“Oh, well said, Your Highness!” He stared at her sullenly. “Come now. I didn’t wound you that severely.”
“You’ve attempted to ruin my dreams and ideals. I get enough from my mother as it is. You’re just being cruel.”
“I’m being practical. There’s a difference. And you’re the Crown Prince of Adarlan. You’re in a position where it’s possible for you to change Erilea for the better. You could help create a world where true love isn’t needed to secure a happy ending.”
“And what sort of world would I need to create for that to happen?”
“A world where men govern themselves.”
“You speak of anarchy and treason.”
“I do not speak of anarchy. Call me a traitor all you like—I’ve been convicted as an assassin already.”
He sidled closer to her, and his fingers brushed hers—calloused, warm, and hard. “You can’t resist the opportunity to respond to everything I say, can you?” She felt restless—but at the same time remarkably still. Something was brought to life and laid to sleep in his gaze. “Your eyes are very strange,” he said. “I’ve never seen any with such a bright ring of gold.”
“If you’re attempting to woo me with flattery, I’m afraid it won’t work.”
“I was merely observing; I have no agenda.” He looked at his hand, still touching hers. “Where did you get that ring?”
She contracted her hand into a fist as she pulled it away from him. The amethyst in her ring glowed in the firelight. “It was a gift.”
“From whom?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
He shrugged, though she knew better than to tell him who’d really given it to her—rather, she knew Chaol wouldn’t want Dorian to know. “I’d like to know who’s been giving rings to my Champion.”
The way the collar of his black jacket lay across his neck made her unable to sit still. She wanted to touch him, to trace the line between his tan skin and the golden lining of the fabric.
“Billiards?” she asked, rising to her feet. “I could use another lesson.” Celaena didn’t wait for his answer as she strode toward the gaming room. She very much wanted to stand close to him and have her skin warm under his breath. She liked that. Worse than that, she realized, she liked him.
Chaol watched Perrington at his table in the dining hall. When he had approached the duke about Verin’s death, he hadn’t seemed bothered. Chaol looked around the cavernous hall; in fact, most of the Champions’ sponsors went about as usual. Idiots. If Celaena was actually right about it, then whoever was responsible for killing the Champions could be among them. But which of the members of the king’s council would be so desperate to win that he’d do such a thing? Chaol stretched his legs beneath the table and shifted his attention back to Perrington.
He’d seen how the duke used his size and title to win allies on the king’s council and keep opponents from challenging him. But it wasn’t his maneuverings that had captured the interest of the Captain of the Guard tonight. Rather, it was the moments between the grins and laughter, when a shadow passed across the duke’s face. It wasn’t an expression of anger or of disgust, but a shade that clouded his eyes. It was so strange that when Chaol had first seen it, he’d extended his dinner just to see if it happened again.
A few moments later, it did. Perrington’s eyes became dark and his face cleared, as if he saw everything in the world for what it was and found no joy or amusement in it. Chaol leaned back in his chair, sipping his water.
He knew little of the duke, and had never entirely trusted him. Neither had Dorian, especially not after all his talk of using Nehemia as a hostage to get the Eyllwe rebels to cooperate. But the duke was the king’s most trusted advisor—and had offered no cause for mistrust other than a fierce belief in Adarlan’s right to conquest.
Kaltain Rompier sat a few chairs away. Chaol’s brows rose slightly. Her eyes were upon Perrington as well—filled not with the longing of a beloved, but with cold contemplation. Chaol stretched again, lifting his arms over his head. Where was Dorian? The prince hadn’t come to dinner, nor was he in the kennels with the bitch and her pups. His gaze returned to the duke. There it was—for a moment!
Perrington’s eyes fell upon the black ring on his left hand and darkened, as if his pupils had expanded to encompass all of each eye. Then it was gone—his eyes returned to normal. Chaol looked to Kaltain. Had she noticed the odd change?
No—her face remained the same. There was no bewilderment, no surprise. Her look became shallow, as if she were more interested in how his jacket might complement her dress. Chaol stretched and rose, finishing his apple as he strode from the dining hall. Strange as it was, he had enough to worry about. The duke was ambitious, but certainly not a threat to the castle or its inhabitants. But even as the Captain of the Guard walked to his rooms, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Duke Perrington had been watching him, too.
Chapter 31
Someone was standing at the foot of her bed.
Celaena knew this long before she opened her eyes, and she eased her hand beneath her pillow, pulling out the makeshift knife she’d crafted of pins, string, and soap.
“That’s unnecessary,” a woman said, and Celaena sat upright at the sound of Elena’s voice. “And would be wholly ineffective.”
Her blood went cold at the sight of the shimmering specter of the first Queen of Adarlan. Though Elena looked fully formed, the edges of her body gleamed as though made from starlight. Her long, silver hair flowed around her beautiful face, and she smiled as Celaena set down her miserably pathetic knife. “Hello, child,” the queen said.
“What do you want?” Celaena demanded, but kept her voice down. Was she dreaming, or could the guards hear her? She tensed, her legs preparing to leap from the bed—perhaps toward the balcony, since Elena stood between her and the door.
“Simply to remind you that you must win this competition.”
“I already plan to.” She’d been woken up for this? “And it’s not for you,” she added coldly. “I’m doing it for my freedom. Do you have anything useful to say, or are you just here to bother me? Or maybe you could just tell me more about this evil thing that’s hunting the Champions down one by one.”
Elena sighed, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. “I know as little as you.” When Celaena’s frown didn’t disappear, Elena said, “You don’t trust me yet. I understand. But you and I are on the same side, whether you allow yourself to believe it or not.” She lowered her gaze to the assassin, pinning her with the intensity of it. “I came here to warn you to keep an eye on your right.”
“Excuse me?” Celaena cocked her head. “What does that mean?”
“Look to your right. You’ll find the answers there.”
Celaena looked to her right, but all she saw was the tapestry that concealed the tomb. She opened her mouth to snap a response, but when she looked back at Elena, the queen was gone.
At her Test the next day, Celaena studied the small table before her and all the goblets it contained. It had been over two weeks since Samhuinn, and while she’d passed yet another Test—knife-throwing, to her relief—another Champion had been found dead just two days ago. To say she was getting little sleep these days was an understatement. When she wasn’t searching for an indication of what the Wyrdmarks around the corpses had meant, she spent most of the night wide awake, watching her windows and doors, listening for the scrape of claw on stone. The royal guards outside her rooms didn’t help; if this beast was capable of gouging marble, it could take down a few men.
Brullo stood at the front of the sparring hall, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the thirteen remaining competitors standing at thirteen individual tables. He glanced at the clock. Celaena looked at it, too. She had five minutes left—five minutes during which she not only had to identify the poisons in seven goblets, but arrange them in the order of the most benign to the deadliest.
The true test, however, would come at the end of the five minutes, when they were to drink from the goblet they deemed the most harmless. If they got the answer wrong . . . Even with antidotes on hand, it would be unpleasant. Celaena rolled her neck and lifted one of the goblets to her nose, sniffing. Sweet—too sweet. She swirled the dessert wine they’d used to conceal the sweetness, but in the bronze goblet, it was difficult to see the color. She dipped her finger into the cup, studying the purple liquid as it dripped off her nail. Definitely belladonna.
She looked at the other goblets she’d identified. Hemlock. Bloodroot. Monkshood. Oleander. She shifted the goblets into order, squeezing in belladonna just before the goblet containing a lethal dose of oleander. Three minutes left.
Celaena picked up the penultimate goblet and sniffed. And sniffed again. It didn’t smell like anything.
She shifted her face away from the table and sniffed the air, hoping to clear her nostrils. When trying perfumes, people sometimes lose their sense of smell after sniffing too many. Which was why perfumers usually kept something on site to help clear the scent from the nose. She sniffed the goblet again, and dunked her finger. It smelled like water, looked like water . . .
Perhaps it was just water. She set down the glass and picked up the final goblet. But when she sniffed it, the wine inside didn’t have any unusual smell. It seemed fine. She bit her lip and glanced at the clock. Two minutes left.
Some of the other Champions were cursing under their breath. Whoever got the order most wrong went home.
Celaena sniffed the water goblet again, racing through a list of odorless poisons. None of them could be combined with water, not without coloring it. She picked up the wine goblet, swirling the liquid. Wine could conceal any number of advanced poisons—but which one was it?
At the table to the left of her, Nox ran his hands through his dark hair. He had three goblets in front of him, the other four in line behind them. Ninety seconds left.
Poisons, poisons, poisons. Her mouth went dry. If she lost, would Elena haunt her from spite?
Celaena glanced to the right to find Pelor, the gangly young assassin, watching her. He was down to the same two goblets that she struggled with, and she watched as he put the water glass at the very end of the spectrum—the most poisonous—and the wine glass at the other.
His eyes flicked to hers, and his chin drooped in a barely detectible nod. He put his hands in his pockets. He was done. Celaena turned to her own goblets before Brullo could catch her.
Poisons. That’s what Pelor had said during their first Test. He was trained in poisons.
She glanced at him sidelong. He stood to her right.
Look to your right. You’ll find the answers there.
A chill went down her spine. Elena had been telling the truth.
Pelor stared at the clock, watching it count down the seconds until the Test was over. But why help her?
She moved the water glass to the end of the line, and put the wine glass first.