Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mala the Lightbringer sighed in resignation as she stared at the pile of books in front of her.

“I suppose there is no other choice.” she mused sadly.

But Mala was never one to dwell on things too long. And so she clapped her hands and said, “Alright then, let’s begin.”

And as she did, bright light - so bright that she had to look away - filled the room she was in.

As the light dimmed, several things happened at once and the room was thrown into chaos. Humans, fae, demi-fae and witches suddenly found themselves in an unfamiliar place, and none of them liked it at all. Some started to shout and rage, and others simply observed the room and the situation.

“ENOUGH!” bellowed an unfamiliar and otherworldly voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Several of them, especially those who had enhanced hearing, winced at the painfully loud voice.

“WHO ARE YOU AND WITH WHAT REASON DID YOU BRING US HERE?” shouted King Glaston in fury.

“You should know to guard your tongue when you are speaking with a goddess,” replied a now distinguishably female tone.

“Goddess?” he yelped and looked around, searching for the owner of the voice with wide eyes.

“Yes, goddess. I am Mala, the Light-bringer.” said the voice, sounding displeased at his antics. “I will explain everything in a moment... but first, Celaena Sardothien, move forward to the center of the room, please.” Mala’s voice was warmer as she spoke.

Murmurs started to rise in the crowd. You had to be living under a rock in the middle of nowhere not to know that name. Adarlan’s best assassin was famous even in other continents. Every normal person with a sane mind would shiver even at the mention of her name; it was a well-known fact that if you became her target you didn’t stand a chance against her.

When they heard that she had been caught and sentenced to be a slave in Endovier, nobody shed a tear for her save her closest allies. So when her name was called, everyone started to look around in curiosity to have a glance at the famous assassin. Nobody expected her to be in top shape, but the sight of her starved and filthy form made more than a few people blanch and cringe. The woman was fair-haired, probably blond, but you couldn’t really tell because of the grime that clung onto her hair and skin. Her most noteworthy feature was her eyes, which were turquoise ringed with gold.

“What in the world could a goddess want with me?” she inquired, the picture of calmness.

“I transported all of you here to read about your life, Celaena. I want everyone to know the truth. To prevent a war and the death of many good people.” Mala said softly.

“What?” Celaena demanded in a tone of increasing anger. “My life? What does my life have to do with this? What war and whose death?”

“Everything will be revealed if you read these books. They’re contain the past, the present and the future of everyone in this room. While you are here you won’t need to sleep or eat at all; the time in all of Erilea has been frozen and will remain like that till you have read all of the books.”

“And, before I forget-”

Bright light covered Celaena for a second, and as soon as it disappeared, she looked exactly how she used to before her imprisonment.

She looked around, hesitating for a moment, before she put her masterfully crafted mask back in place.

“So… I guess we’re stuck here for a while, huh?” she said in her usual sarcastic voice.

“It seems so.” replied King Glaston in a curt tone, as if he couldn’t be bothered to talk with the notorious assassin.

“How about we introduce ourselves?” suggested Prince Galan, ever the mediator, in a calmer tone. “I’ll go first. I’m Prince Galan Ashryver and this is my father King Glaston Ashryver.” He indicated the grumpy-looking king to his right, who only nodded.

“Celaena Sardothien,” Celaena said softly.

“Prince Dorian Havilliard,” introduced the handsome blue-eyed prince with a smile.

“Chaol Westfall,” said the serious-looking man at his side.

“Lady Kaltain Rompier.” said the beautiful, dark-haired woman in the red dress.

“Sorscha,” murmured the slender healer who was clearly from Fenharrow.

“Nox Owen,” introduced the lithe thief.

“Nesryn Faliq.” said the female guard shortly.

“Lysandra,” announced the beautiful woman with the scarred child at her side.

“Evangeline,” said the child softly.

“Princess Nehemia Ytger,” regally said the well-dressed woman from Eyllwe.

“Elide Lochan,” said the slip of a dark-haired girl timidly.

The other introductions went by quite quickly.

“Ren Allsbrook,”

“Murtaugh Allsbrook.”

“Lord Wayland Darrow.”

“Aedion Ashryver.”

“Mute Master.”

“Ilias.”

“Ansel Briarcliff.”

“Captain Rolfe.”

“Yrene Towers.”

“Falkan Ennar.”

“Luca.”

“Malakai.”

“Emrys.”

“Prince Endymion Whitethorn.”

“Princess Sellene Whitethorn.”

“Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Lorcan Salvaterre.”

“Gavriel.”

“Fenrys,”

“Connall,”

“Vaughan,”

“Khagan Urus.”

“Prince Arghun,”

“Prince Sartaq,”

“Princess Hasar.”

“Prince Kashin.”

“Princess Duva.”

“Reina,”

“Hafiza,”

“Borte,”

“Yeran.”

“Manon Blackbeak.”

“Asterin Blackbeak.”

“Sorrel Blackbeak.”

“Vesta Blackbeak.”

“Linnea Blackbeak.”

“Ghislaine Blackbeak.”

“Fallon Blackbeak.”

“Faline Blackbeak.”

“Imogen Blackbeak.”

“Thea Blackbeak.”

“Kaya Blackbeak.”

“Edda Blackbeak.”

“Briar Blackbeak.”

“Petrah Blueblood.”

“Now then, shall we read?” Galan questioned the crowd.

“Do we have a choice?” asked Manon sarcastically as she sat ot one of the couches, the Thirteen following her as she did so.

“No, not really.” he lamented, eyeing the books curiously.

Chapter Text

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

Aedion couldn’t believe his eyes. He had seen Aelin last when she was eight, but he would recognize those eyes and hair anywhere. She was here and she was alive .

He had no idea how she survived, but given that she was now Adarlan’s best assassin, he had a few ideas. Everyone knew about Arobynn Hamel, the King of the Assassins, and his protégé Celaena Sardothien.

Should he confront her about it? No - he shook his head - he couldn't. They were surrounded by enemies right now, who would gain a lot if any of them learned that she was alive. He was going to have to keep his mouth shut, no matter his personal feelings. And maybe, just maybe he would learn exactly what happened back then, almost a decade ago.

"Who wants to read first?” asked Galan with the book in his hands. 

"I would like to.” volunteered Dorian, putting one of his hands in the air. Galan handed him the book, and as he opened it to the first page he lifted one of his eyebrows. He glanced at Celaena and thought, It’s certainly going to be interesting. 

"The first one is called The Assassin and the Pirate Lord.”

As soon as these words left Dorian’s mouth, a sudden groan came from Captain Rolfe and a wicked laugh from Celaena. 

"I take it this is going to be about you two?” said Dorian dryly. 

"Unfortunately,” muttered Rolfe angrily while glancing at the cackling assassin. 

"Alright, chapter one." Dorian sighed softly and began to read. 

Seated in the council room of the Assassins’ Keep, Celaena Sardothien leaned back in her chair. “It’s past four in the morning,” she said, adjusting the folds of her crimson silk dressing gown and crossing her bare legs beneath the wooden table. “This had better be important.”

"Yes, because gods help those whose dare wake this beast." snarled Rolfe. 

"I need my beauty sleep.” she responded flippantly. "Which clearly you don’t get enough of. Maybe that’s why you always so grumpy.” she said slyly. He snarled back at her just like a beast, as he'd called her not seconds ago.  

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been reading all night, you wouldn’t be so exhausted,” snapped the young man seated across from her. She ignored him and studied the four other people assembled in the underground chamber.”

Dorian suddenly stopped reading, and his head snapped to her. 

"You like to read? What kind of books? Which one of you favorite book and author?" He fired his questions at Celaena without stopping to breathe.

Chaol groaned from the prince's side, and nearly slapped himself. Or maybe he could just slap his friend, he thought. Maybe he would manage to slap some sense into him, because Dorian obviously had no restraint when it came to books. It didn't matter that the assassin could kill him in dozens of ways, oh no; he just had to talk to her and capture her attention.

Celaena fixed her gaze on the prince, with a thoughtful look on her face. 

"Hmm, write me a list of your favorite ones, and I'll write one too. We will give it to each other when we’re done reading these stupid books. It's this proposal acceptable, Captain Chaol?" she asked in a mocking tone.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of k nowing that she successfully riled him up.

"Sure, it will give me enough time to write a proper list.” answered Dorian with a blissful look on his face. 

"Well this is all nice and dandy, but hurry up and read that gods-damned book!" growled Manon with her iron teeth fullu on display. Ansel, lying on one of the couches, paled slightly at the sight those teeth. 

"Alright, alright.” conceded the prince. "Don’t get your panties in a twist, witchling.” Manon glared at Dorian, thinking about a million ways to kill him. Seeing that look in her eyes, he quickly continued to read. 

All male, all far older than she, and all refusing to meet her stare. A chill that didn’t have to do with the drafty room ran down her spine. 

Picking at her manicured nails, Celaena schooled her features into neutrality. The five assassins gathered at the long table—including herself—were five of Arobynn Hamel’s seven most trusted companions.

This meeting was undeniably important. She’d known that from the moment the serving girl pounded on her door, insisting Celaena come downstairs and not even bother to get dressed. When Arobynn summoned you, you didn’t keep him waiting. Thankfully, her sleepwear was as exquisite as her daytime wardrobe—and cost nearly as much. Still, being sixteen in a room with men made her keep an eye on the neckline of her robe. Her beauty was a weapon—one she kept honed—but it could also be a vulnerability.

Aedion squeezed the arm of the sofa he was sitting on. “Did anyone ever tried to touch you inappropriately?” he asked Celaena with tension in his voice. 

“Only once.” she told him with unusual seriousness on her face. 

Aedion could easily guess what happened with the man, but didn’t feel any remorse for him. He had dared to touch his cousin, his best friend, his queen. “It didn’t end well for him, did it?”

Celaena was about to answer when Lysandra, who had been strangely quiet the whole time, answered instead of her. “Let's just say that Arobynn doesn’t take it kindly when someone other than him dares to touch his property. Just take what happened to Sam as an example.”

Aedion was confused. “Who’s Sam? And what does it have to do with him?”

Rolfe throw back his head and let out a deep, barklike laugh. “That’s it? That’s the reason you were in Endovier? Because your master didn’t like it, that…” he was abruptly cut off when Celaena lunged at him and punched him.

“Don’t you dare say his name. You’re not even worthy enough to breathe the same air as him!” she screamed at Rolfe with pain in her voice and eyes. Her shout rang with so much hurt that even Rowan, with his dead and ice cold heart could feel her pain, but didn’t dare to show it on his face. 

The pirate let out a cruel laugh. “Oh, really? Because the last time I saw him you treated him as if he was something unpleasant that got stuck on your shoes. So what changed?”

“Everything!” she shrieked. “Everything changed because I fell in love with him.” she finished with a broken tone. Her face changed from angry to inpenetrable mask. “And as the whore said, Arobynn doesn’t like when someone other than him owns me.”

Celaena’s last words left a chill in the air.

Dorian awkwardly shifted in his seat, cleared his throat and continued to read, trying to ignore the sudden pity he felt for the assassin.

Arobynn Hamel, King of the Assassins, lounged at the head of the table, his auburn hair shining in the light from the glass chandelier. His gray eyes met hers, and he frowned. It might have just been the late hour, but Celaena could have sworn that her mentor was paler than usual. Her stomach twisted.

“Gregori’s been caught,” Arobynn finally said. Well, that would explain one person missing from this meeting. “His mission was a trap. He’s now being held in the royal dungeons.”

Celaena sighed through her nose. This was why she’d been awakened? She tapped a slippered foot on the marble floor. “Then kill him,” she said.

“Hmm, not one of your favourites?” inquired Asterin from besides her Wing Leader as she saw Celaena frown at the mention of his name.

She didn’t get an opportunity to answer as Dorian held up one of his fingers while his eyes scanned the rest of the page. He mumbled with an amused look on his face, “Actually, if you would wait a second I'd read that part too.”

Asterin considered it for a moment, and nodded.

She’d never liked Gregori, anyway. When she was ten, she’d fed his horse a bag of candy and he’d thrown a dagger at her head for it. She’d caught the dagger, of course, and ever since, Gregori had borne the scar on his cheek from her return throw.

The witch couldn’t help herself and brust out laughing so hard that she fell out of her seat. When she calmed down enough to say anything, the first thing that came out of her mouth was, “You're badass, I like you. Two questions... was it a big, ugly scar? Did the others ever found out the story behind it?

“Yes, it was big, and yes, they found out but no thanks to him. One of the other assassin saw the whole thing and decided to tell everyone in manor. He was a laughingstock for weeks."

“Kill Gregori?” demanded Sam, the young man seated at Arobynn’s left—a place that usually went to Ben, Arobynn’s second-in-command. Celaena knew very well what Sam Cortland thought of her. She’d known since they were children, when Arobynn took her in and declared her—not Sam—to be his protégée and heir. That hadn’t stopped Sam from trying to undermine her at every turn. And now, at seventeen, Sam was still a year older than she, and he still hadn’t forgotten that he would always be second best.

She bristled at the sight of Sam in Ben’s seat. Ben would probably throttle Sam for it when he arrived. Or she could just save Ben the effort and do it herself.

“Those two remind me of the two of you, my dear sister.” Kashin whispered slyly to Borte, while his gaze rested on Yeran. She didn’t respond, just simply slapped him on his head.

Celaena looked to Arobynn; why hadn’t he reprimanded Sam for sitting in Ben’s place? Arobynn’s face, still handsome despite the silver starting to show in his hair, remained impassive. She hated that unreadable mask, especially when controlling her own expressions—and temper—remained a tad difficult.

“If Gregori’s been caught,” Celaena drawled, brushing back a strand of her long, golden hair, “then the protocol’s simple: send an apprentice to slip something into his food. Nothing painful,” she added as the men around her tensed. “Just enough to silence him before he talks.”

Which Gregori might very well do, if he was in the royal dungeons. Most criminals who went in there never came out again. Not alive. And not in any recognizable shape.

Aedion couldn’t help but cringe at that. He knew full well how many of those peoples in those dungeons were not criminals, just simple people from Terrasen and other conquered nations.

The location of the Assassin’s Keep was a well-guarded secret, one she’d been trained to keep until her last breath. But even if she told anyone, they were unlikely to believe that an elegant manor house on a very respectable street in Rifthold was home to some of the greatest assassins in the world. What better place to hide than in the middle of the capital city?

“Amen to that.” murmured the golden-haired fae warrior to himself.

“And if he’s already talked?” challenged Sam.

“And if Gregori’s already talked,” she said, “then kill everyone who heard.” Sam’s brown eyes flashed as she gave him a little smile that she knew made him irate. Celaena turned to Arobynn. “But you didn’t need to drag us here to decide this. You already gave the order, didn’t you?”

Arobynn nodded, his mouth a thin line. Sam choked back his objection and looked toward the crackling hearth beside the table. The firelight cast the smooth, elegant panes of Sam’s face into light and shadow—a face, she’d been told, that could have earned him a fortune if he’d followed in his mother’s footsteps. But Sam’s mother had opted instead to leave him with assassins, not courtesans, before she died.

Silence fell, and a roaring noise filled her ears as Arobynn took a breath. Something was wrong.

Everyone in the room leaned forward in their seats in anticipation, completely immersed in the story.

“What else?” she asked, leaning forward. The other assassins focused on the table. Whatever had happened, they knew. Why hadn’t Arobynn told her first?

Arobynn’s silver eyes became steel. “Ben was killed.”

Celaena gripped the arms of her chair. “What?” she demanded. Ben—Ben, the ever-smiling assassin who had trained her as often as Arobynn. Ben, who had once mended her shattered right hand. Ben, the seventh and final member of Arobynn’s inner circle. He was barely thirty years old. Celaena’s lips pulled back from her teeth. “What do you mean, ‘killed’?”

Arobynn eyed her, and a glimmer of grief flashed across his face. Five years Ben’s senior, Arobynn had grown up with Ben. They’d been trained together; Ben had seen to it that his friend became the unrivaled King of the Assassins, and never questioned his place as Arobynn’s Second. Her throat closed up.

Dorian glanced up from the book, his eyes on Celaena, whose eyes now held a somber look.

“It was supposed to be Gregori’s mission,” Arobynn said quietly. “I don’t know why Ben was involved. Or who betrayed them. They found his body near the castle gates.”

“Do you have his body?” she demanded. She had to see it—had to see him one last time, see how he’d died, how many wounds it had taken to kill him.

“No,” Arobynn said.

“Why the hell not?” Her fists clenched and unclenched.

“Because the place was swarming with guards and soldiers!” Sam burst out, and she whipped her head to him. “How do you think we learned about this in the first place?”

Arobynn had sent Sam to see why Ben and Gregori were missing?

“If we’d grabbed his body,” Sam said, refusing to back down from her glare, “it would have led them right to the Keep.”

“You’re assassins,” she growled at him. “You’re supposed to be able to retrieve a body without being seen.”

“If you’d been there, you would have done the same.”

Celaena pushed her chair back so hard it flipped over. “If I’d been there, I would have killed all of them to get Ben’s body back!” She slammed her hands on the table, rattling the glasses.

Sam shot to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Oh, listen to you. Ordering us about like you run the Guild. But not yet, Celaena.” He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Enough,” Arobynn snapped, rising from his chair.

Celaena and Sam didn’t move. None of the other assassins spoke, though they gripped their various weapons. She’d seen firsthand what fights at the Keep were like; the weapons were as much for the bearers’ own safety as they were to keep her and Sam from doing serious damage to each other.

“I said enough.”

If Sam took one step toward her, raised his sword a fraction of an inch, that concealed dagger in her robe would find itself a new home in his neck.

Chaol nearly choked on his breath. How the hell did she manage to find a place for that dagger in a simple dressing gown? he thought in bewilderment.

Arobynn moved first, grabbing Sam’s chin in one hand, forcing the young man to look at him. “Check yourself, or I’ll do it for you, boy,” he murmured. “You’re a fool for picking a fight with her tonight.”

Lysandra, the Mute Master, Illias, Ansel, Rolfe and Yrene all winced. Every one of them had firsthand experience with Celaena and her fighting style.

Celaena bit down on her reply. She could handle Sam tonight—or any other night, for that matter. If it came down to a fight, she’d win—she always beat Sam.

But Sam released the hilt of his sword. After a moment, Arobynn removed his grip on Sam’s face, but didn’t step away. Sam kept his gaze on the floor as he strode to the far side of the council room. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the stone wall. She could still reach him—one flick of her wrist, and his throat would spout blood.

“I smell sexual tension.” mumbled Manon in such a low voice that only her Thirteen could hear her. They held back  chuckles.

“Celaena,” Arobynn said, his voice echoing in the silent room.

Enough blood had been spilled tonight; they didn’t need another dead assassin.

Ben. Ben was dead and gone, and she’d never again run into him in the halls of the Keep. He’d never set her injuries with his cool, deft hands, never coax a laugh from her with a joke or a lewd anecdote.

“Celaena,” Arobynn warned again.

“I’m done,” Celaena snapped. She rolled her neck, running a hand through her golden hair. She stalked to the door, but paused on the threshold.

“Just so you know,” she said, speaking to all of them but still watching Sam, “I’m going to retrieve Ben’s body.” A muscle feathered in Sam’s jaw, though he wisely kept his eyes averted. “But don’t expect me to extend the same courtesy to the rest of you when your time comes.”

With that, she turned on her heel and ascended the spiral staircase to the manor above. Fifteen minutes later, no one stopped her when she slipped out the front gate and into the silent city streets.

“That’s the end of the first chapter.” said Dorian softly. “Who wants to read the next one?”

Chapter Text

There was silence in the room. No one volunteered; the prince sighed as he looked around the room.  

Seriously? he thought. 

“ Fine.” he groaned when there was still no response, and flipped the page to the next chapter.

Two months, three days, and about eight hours later, the clock on the mantel chimed noon. Captain Rolfe, Lord of the Pirates, was late. Then again, so were Celaena and Sam, but Rolfe had no excuse, not when they were already two hours behind schedule. Not when they were meeting in his office.

Celaena smirked while Rolfe cursed. They both knew what was going to happen next and what would be the result.

And it wasn’t her fault for being tardy. She couldn’t control the winds, and those skittish sailors had certainly taken their time sailing into the archipelago of the Dead Islands. She didn’t want to think about how much gold Arobynn had spent bribing a crew to sail into the heart of pirate territory. But Skull’s Bay was on an island, so they hadn’t really had a choice about their mode of transportation.

Celaena, concealed behind a far too stuffy black cloak, tunic, and ebony mask, rose from her seat before the Pirate Lord’s desk. How dare he make her wait! He knew precisely why they were here, after all.

This time it was the pirate’s turn to smirk at her. Celaena silently fumed.

Three assassins had been found murdered by pirate hands, and Arobynn had sent her to be his personal dagger—to extract retribution, preferably the gold kind, for what their deaths would cost the Assassins’ Guild.

“With every minute he makes us wait,” Celaena said to Sam, the mask making her words low and soft, “I’m adding an extra ten gold pieces to his debt.”

Sam, who didn’t wear a mask over his handsome features, crossed his arms and scowled. “You’ll do no such thing. Arobynn’s letter is sealed, and it’s going to remain that way.” His brown eyes narrowed at her.

I stand my word . thought the white haired witch in amusement. The sexual tension between them is so high that I could cut it with Wind-Cleaver.

Neither of them had been particularly happy when Arobynn announced that Sam would be sent to the Dead Islands with Celaena. Especially when Ben’s body—which Celaena had retrieved—had barely been in the ground for two months. The sting of losing him hadn’t exactly worn off.

Aedion looked sadly at his queen. He knew too well how painful it was to lose a friend. While Aelin might deny it, this Ben had certainly been important to her.

Her mentor had called Sam an escort, but Celaena knew what his presence meant: a watchdog. Not that she’d do anything bad when she was about to meet the Pirate Lord of Erilea. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Even though the tiny, mountainous island and ramshackle port city hadn’t really made much of an impression so far.

She’d been expecting a manor house like the Assassin’s Keep, or at least a fortified, aging castle, but the Pirate Lord occupied the entire top floor of a rather suspect tavern. The ceilings were low, the wooden floors creaked, and the close room combined with the already sizzling temperature of the southern islands meant Celaena was sweating buckets beneath her clothing. But her discomfort was worth it: as they’d strode through Skull’s Bay, heads had turned at the sight of her—the billowing black cape, the exquisite dark clothing, and the mask transformed her into a whisper of darkness. A little intimidation never did any harm.

Rolfe snorted, unamused. “A little intimidation? My people thought that death had finally come to claim their souls when they saw you.”

Ansel let out what might have been a cross between a cough and a laugh and glanced at the blonde-haired woman with mirth in her eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, I just... you always had a flair for dramatics, but this is just too good.” She grinned at Celaena, who looked at her with a mixture of a glare and a pleased expression. Dorian stifled a cough at their antics and continued to read.

Celaena walked to the wooden desk and picked up a piece of paper, her black-gloved hands turning it over to read the contents. A weather log. How dull.

“What are you doing?”

Celaena lifted another piece of paper. “If His Pirateness can’t be bothered to clean for us, then I don’t see why I can’t have a look.”

The pirate captain glared venomously at Celaena.” Keep your sticky hands to yourself, bitch.”he snarled.

She smiled at him, sickly-sweet. ”Rolfe dear, I think all that salty air you breathe in daily might have you a little confused. Please don’t mix me up with Lysandra.” She darted her eyes at the said courtesan, who glared at her but kept her mouth shut.

If only looks could kill … thought the pirate.

“ He’ll be here any second,” Sam hissed. She picked up a flattened map, examining the dots and markings along the coastline of their continent. Something small and round gleamed beneath the map, and she slipped it into her pocket before Sam could notice.

Rolfe facepalmed. “Is that where it was all along?” he sighed. Celaena had a hard time keeping a straight face at that.

“ Oh, hush,” she said, opening the hutch on the wall adjacent to the desk. “With these creaky floors, we’ll hear him a mile off.” The hutch was crammed with rolled scrolls, quills, the odd coin, and some very old, very expensive-looking brandy. She pulled out a bottle, swirling the amber liquid in the sunlight streaming through the tiny porthole window. “Care for a drink?”

“No,” Sam snapped, half twisting in his seat to watch the door. “Put it back. Now.”

She cocked her head, twirling the brandy once more in its crystal bottle, and set it down. Sam sighed. Beneath her mask, Celaena grinned.

Everyone in the Cadre shuddered and looked at Fenrys, who was oblivious to their stares. They glanced at each other and silently came to an agreement. These two can never be allowed to speak with each other. 

“ He can’t be a very good lord,” she said, “if this is his personal office.” Sam gave a stifled cry of dismay as Celaena plopped into the giant armchair behind the desk and set about opening the pirate’s ledgers and turning over his papers. His handwriting was cramped and near-illegible, his signature nothing more than a few loops and jagged peaks.

Rolfe's face started to redden at her blatant disrespect.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly. Her brows rose a bit at the sight of a piece of purple, perfumed paper, signed by someone named “Jacqueline.” She leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the desk, and read it.

By now Rolfe's face had reached an alarming shade of purple.

“ Damn it, Celaena!”

She raised her brows, but realized he couldn’t see. The mask and clothes were a necessary precaution, one that made it far easier to protect her identity. In fact, all of Arobynn’s assassins had been sworn to secrecy about who she was—under the threat of endless torture and eventual death.

Celaena huffed, though her breath only made the interior of the insufferable mask hotter. All that the world knew about Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan’s Assassin, was that she was female. And she wanted to keep it that way. How else would she be able to stroll the broad avenues of Rifthold or infiltrate grand parties by posing as foreign nobility? And while she wished that Rolfe could have the chance to admire her lovely face, she had to admit that the disguise also made her rather imposing, especially when the mask warped her voice into a growling rasp.

Lysandra let out an unladylike sound. “Vain till death, are you?” 

“You’re one to talk.” snapped Celaena.

“ Get back in your seat.” Sam reached for a sword that wasn’t there. The guards at the entrance to the inn had taken their weapons. Of course, none of them had realized that Sam and Celaena were weapons themselves. They could kill Rolfe just as easily with their bare hands as they could with a blade.

“Or you’ll fight me?” She tossed the love letter onto the desk. “Somehow, I don’t think that’d make a favorable impression on our new acquaintances.” She crossed her arms behind her head, gazing at the turquoise sea visible between the dilapidated buildings that made up Skull’s Bay.

Sam half rose from his chair. “Just get back in your seat.”

She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see. “I’ve just spent ten days at sea. Why should I sit in that uncomfortable chair when this one’s far more suited to my tastes?”

Sam let out a growl. Before he could speak, the door opened.

Sam froze, but Celaena only inclined her head in greeting as Captain Rolfe, Lord of the Pirates, entered his office.

“I’m glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.” The tall, dark-haired man shut the door behind him. Bold move, considering who sat in his office.

The Silent Master stifled a grin. It was essential for an assassin that their enemies and targets underestimate them.

Celaena remained where she sat. Well, he certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. It wasn’t every day that she was surprised, but … she’d imagined him to be a bit dirtier—and far more flamboyant. Considering the tales she’d heard of Rolfe’s wild adventures, she had trouble believing that this man—lean but not wiry, well dressed but not overtly so, and probably in his late twenties—was the legendary pirate. Perhaps he, too, kept his identity a secret from his enemies.

Sam stood, bowing his head slightly. “Sam Cortland,” he said by way of greeting.

Rolfe extended a hand, and Celaena watched his tattooed palm and fingers as they clasped Sam’s broad hand. The map—that was the mythic map that he’d sold his soul to have inked on his hands. The map of the world’s oceans—the map that changed to show storms, foes … and treasure.

Nox let his calculating gaze rest on the pirate-hand. For a thief like him, that map was the holy grail.

“I suppose you don’t need an introduction.” Rolfe turned to her.

“No.” Celaena leaned back farther in his desk chair. “I suppose I don’t.”

Rolfe chuckled, a crooked smile spreading across his tanned face. He stepped to the hutch, giving her the chance to examine him further. Broad shoulders, head held high, a casual grace to his movements that came with knowing he had all the power here. He didn’t have a sword, either. Another bold move. Wise, too, given that they could easily use his weapons against him. “Brandy?” he asked.

Captain Chaol scrutinized the assassin that his prince and himself had travelled weeks to meet. If she were to accept Dorian’s offer, she’d be a pain in the ass to supervise and keep in line.

  “ No, thank you,” Sam said. Celaena felt Sam’s eyes hard upon her, willing her to take her feet off of Rolfe’s desk.

“With that mask on,” Rolfe mused, “I don’t think you could have a drink, anyway.” He poured brandy for himself and took a long sip. “You must be boiling in all that clothing.”

Celaena lowered her feet to the ground as she ran her hands along the curved edge of his desk, stretching out her arms. “I’m used to it.”

Dorian looked up from the book and at the assassin. “It must be bothersome to always hide your identity,” he mused.

Celaena just shrugged. “As I said in the book, I'm used to it.”

Rolfe drank again, watching her for a heartbeat over the rim of his glass. His eyes were a striking shade of sea green, as bright as the water just a few blocks away. Lowering the glass, he approached the end of the desk. “I don’t know how you handle things in the North, but down here, we like to know who we’re speaking to.”

She cocked her head. “As you said, I don’t need an introduction. And as for the privilege of seeing my beautiful face, I’m afraid that’s something few men receive.”

Ilias looked at her in amusement and gesticulated with different hand gestures. Celaena chortled at whatever the silent assassin said and replied, “Yes, you most certainly belong to that few.”

Rolfe’s tattooed fingers tightened on the glass. “Get out of my chair .”

Aedion smiled softly at his cousin. It was no wonder that the pirate's patience ran out; even when they were kids, she was a little hellion.

Across the room, Sam tensed. Celaena examined the contents of Rolfe’s desk again. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You really need to work on organizing this mess.”

She sensed the pirate grabbing for her shoulder and was on her feet before his fingers could graze the black wool of her cloak. He stood a good head taller than her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she crooned.

Rolfe’s eyes gleamed with the challenge. “You’re in my city, and on my island.” Only a hand’s breadth separated them. “You’re not in any position to give me orders.”

Sam cleared his throat, but Celaena stared up into Rolfe’s face. His eyes scanned the blackness beneath the hood of her cloak—the smooth black mask, the shadows that concealed any trace of her features. “Celaena,” Sam warned, clearing his throat again.

“ I can’t decide if you two are flirting or just threatening each other.” whispered Yrene to Celaena. 

Celaena looked at the other girl - no, woman; the girl who she met at that bar was a girl who’d lost all hope, this was a woman who knew her worth - who she had saved a while ago and given money to travel to the southern lands. She smiled bitterly at that thought: it was one of the few moments in her life that she could truly say she was proud of.

“Maybe a little bit of both.” she whispered back.

“ Very well.” She sighed loudly, and stepped around Rolfe as if he were nothing but a piece of furniture in her way. She sank into the chair beside Sam, who flashed her a glare that burned enough to melt the entirety of the Frozen Wastes.

Asterin snickered at the ‘furniture’ part. Whoever wrote this book was going to get kissed by her if the author kept writing things like this.

She could feel Rolfe watching their every movement, but he merely adjusted the lapels of his midnight-blue tunic before sitting down. Silence fell, interrupted only by the cry of gulls circling above the city and the shouting of pirates calling to one another in the filthy streets.

“Well?” Rolfe rested his forearms on the desk.

Sam glanced at her. Her move.

“You know precisely why we’re here,” Celaena said. “But perhaps all that brandy’s gone to your head. Shall I refresh your memory?”

Rolfe gestured with his green, blue, and black hand for her to continue, as if he were a king on his throne listening to the complaints of the rabble. Ass.

Lysandra hid her smile behind a hand.

“Three assassins from our Guild were found dead in Bellhaven. The one that got away told us they were attacked by pirates.” She draped an arm along the back of her chair. “Your pirates.”

“And how did the survivor know they were my pirates?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps it was the tattoos that gave them away.” All Rolfe’s men had their wrists tattooed with an image of a multicolored hand.

Rolfe opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a piece of paper and reading the contents. He said, “Once I caught wind that Arobynn Hamel might blame me, I had the shipyard master of Bellhaven send me these records. It seems the incident occurred at three in the morning at the docks.”

This time Sam answered. “That’s correct.”

Rolfe set down the paper and lifted his eyes skyward. “So if it was three in the morning, and it took place at the docks—which have no street lamps, as I’m sure you know”—she didn’t—“then how did your assassin see all of their tattoos?”

Beneath her mask, Celaena scowled. “Because it happened three weeks ago—during the full moon.”

“Ah. But it’s early spring. Even up in Bellhaven, nights are still cold. Unless my men were without coats, there was no way for—”

Everyone in the room looked between the pirate and the assassin as if it was a ping-pong match as their book selves argued.

“ Enough,” Celaena snapped. “I suppose that piece of paper has ten different paltry excuses for your men.” She grabbed the satchel from the floor and yanked out the two sealed documents. “These are for you.” She tossed them on the desk. “From our master.”

A smile tugged on Rolfe’s lips, but he pulled the documents to him, studying the seal. He held it up to the sunlight. “I’m surprised it hasn’t been tampered with.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. Celaena could sense Sam’s smugness oozing out of him.

With two deft flicks of his wrist, Rolfe sliced open both envelopes with a letter-knife she somehow hadn’t spotted. How had she missed it? A fool’s mistake.

The Silent Master gazed at Celaena with a disapproving look in his eyes. She looked back at him with a sheepish smile.

In the silent minutes that passed as Rolfe read the letters, his only reaction was the occasional drumming of his fingers on the wooden desk. The heat was suffocating, and sweat slipped down her back. They were supposed to be here for three days—long enough for Rolfe to gather the money he owed them. Which, judging by the growing frown on Rolfe’s face, was quite a lot.

Rolfe let out a long breath when he finished and shuffled the papers into alignment.

“Your master drives a hard bargain,” Rolfe said, looking from Celaena to Sam. “But his terms aren’t unfair. Perhaps you should have read the letter before you started flinging accusations at me and my men. There will be no retribution for those dead assassins. Whose deaths, your master agrees, were not my fault in the least. He must have some common sense, then.” Celaena quelled the urge to lean forward. If Arobynn wasn’t demanding payment for the death of those assassins, then what were they doing here? Her face burned. She’d just looked like a fool, hadn’t she? If Sam smiled just the slightest bit …

Rolfe drummed his inked fingers again and ran a hand through his shoulder-length dark hair. “As for the trade agreement he’s outlined … I’ll have my accountant draw up the necessary fees, but you’ll have to tell Arobynn that he can’t expect any profits until at least the second shipment. Possibly the third. And if he has an issue with that, then he can come down here himself to tell me.”

Profits? Shipment? For once, Celaena was grateful for the mask. It sounded like they’d been sent for some sort of business investment. She flicked her eyes to Sam, who nodded at Rolfe—as if he knew exactly what the Pirate Lord was talking about. “And when can we tell Arobynn to expect the first shipment?” he asked.

Rolfe stuffed Arobynn’s letters into a desk drawer and locked it. “The slaves will be here in two days—ready for your departure the day after. I’ll even loan you my ship, so you can tell that trembling crew of yours they’re free to return to Rifthold tonight, if it pleases them.”

The air in the room froze. Slave trafficking was a taboo in most places save Adarlan, which had the most profitable business from it. Dorian winced and tried to sink into his seat. It was at times like this that he was ashamed of his heritage.

Celaena stared at him. Arobynn had sent them here for … for slaves? How could he stoop so disgustingly low? And to tell her she was going to Skull’s Bay for one thing, but to really send her here for this … She felt her nostrils flare. Sam had known about this deal, but he’d somehow forgotten to mention the truth behind their visit—even during the ten days they’d spent at sea. As soon as she got him alone, she’d make him regret it. But for now … She couldn’t let Rolfe catch on to her ignorance.

“You’d better not botch this,” Celaena warned the Pirate Lord. “Arobynn won’t be pleased if anything goes awry.”

Rolfe paled. After the incident with that she-devil, he’d feared for his life. Arobynn was not the forgiving type; you just had to look at his protegee to see proof.

Rolfe chuckled. “You have my word that it will all go according to plan. I’m not Lord of the Pirates for nothing, you know.”

She leaned forward, flattening her voice into the even tones of a business partner concerned about her investment. “How long, exactly, have you been involved in the slave trade?” It couldn’t have been long. Adarlan had only started capturing and selling slaves two years ago—most of them prisoners of war from whatever territories dared rebel against their conquest. Many of them were from Eyllwe, but there were still prisoners from Melisande and Finntierland, or the isolated tribe in the White Fang Mountains. The majority of slaves went to Calaculla or Endovier, the continent’s largest and most notorious labor camps, to mine for salt and precious metals. But more and more slaves were making their way into the households of Adarlan’s nobility. And for Arobynn to make a filthy trade agreement—some sort of black market deal … It would sully the Assassins’ Guild’s entire reputation. “Believe me,” Rolfe said, crossing his arms, “I have enough experience. You should be more concerned about your master. Investing in the slave trade is a guaranteed profit, but he might need to expend more of his resources than he’d like in order to keep our business from reaching the wrong ears.”

Her stomach turned over, but she feigned disinterest as best she could and said, “Arobynn is a shrewd businessman. Whatever you can supply, he’ll make the most of it.”

Nehemia studied Celaena, thinking that she might be not so bad after all, especially if she didn’t support slavery.

“ For his sake, I hope that’s true. I don’t want to risk my name and reputation for nothing.” Rolfe stood, and Celaena and Sam rose with him. “I’ll have the documents signed and returned to you tomorrow. For now …” He pointed toward the door. “I have two rooms prepared for you.”

“We only need one,” she interrupted.

Rolfe’s eyebrows rose suggestively.

Several males’ eyebrows rose at that. They quickly stopped when they saw the look on Celaena’s face as she glared at them. 

Beneath her mask, her face burned, and Sam choked on a laugh. “One room, two beds.”

By now, even the females in the room were trying to drown the laughter that threatened to bubble out of their throats.

Rolfe chuckled, striding to the door and opening it for them. “As you wish. I’ll have baths drawn for you as well.” Celaena and Sam followed him out into the narrow, dark hallway. “You could both use one,” he added with a wink.

It took all of her self-restraint to keep from punching him below the belt.

Every male paled and winced at that, and looked at Rolfe in pity as they collectively thought, Should he have provoked her more and should she have gone through with her threat… ouch. It took all their willpower to not to cross their legs while trying to protect their ‘packages’.