The Assassin’s Blade: The Throne of Glass Prequel Novellas

Since she’d forgotten to do it at the party the night before, she meant to thank Sam for the music during their usual tumbling lesson after breakfast. But several of the other assassins were also in the training hall, and she had no desire to explain the gift to any of the older men. They would undoubtedly take it the wrong way. Not that they particularly cared about what she was up to; they did their best to stay out of her way, and she didn’t bother to get to know them, either. Besides, her head was throbbing thanks to staying up until dawn and drinking all that sparkling wine, so she couldn’t even think of the right words just now.

She went through her training exercises until noon, impressing their instructor with the new ways she’d learned to move while she was in the Red Desert. She felt Sam watching her from the mats a few feet away. She tried not to look at his shirtless chest, gleaming with sweat, as he took a running jump, nimbly flipping through the air and landing almost soundlessly on the ground. By the Wyrd, he was fast. He’d certainly spent the summer training, too.

“Milady,” the instructor coughed, and she turned to him, giving a glare that warned him not to comment. She slid into a backbend, then flipped out of it, her legs smoothly rising over her head and back to the floor.

She landed in a kneel, and looked up to see Sam approaching. Stopping before her, he gave the instructor a sharp jerk of his chin, and the stocky, compact man found somewhere else to be.

“He was helping me,” Celaena said. Her muscles quivered as she stood. She’d trained hard this morning, despite how little sleep she’d gotten—which had nothing to do with the fact that she hadn’t wanted to spend a moment alone with Sam in the training hall.

“He’s here every other day. I don’t think you’re missing anything vital,” Sam replied. She kept her gaze on his face. She’d seen Sam shirtless before—she’d seen all of the assassins in various stages of undress thanks to their training—but this felt different.

“So,” she said, “are we breaking into Doneval’s house tonight?” She kept her voice down. She didn’t particularly like sharing anything with her fellow assassins. Ben she’d once told everything to, but he was dead and buried. “Now that we know the meeting time, we should get into that upstairs study and get a sense of what and how many documents there are before he shares them with his partner.” Since the sun had finally decided to make an appearance, it made daytime stalking next to impossible.

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Lysandra has a pre-Bidding rehearsal, and I’m on guard duty. I could meet you after, if you want to wait for me.”

“No. I’ll go myself. It shouldn’t be that hard.” She started from the training room, and Sam followed her, keeping close to her side.

“It’s going to be dangerous.”

“Sam, I freed two hundred slaves in Skull’s Bay and took down Rolfe. I think I can handle this.” They reached the main entranceway of the Keep.

“And you did that with my help. Why don’t I stop by Doneval’s after I finish and see if you need me?”

She patted his shoulder, his bare skin sticky with sweat. “Do whatever you want. Though I have a feeling I’ll already be done by that point. But I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow morning,” she crooned, pausing at the foot of the grand staircase.

He grabbed her hand. “Please be careful. Just get a look at the documents and go. We’ve still got two days until the exchange; if it’s too dangerous, then we can try tomorrow. Don’t put yourself at risk.”

The doors to the Keep swung open and Sam dropped her hand as Lysandra and Clarisse came sweeping in.

Lysandra’s face was flushed, making her green eyes sparkle. “Oh, Sam,” Lysandra said, rushing toward him with outstretched hands. Celaena bristled. Sam grasped Lysandra’s slender fingers politely. From the way she drank him in—especially his shirtless torso—Celaena had no trouble believing that two days from now, as soon as her Bidding Night was over and she could be with whoever she wanted, she’d seek out Sam. And who wouldn’t?

“Another luncheon with Arobynn?” Sam asked, but Lysandra wouldn’t let go of his hands. Madam Clarisse gave Celaena a curt nod as she bustled past, heading straight for Arobynn’s study. The brothel madam and the King of the Assassins had been friends for as long as Celaena had been here, and Clarisse had never said more than a few words to her.

“Oh, no—we’re here for tea. Arobynn promised a silver tea service,” Lysandra said, her words somehow feeling tossed in Celaena’s direction. “You must join us, Sam.”

Ordinarily, Celaena would have bitten the girl’s head off for the insult. Lysandra was still grasping Sam’s hands.

As if he sensed it, Sam wriggled his fingers away. “I—” he started.

“You should go,” Celaena said. Lysandra looked between them. “I have work to do, anyway. I don’t get to be the best simply by lying on my back all day.” A cheap shot, but Lysandra’s eyes flashed. Celaena gave her a razor-sharp smile. Not that she had wanted to keep talking to Sam, or invite him to listen to her practice the music he’d gotten her, or spend any more time with him than was absolutely necessary.

He swallowed. “Have lunch with me, Celaena.”

Lysandra clicked her tongue and strode off muttering, “Why would you want to have lunch with her?”

“I’m busy,” Celaena said. It wasn’t a lie; she did still have to finalize her plan to break into the house to find out more about Doneval’s documents. She jerked her chin toward Lysandra and the sitting room beyond her. “Go enjoy yourself.”

Without wanting to see what he chose, she kept her eyes on the marble floors, the teal drapes, and the gilded ceiling as she walked to her room.

The walls of Doneval’s house were unguarded. Wherever he’d gone tonight—from the look of his clothes, probably to the theater or a party—he’d taken several of his guards with him, though she hadn’t counted his hulking bodyguard in their ranks. Perhaps the bodyguard had the night off. It still left several guards patrolling the grounds, not to mention whoever was inside.

While she loathed the thought of getting her new black suit wet, Celaena was grateful for the rain that had started again at sundown, even if it meant forgoing her usual mask in order to keep her weather-limited senses open. Thankfully, the heavy downpour also meant that the guard on the side of the house didn’t even notice her slipping right past him. The second floor was fairly high up, but the window was darkened, and the latch was easily unlocked from the outside. She’d mapped the house already. If she was correct—and she was certain she was—that window led right into the second-floor study.

Listening carefully, she waited until the guard was looking the other way, and began to climb. Her new boots found their grip on the stone, and her fingers had no trouble at all seeking out cracks. The suit was a little heavier than her usual tunic, but with the built-in blades in the gauntlets, she didn’t have the additional encumbrance of a sword on her back or daggers at her waist. There were even two knives built into her boots. This was one gift from Arobynn that she’d get a lot of use out of.

But while the rain quieted and clouded her, it also masked the sound of anyone approaching. She kept her eyes and ears wide open, but no other guards rounded the corner of the house. The additional risk was worth it. Now that she knew what time the meeting would take place, she had two days to gather as much specific information as she could about the documents, namely how many pages there were and where Doneval hid them. In a few moments, she was at the sill of the study window. The guard below didn’t even look up at the house towering behind him. Top-notch guards indeed.

One glance inside showed a darkened room—a desk littered with papers, and nothing else. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to leave the lists out in plain sight, but …

Celaena hauled herself onto the ledge, and the slender knife from her boot gleamed dully as it wedged into the slight gap between the window doors. Two angled jabs, a flick of her wrist, and—

She eased the window open, praying for silent hinges. One of them creaked quietly, but the other swung away without a sound. She slid into the study, boots quiet on the ornate rug. Carefully, holding her breath, she eased the windows shut again.

She sensed the attack a heartbeat before it happened.