It was packed to capacity. A three-man ensemble made up of an accordion, a fiddle, and a tambourine played raucously in the corner by the hearth. Pirates swapped stories and called for their favorite songs. Peasants and lowlifes drank themselves into oblivion and gambled on rigged games of chance. Harlots patrolled the room, milling around tables and sitting on laps.
Across from her, Rolfe grinned, and Sam drained the last from his mug. Or so Rolfe thought. Given how often drinks were spilled and splashed, no one really noticed the constant puddle around Sam’s mug, and the hole he’d drilled into the bottom of it was too small to detect.
The crowd dispersed, and Celaena laughed as she raised her hand. “Another round, gentlemen?” she cried, signaling for the barmaid.
“Well,” Rolfe said, “I think it’s safe to say that I like you much better like this than when we’re discussing business.”
Sam leaned in, a conspirator’s grin on his face. “Oh, I do, too. She’s horrible most of the time.”
Celaena kicked him—hard enough, because she knew it wasn’t entirely a lie—and Sam yelped. Rolfe chuckled.
She flipped the barmaid a copper as the woman refilled Rolfe’s and Sam’s mugs.
“So, will I ever get to see the face behind the legendary Celaena Sardothien?” Rolfe leaned forward to rest his arms on the sodden table. The clock behind the bar read three thirty in the morning. They had to act soon. Given how crowded the tavern was, and how many of the pirates were already halfway unconscious, it was a miracle there was any ale left in Skull’s Bay. If Arobynn and Rolfe didn’t kill her for freeing the slaves, then Rolfe might very well murder her for starting a tab with not nearly enough money to pay for it all.
She leaned closer to Rolfe. “If you make my master and me as much money as you claim, I’ll show you my face.”
Rolfe glanced at the tattooed map on his hands.
“Did you really sell your soul for that?” she asked.
“When you show me your face, I’ll tell you the truth.”
She extended her hand. “Deal.” He shook it. Sam raised his mug—already drained half an inch from the small hole in the bottom—and saluted their promise before both men drank. She fished out a pack of cards from a cloak pocket. “Care for a game of kings?”
“If you aren’t broke by the time this night is over,” Rolfe said, “then playing against me will guarantee it.”
She clicked her tongue. “Oh, I highly doubt that.” She broke and shuffled the deck three times, and dealt the cards.
The hours passed by in a series of clanking glasses and perfect card suites, group singing sessions and tales of lands far and near, and as the clock was silenced by the never-ending music, Celaena found herself leaning into Sam’s shoulder, laughing as Rolfe finished his crude and absurd story of the farmer’s wife and her stallions.
She banged her fist on the table, howling—and that wasn’t entirely an act, either. As Sam slipped a hand around her waist, his touch somehow sending a bright-hot flame through her, she had to wonder if he was still pretending, too.
In terms of cards, it turned out to be Sam who took them for everything they were worth, and by the time the clock hands pointed to five, Rolfe had shifted into a foul mood.
Unfortunately for him, that mood wasn’t about to improve. Sam gave Celaena a nod, and she tripped a passing pirate, who spilled his drink on an already belligerent man, who in turn tried to punch him in the face but hit the man next to him instead. By luck, at that moment, a trick card fell out of a man’s sleeve, a prostitute slapped a pirate wench, and the tavern exploded into a brawl.
People wrestled each other to the ground, some pirates drawing swords and daggers to try to duel their way across the floor. Others jumped from the mezzanine to join the fight, swinging themselves across the railing, either attempting to land on tables or aiming for the iron chandelier and missing badly.
The music still played, and the musicians rose and backed farther into the corner. Rolfe, half-standing, put a hand on his hilt. Celaena gave him a nod before drawing her sword and charging into the brawling crowd.
With deft flicks of her wrist, she cut someone’s arm and ripped another’s leg open, but didn’t actually kill anyone. She just needed to keep the fight going—and escalate it enough—to keep all eyes on the town.
As she made to slip toward the exit, someone grabbed her around the waist and threw her into a wooden pillar so hard she knew she’d have a bruise. She squirmed in the red-faced pirate’s grasp, nearly gagging as his sour breath seeped through her mask. She got her arm free enough to thrust the pommel of her sword between his legs. He dropped to the ground like a stone.
Celaena barely got a step away before a hairy fist slammed into her jaw. Pain blinded her like lightning, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She quickly felt her mask to ensure it wasn’t cracked or about to fall off.
Dodging the next blow, she swept her foot behind the man’s knee and sent him careening into a yowling cluster of harlots. She didn’t know where Sam had gone, but if he was sticking to the plan, then she didn’t need to worry about him. Weaving through the snarls of fighting pirates, Celaena headed toward the exit, clashing her blade against several unskilled swords.
A pirate with a frayed eye patch raised a clumsy hand to strike her, but Celaena caught it and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into another man. They both hit a table, flipped over it, and began fighting between themselves. Animals. Celaena stalked through the crowd and out the front door of the tavern.
To her delight, the streets weren’t much better. The fight had spread with astonishing speed. Up and down the avenue, pouring out of the other taverns, pirates wrestled and dueled and rolled on the ground. Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one eager for a fight.
Reveling in the mayhem, she was halfway down the street, headed toward the meet-up point with Sam, when Rolfe’s voice boomed out from behind her.
“ENOUGH!”
Everyone lifted whatever they had in their hands—a mug, a sword, a clump of hair—and saluted.
And then promptly resumed fighting. What did Rolfe expect?
Laughing to herself, Celaena hurried down an alley. Sam was already there, blood seeping from his nose, but his eyes were bright.
“I’d say that went pretty well,” he said.
Celaena returned the look. “I never knew you were such an expert card player.” She looked him up and down. His stance was steady. “Or an expert drunkard.”
He grinned. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Celaena Sardothien.” He grabbed her shoulder, suddenly closer than she’d like. “Ready?” he asked, and she nodded, her heart pounding as she looked to the lightening sky.
“Let’s go.” She pulled out of his grasp and yanked off her gloves, stuffing them in her pocket. “The watch at the tower must have changed by now. We’ve got until dawn to disable that chain and the catapults.” They’d debated for a while about whether it would be more useful to just destroy the chain from its unguarded opposite side. But even if they did, they’d still have the catapults to contend with. It was better to risk the guards and take out both the chain and the catapults at once.
Sam stared at her for a moment longer. “If we live through this, Celaena,” he said, heading toward the side street that led to the docks, “remind me to teach you how to play cards properly.”
She cursed colorfully enough to make him laugh, and launched into a run.
They turned onto a quiet street just as someone stepped out of the shadows.
“Going somewhere?”
It was Rolfe.
Chapter Nine
Down the slope of the street, Celaena could perfectly see the two slave ships sitting—still unmoving—in the bay. And the mast-snapping chain not too far from them. Unfortunately, from his angle, so could Rolfe.
The sky had turned light gray. Dawn.
Celaena bowed her head to the Pirate Lord. “I’d rather not get my hands dirty in that mess.”
Rolfe’s lips formed a thin line. “Funny, given that you tripped the man who started the brawl.”
Sam glared at her. She’d been subtle, damn it!
Rolfe drew his sword, the dragon’s eyes gleaming in the growing light. “And also funny, since you’ve been spoiling for a fight for days, that you suddenly decided to vanish when everyone’s attention is elsewhere.”
Sam raised his hands. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Rolfe chuckled, a harsh, humorless sound. “Maybe you don’t, Sam Cortland, but she does.” Rolfe stepped toward her, his sword dangling at his side. “She’s wanted trouble since the moment she got here. What was your plan? Steal treasure? Information?”
From the corner of her eye, something shifted in the ships. Like a bird flexing its wings, a row of oars shot out from their sides. They were ready. And the chain was still up.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look …
But Rolfe looked, and Celaena’s breathing turned shallow as he scanned the ships.
Sam tensed beside her, his knees bending slightly.
“I am going to kill you, Celaena Sardothien,” Rolfe breathed. And he meant it.
Celaena’s fingers tightened around her sword, and Rolfe opened his mouth, lungs filling with air as he prepared to shout a warning.
Quick as a whip, she did the only thing she could think of to distract him.
Her mask clattered to the ground, and she shook off her hood. Her golden hair gleamed in the growing light.
Rolfe froze. “You … You’re … What sort of trickery is this?”
Beyond them, the oars began moving, churning the water as the boats turned toward the chain—and the freedom beyond it. “Go,” she murmured to Sam. “Now.”
Sam only nodded before he sprinted down the street.
Alone with Rolfe, Celaena raised her sword. “Celaena Sardothien, at your service.”
The pirate was still staring at her, his face pale with rage. “How dare you deceive me?”
She sketched a bow. “I did nothing of the sort. I told you I was beautiful.”
Before she could stop him, Rolfe shouted, “Thieves! They’re trying to steal our ships! To your boats! To the watchtower!”
A roar erupted around them, and Celaena prayed that Sam could reach the watchtower before the pirates reached him.
Celaena began circling the Pirate Lord. He circled her, too. He wasn’t drunk in the least.
“How old are you?” Each of his steps was carefully placed, but she noticed that he kept shifting to expose his left side.
“Sixteen.” She didn’t bother to keep her voice low and gravelly.
Rolfe swore. “Arobynn sent a sixteen-year-old to deal with me?”
“He sent the best of the best. Consider that an honor.”
With a growl, the Pirate Lord lunged.
She danced back, swinging up her sword to block the blow he aimed for her throat. She didn’t need to kill him right away—just to distract him long enough to prevent him from further organizing his men. And keep him away from the ships. She had to buy Sam enough time to disable the chain and the catapults. The ships were already turning toward the mouth of the bay.