“Would you prefer Lady Kaltain?”
“Don’t be a fool.” It was easy to be mean, but it was also getting far too easy to be nice. He took a bite of bread. She watched him, her head angled. He sometimes felt that she looked at him the way a cat regards a mouse. He just wondered how long it would take for her to pounce.
She shrugged, and took a bite from an apple. There was something girlish about her, too. Oh, he couldn’t stand her contradictions!
“You’re staring, Captain.”
He almost apologized, but stopped. She was a haughty, vulgar, utterly impertinent assassin. He wished for the months to fly by, for her to be appointed Champion, and then, once her years of servitude were over, to be gone. He hadn’t slept well since they’d taken her out of Endovier.
“You have food in your teeth,” he said. She picked it out with a sharp nail and turned her head to the window. The rain slid down the glass. Was she looking at the rain, or something beyond?
He sipped from his goblet. Despite her arrogance, she was clever, and relatively kind, and somewhat charming. But where was that writhing darkness? Why didn’t it show itself so he could just throw her into the dungeon and call off this ridiculous competition? There was something great and deadly concealed within her, and he didn’t like it.
He’d be ready—when the time came, he’d be waiting. He just wondered which one of them would survive.
Chapter 14
For the next four days, Celaena awoke before dawn to train in her room, using whatever she could to exercise—chairs, the doorway, even her billiards table and cue sticks. The balls made for remarkable balance tools. Around dawn, Chaol usually showed up for breakfast. Afterward, they ran through the game park, where he kept pace at her side. Autumn had fully come, and the wind smelled of crisp leaves and snow. Chaol never said anything when she doubled over, hands on her knees, and vomited up her breakfast, nor did he comment on the fact that she could go farther and farther each day without stopping for breath.
Once they’d finished their run, they trained in a private room far from her competitors’ eyes. Until, that is, she collapsed to the ground and cried that she was about to die of hunger and fatigue. At lessons, the knives remained Celaena’s favorite, but the wooden staff became dear; naturally, it had to do with the fact that she could freely whack him and not chop off an arm. Since her initial meeting with Princess Nehemia, she hadn’t seen or heard from the princess—not even chatter from the servants.
Chaol always came for lunch, and afterward, she joined the other Champions for a few more hours of training under Brullo’s watchful eye. Most of their training was just to make sure they could actually use weapons. And, of course, she kept her head down throughout it all, doing enough to keep Brullo from critiquing her, but not enough to make him praise her the way he did Cain.
Cain. How she loathed him! Brullo practically worshipped the man—and even the other Champions nodded their respect when he passed by. No one bothered to comment on how perfect her form was. Was this how the other assassins at the Assassins’ Keep had felt all those years she had spent hogging Arobynn Hamel’s attention? But here, it was hard to focus when Cain was nearby, taunting and sneering, waiting for her to make one mistake. Hopefully he wouldn’t distract her at the first elimination test. Brullo hadn’t given them any indication what they might be tested for, and Chaol was just as clueless.
The day before the first Test, she knew something was wrong long before she got to the training hall. Chaol hadn’t shown up for breakfast, but rather sent her guards to bring her to the training hall to practice on her own. He didn’t show up for lunch, either, and by the time she was escorted to the hall, she was brimming with questions.
Without Chaol to stand near, she lingered beside a pillar, watching the competitors file in, flanked by guards and their trainers. Brullo wasn’t there yet—another oddity. And there were far too many guards in the training hall today.
“What do you suppose this is about?” Nox Owen, the young thief from Perranth, asked from beside her. After proving himself somewhat skilled during practice, many of the other competitors had sought him out, but he still opted to keep to himself.
“Captain Westfall didn’t train me this morning,” she offered. What was the harm in admitting that?
Nox held out his hand. “Nox Owen.”