Throne of Glass

“You speak of anarchy and treason.”


“I do not speak of anarchy. Call me a traitor all you like—I’ve been convicted as an assassin already.”

He sidled closer to her, and his fingers brushed hers—calloused, warm, and hard. “You can’t resist the opportunity to respond to everything I say, can you?” She felt restless—but at the same time remarkably still. Something was brought to life and laid to sleep in his gaze. “Your eyes are very strange,” he said. “I’ve never seen any with such a bright ring of gold.”

“If you’re attempting to woo me with flattery, I’m afraid it won’t work.”

“I was merely observing; I have no agenda.” He looked at his hand, still touching hers. “Where did you get that ring?”

She contracted her hand into a fist as she pulled it away from him. The amethyst in her ring glowed in the firelight. “It was a gift.”

“From whom?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

He shrugged, though she knew better than to tell him who’d really given it to her—rather, she knew Chaol wouldn’t want Dorian to know. “I’d like to know who’s been giving rings to my Champion.”

The way the collar of his black jacket lay across his neck made her unable to sit still. She wanted to touch him, to trace the line between his tan skin and the golden lining of the fabric.

“Billiards?” she asked, rising to her feet. “I could use another lesson.” Celaena didn’t wait for his answer as she strode toward the gaming room. She very much wanted to stand close to him and have her skin warm under his breath. She liked that. Worse than that, she realized, she liked him.

?

Chaol watched Perrington at his table in the dining hall. When he had approached the duke about Verin’s death, he hadn’t seemed bothered. Chaol looked around the cavernous hall; in fact, most of the Champions’ sponsors went about as usual. Idiots. If Celaena was actually right about it, then whoever was responsible for killing the Champions could be among them. But which of the members of the king’s council would be so desperate to win that he’d do such a thing? Chaol stretched his legs beneath the table and shifted his attention back to Perrington.

He’d seen how the duke used his size and title to win allies on the king’s council and keep opponents from challenging him. But it wasn’t his maneuverings that had captured the interest of the Captain of the Guard tonight. Rather, it was the moments between the grins and laughter, when a shadow passed across the duke’s face. It wasn’t an expression of anger or of disgust, but a shade that clouded his eyes. It was so strange that when Chaol had first seen it, he’d extended his dinner just to see if it happened again.

A few moments later, it did. Perrington’s eyes became dark and his face cleared, as if he saw everything in the world for what it was and found no joy or amusement in it. Chaol leaned back in his chair, sipping his water.

He knew little of the duke, and had never entirely trusted him. Neither had Dorian, especially not after all his talk of using Nehemia as a hostage to get the Eyllwe rebels to cooperate. But the duke was the king’s most trusted advisor—and had offered no cause for mistrust other than a fierce belief in Adarlan’s right to conquest.

Kaltain Rompier sat a few chairs away. Chaol’s brows rose slightly. Her eyes were upon Perrington as well—filled not with the longing of a beloved, but with cold contemplation. Chaol stretched again, lifting his arms over his head. Where was Dorian? The prince hadn’t come to dinner, nor was he in the kennels with the bitch and her pups. His gaze returned to the duke. There it was—for a moment!

Perrington’s eyes fell upon the black ring on his left hand and darkened, as if his pupils had expanded to encompass all of each eye. Then it was gone—his eyes returned to normal. Chaol looked to Kaltain. Had she noticed the odd change?

No—her face remained the same. There was no bewilderment, no surprise. Her look became shallow, as if she were more interested in how his jacket might complement her dress. Chaol stretched and rose, finishing his apple as he strode from the dining hall. Strange as it was, he had enough to worry about. The duke was ambitious, but certainly not a threat to the castle or its inhabitants. But even as the Captain of the Guard walked to his rooms, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Duke Perrington had been watching him, too.





Chapter 31

Someone was standing at the foot of her bed.

Celaena knew this long before she opened her eyes, and she eased her hand beneath her pillow, pulling out the makeshift knife she’d crafted of pins, string, and soap.