Celaena stood in front of the bars to Kaltain Rompier’s cell.
The once-beautiful lady was curled against the wall, her dress soiled and her dark hair unbound and matted. She had buried her face in her arms, but Celaena could still see that her skin gleamed with sweat and had a slightly grayish hue. And the smell …
She hadn’t seen her since the duel; since the day Kaltain had drugged Celaena’s water with bloodbane so she would die at Cain’s hands. Once she’d defeated Cain, Celaena had left without witnessing the screaming fit that Kaltain had thrown. So she’d missed the moment where Kaltain had accidentally confessed to poisoning her, claiming to have been manipulated by her former beau, Duke Perrington. The duke had denied her accusations, and Kaltain had been sent down here to await her punishment.
Two months later, it seemed that they still didn’t know what to do with her—or didn’t care.
“Hello, Kaltain,” Celaena said quietly.
Kaltain lifted her head, her black eyes gleaming in recognition. “Hello, Celaena.”
Chapter 9
Celaena took a step closer to the bars. A bucket for relieving herself, a bucket of water, the crumbs of her last meal, and moldy hay that formed a rough pallet; that was all Kaltain had been given.
All she deserves.
“Come to laugh?” Kaltain said. Her voice, which had once been rich and cultured, was little more than a hoarse whisper. It was freezing down here—it was a wonder Kaltain hadn’t fallen ill already.
“I have some questions for you,” Celaena said, keeping her words soft. Though the guards hadn’t challenged her right to enter the dungeons, she didn’t want them eavesdropping.
“I’m busy today.” Kaltain smiled, leaning her head against the stone wall. “Come back tomorrow.” She looked so much younger with her ebony hair unbound. She couldn’t be much older than Celaena herself.
Celaena dropped into a crouch, one hand braced against the bars for balance. The metal was bitingly cold. “What do you know about Roland Havilliard?”
Kaltain looked toward the stone ceiling. “He’s visiting?”
“He’s been appointed to the king’s council.”
Kaltain’s night-dark eyes met Celaena’s. There was a hint of madness there—but also wariness and exhaustion. “Why ask me about him?”
“Because I want to know if he can be trusted.”
Kaltain wheezed a laugh. “None of us can be trusted. Especially not Roland. The things I’ve heard about him are enough to turn even your stomach, I bet.”
“Like what?”
Kaltain smirked. “Get me out of this cell and I might tell you.”
Celaena returned the smirk. “How about I walk inside that cell and find another way to get you to talk?”
“Don’t,” she whispered, shifting enough so that Celaena could see the bruises circling her wrists. They looked unnervingly like handprints.
Kaltain tucked her arms into the folds of her skirts. “The night watch looks the other way when Perrington visits.”
Celaena bit the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. And she would mention it to Chaol when she saw him next; make sure he had a word with the night watch.
Kaltain rested her cheek on her knee. “He’s ruined everything. And I don’t even know why. Why not just send me home instead?” Her voice had taken on a faraway quality that Celaena recognized too well from her time in Endovier. Once the memories and the pain and the fear took over, there would be no chance of talking to her.
She asked quietly, “You were close to Perrington. Did you ever overhear anything about his plans?” A dangerous question, but if anyone might tell her, it would be Kaltain.
But the girl was staring at nothing and didn’t reply.
Celaena stood. “Good luck.”
Kaltain just shivered, tucking her hands under her arms.
She should let Kaltain freeze to death for what she’d tried to do to her. She should walk out of the dungeons smiling, because for once the right person was locked away.
“They encourage the crows to fly past here,” Kaltain murmured, more to herself than to Celaena. “And my headaches are worse every day. Worse and worse, and full of all of those flapping wings.”
Celaena kept her face blank. She couldn’t hear anything—no caws, and certainly no flapping wings. Even if there were crows, the dungeon was so far underground that there was no way of hearing them here. “What do you mean?”
But Kaltain had already curled in on herself again, conserving as much warmth as she could. Celaena didn’t want to think about how frigid the cell must be at night; she knew what it felt like to curl up like that, desperate for any kernel of warmth, wondering whether you’d wake up in the morning, or if the cold would claim you before then.
Not giving herself the time to reconsider, Celaena unfastened her black cloak. She threw it through the bars, aiming carefully to avoid the long-dried vomit that was caked onto the stones. She’d also heard about the girl’s opium addiction—being locked away without a fix had to have driven her close to insanity, if she wasn’t mad to begin with.
Kaltain stared at the cloak that landed in her lap, and Celaena pivoted to return down the narrow, icy corridor and up to the warmer levels above.
“Sometimes,” Kaltain said softly, and Celaena paused. “Sometimes I think they brought me here. Not to marry Perrington, but for another purpose. They want to use me.”
“Use you for what?”
“They never say. When they come down here, they never tell me what they want. I don’t even remember. It’s all just … fragments. Shards of a broken mirror, each gleaming with its own individual image.”
She was mad. Celaena clamped down the urge to make a cutting remark, the memory of Kaltain’s bruises staying her tongue. “Thank you for your help.”
Kaltain wrapped Celaena’s cloak around herself. “Something is coming,” she whispered. “And I am to greet it.”
Celaena loosed the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. This conversation was pointless. “Good-bye, Kaltain.”
The girl only laughed softly, and the sound followed Celaena long after she’d left the freezing dungeons behind.