Nehemia contemplated the question. “Perhaps. They might have already been waiting.”
“But I could only see them because of the bloodbane that Kaltain gave me?”
“I don’t know, Elentiya.” Nehemia sighed and stood. “All I know is that Cain knew the secrets of my people’s power—power that has long been forgotten in the lands of the North. And that troubles me.”
“At least he’s dead,” Celaena offered, then swallowed. “But . . . but in that . . . place—Cain didn’t look like Cain. He looked like a demon. Why?”
“Perhaps the evil he kept summoning seeped into his soul and twisted him into something he was not.”
“He talked about me. Like he knew everything.” Celaena clenched the blankets.
Something flickered in Nehemia’s gaze. “Sometimes, the wicked will tell us things just to confuse us—to haunt our thoughts long after we’ve faced them. He would be delighted to know you’re still fretting over whatever nonsense he said.” Nehemia patted her hand. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s still troubling you; put those thoughts from your mind.”
“At least the king doesn’t know about any of this; I can’t imagine what he’d do if he had access to that kind of power.”
“I can imagine a great deal,” Nehemia said softly. “Do you know what the Wyrdmark is that burned on your forehead?”
Celaena stiffened. “No. Do you?”
Nehemia gave her a weighing look. “No, I do not. But I have seen it there before. It seems to be a part of you. And I do worry what the king thinks of it. It’s a miracle he hasn’t questioned it further.” Celaena’s blood went cold, and Nehemia quickly added, “Don’t worry. If he wanted to question you, he would have done it already.”
Celaena let out a shuddering breath. “Why are you really here, Nehemia?”
The princess was quiet for a moment. “I will not claim ties of allegiance to the King of Adarlan. You know this already. And I’m not afraid to tell you that I came to Rifthold only for the excellent view it offered of his movements—of his plans.”
“You truly came here to spy?” Celaena whispered.
“If you want to put it that way. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my country—no sacrifice too great to keep my people alive and out of slavery, to keep another massacre from happening.” Pain flickered across her eyes.
Celaena’s heart twisted. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
Nehemia stroked Fleetfoot’s coat. “My love for Eyllwe drowns out my fear of the King of Adarlan. But I will not involve you, Elentiya.” Celaena almost sighed with relief, though it shamed her to feel that way. “Our paths might be entwined, but . . . but I think you must continue to travel your own road for now. Adjust to your new position.”
Celaena nodded and cleared her throat. “I won’t tell anyone about your powers.”
Nehemia smiled sadly. “And there shall be no more secrets between us. When you are better, I’d like to hear how you got entangled with Elena.” She glanced down at Fleetfoot. “Do you mind if I take her for a walk? I need to feel the wind on my face today.”
“Of course,” Celaena said. “She’s been cooped up here all morning.”
As if the dog understood, she jumped off the bed and sat at Nehemia’s feet.
“I’m glad to have you as my friend, Elentiya,” the princess said.
“I’m even gladder to have you guarding my back,” Celaena said, fighting a yawn. “Thank you for saving my life. Twice now, actually. Or perhaps more.” Celaena frowned. “Do I even want to know how many times you secretly saved me from one of Cain’s creatures?”
“Not if you want to sleep tonight.” Nehemia kissed the top of her head before walking to the door, Fleetfoot in tow. The princess paused in the doorway, though, and tossed something to Celaena. “This belongs to you. One of my guards picked it up after the duel.” It was the Eye of Elena.
Celaena wrapped a hand around the hard metal of the amulet. “Thank you.”
When Nehemia had left, Celaena smiled, despite all that she had just learned, and closed her eyes. The amulet gripped in her hand, she slept more soundly than she had in months.
Chapter 52
Celaena awoke the next day, unsure what time it was. There had been a knock on her door, and she blinked the sleep from her eyes in time to see Dorian enter. He stared at her for a moment from the doorway, and she managed a smile. “Hello,” she said hoarsely. She remembered him carrying her, holding her down as the healers stitched her leg . . .
He came forward, his steps heavy. “You look even worse today,” he whispered. Despite the pain, Celaena sat up.