in hers, but he pulled it away. “I just wanted to see how you were. I have to go to a meeting,” he said, and she knew he was lying.

“Thank you for killing Cain.” He stiffened. “I—I still remember how it felt when I made my first kill. It wasn’t easy.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “That’s why I can’t stop thinking about it. Because it was easy. I just took my sword and killed him. I wanted to kill him.” He pinned her with his stare. “He knew about your parents. How?”

“I don’t know,” she lied. She knew very well. Cain’s access to the Otherworlds, to the In-Between, to whatever all that nonsense was, had given him the ability to see into her mind, her memories, her soul. Beyond, perhaps. A chill went through her.

Chaol’s face softened “I’m sorry they died like that.”

She shut down everything but her voice as she said, “It was very long ago. It had been raining, and I thought the dampness on their bed as I climbed in was from the open window. I awoke the next morning and realized it wasn’t rain.” She took a jagged breath, one that erased the feeling of their blood on her skin. “Arobynn Hamel found me soon after that.”

“I’m still sorry,” he said.

“It was very long ago,” she repeated. “I don’t even remember what they looked like.” That was another lie. She remembered every detail of her parents’ faces. “Sometimes, I forget that they ever existed.”

He nodded, more to confirm that he’d heard her than that he understood.

“What you did for me, Chaol,” she tried again. “Not even with Cain, but when you—”

“I have to go,” he interrupted, and half turned away.

“Chaol,” she said, grabbing his hand and whirling him to face her. She only saw the haunted gleam in his eyes before she threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He straightened, but she crushed her body into his, even though it still aggravated her wounds to do so. Then, after a moment, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close to him, so close that as she shut her eyes and breathed him in, she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his cheek against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly, and yet she felt utterly calm—as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them. She pictured his fingers, pushing against that line of chalk, reaching for her despite the barrier between them.

“Is everything all right?” Dorian’s voice sounded from the doorway.

Chaol pulled away from her so fast that she nearly stumbled back. “Everything’s fine,” he said, squaring his shoulders. The air had turned cold, and Celaena’s skin prickled as his warmth vacated her body. She had a hard time looking at Dorian as Chaol nodded to the prince and left her chambers.

Dorian faced her as Chaol left. But Celaena remained watching the door, even after Chaol had shut it behind him. “I don’t think he’s recovered well from killing Cain,” Dorian said.

“Obviously,” she snapped. Dorian raised his brows, and she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You two looked like you were in the middle of . . . something,” Dorian said cautiously.

“It’s nothing. I just felt bad for him, is all.”

“I wish he hadn’t run off that quickly. I have some good news.” Her stomach twisted. “My father stopped dragging his feet about drawing up your contract. You’re to sign it in his council chamber tomorrow.”

“You mean—you mean I’m officially the King’s Champion?”

“It turns out he doesn’t hate you as much as he let on. It’s a miracle he didn’t make you wait longer.” Dorian winked.

Four years. Four years of servitude, and then she’d be free. Why had Chaol left so soon? She looked to the door, wondering if she could catch him in the hall.

Dorian put his hands on her waist. “I suppose this means we’ll be stuck with each other for a while longer.” He lowered his face to hers.

He kissed her, but she stepped out of his arms. “I—Dorian, I’m the King’s Champion.” She choked on a laugh as she said it.

“Yes, you are,” Dorian replied, approaching her again. But she kept her distance as she looked out the window, to the dazzling day beyond. The world was wide open—and hers for the taking. She could step over that white line.

She shifted her gaze to him. “I can’t be with you if I’m the King’s Champion.”

“Of course you can. We’ll still have to keep it a secret, but—”

“I have enough secrets. I don’t need another one.”

“So I’ll find a way to tell my father. And mother.” He winced slightly.

“To what end? Dorian, I’m your father’s minion. You’re the Crown Prince.”

It was true—and if this relationship became something more, then it would only complicate matters when she eventually left the castle. Not to mention the complications of being with Dorian while she served as his father’s Champion. And whether he admitted it or not, Dorian had his own obligations to fulfill. Though she wanted him, though she cared for him, she knew a lasting relationship wouldn’t end well. Not when he was the heir to the throne.

His eyes darkened. “Are you saying that you don’t want to be with me?”

“I’m saying that . . . that I’m going to leave in four years, and I don’t know how this could possibly end well for either of us. I’m saying I don’t want to think about the options.” The sunlight warmed her skin, and the weight around her shoulders drifted away. “I’m saying that in four years, I’m going to be free, and I’ve never been free in my entire life.” Her smile grew. “And I want to know what that feels like.”

He opened his mouth, but stopped as he beheld her smile. Though she had no regrets about her choice, she felt something strangely like disappointment when he said, “As you wish.”

“But I’d like to remain your friend.”

He put his hands in his pockets. “Always.”

She thought about touching his arm, or about kissing his cheek, but “free” kept echoing through her again and again and again, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

He rolled his neck, and his smile was a bit strained. “I think Nehemia is on her way here to tell you about the contract. She’ll be mad at me for telling you first; apologize for me, will you?” He paused when he opened the door, his hand still upon the knob. “Congratulations, Celaena,” he said quietly. Before she could reply, he shut the door and left.

Alone, Celaena looked to the window and put a hand on her heart, whispering the word to herself again and again.

Free.