45
To their credit, the sentries didn’t jump when Rowan shifted beside them atop the battlement wall. They had eyes keen enough to have detected his arrival as he swooped in. A slight tang of fear leaked from them, but that was to be expected, even if it troubled him more than it had in the past. But they did stir slightly when he spoke. “How long has she been down there?”
“An hour, Prince,” one said, watching the flashing flames below.
“For how many mornings in a row?”
“This is the fourth, Prince,” the same sentry replied.
The first three days she’d slipped from bed before dawn, he’d assumed she’d been helping in the kitchens. But when they’d trained yesterday she’d . . . improved at a rate she shouldn’t have, as if overnight. He had to give her credit for resourcefulness.
The girl stood outside the ward--stones, fighting with herself.
A dagger of flame flew from her hand toward the invisible barrier between two stones, then another, as if racing for the head of an opponent. It hit the magic wall with a flash of light and bounced back, reflected off the protective spell encircling the fortress. And when it reached her, she shielded—-swift, strong, sure. A warrior on a battlefield.
“I’ve never seen anyone . . . fight like that,” the sentry said.
It was a question, but Rowan didn’t bother to answer. It -wasn’t their business, and he -wasn’t entirely certain if his queen would be pleased with the demi--Fae learning to use their powers in such a way. Though he fully planned to tell Lorcan, his commander and the only male who outranked him in Doranelle, just to see whether they could use it in their training.
The girl moved from throwing weapons to hand--to--hand combat: a punch of power, a sweeping kick of flame. Her flames had become gloriously varied—-golds and reds and oranges. And her technique—-not the magic, but the way she moved . . . Her master had been a monster, there was no doubt of that. But he had trained her thoroughly. She ducked and flipped and twisted, relentless, raging, and—
She swore with her usual color as the wall sent the punch of ruby flame back at her. She managed to shield, but still got knocked on her ass. Yet none of the sentries laughed. Rowan didn’t know if it was because of his presence or because of her.
He got his answer a heartbeat later, as he waited for her to shout or shriek or walk away. But the princess just slowly got to her feet, not bothering to brush off the dirt and leaves, and kept practicing.
?
The next corpse appeared a week later, setting a rather wretched tone for the crisp spring morning as Celaena and Rowan ran for the site.
They’d spent the past week fighting and defending and manipulating her magic, interrupted only by a rather miserable visit from some Fae nobility traveling through the area—-which left Celaena in no hurry to set foot in Doranelle. Thankfully, the guests stayed for one night, hardly disrupting her lessons.
They worked only with fire, ignoring the drop of water affinity that she’d been given. She tried again and again to summon the water, when she was drinking, while in the bath, when it rained, but to no avail. Fire it was, then. And while she knew Rowan was aware of her early morning practicing, he never lightened her training, though she could have sworn she occasionally felt their magic . . . playing together, her flame taunting his ice, his wind dancing amongst her embers. But each morning brought something new, something harder and different and miserable. Gods, he was brilliant. Cunning and wicked and brilliant.
Even when he beat the hell out of her. Every. Damn. Day.
Not from malice, not like it had been before, but to prove his point—-her enemies would give no quarter. If she needed to pause, if her power faltered, she died.
So he knocked her into the mud or the stream or the grass with a blast of wind or ice. So she -rose, shooting arrows of flame, her shield now her strongest ally. Again and again, hungry and exhausted and soaking with rain and mist and sweat. Until shielding was an instinct, until she could hurl arrows and daggers of flame together, until she knocked him on his ass. There was always more to learn; she lived and breathed and dreamt of fire.
Sometimes, though, her dreams -were of a brown--eyed man in an empire across the sea. Sometimes she’d awaken and reach for the warm, male body beside hers, only to realize it was not the captain—-that she would never again lie next to Chaol, not after what had happened. And when she remembered that, it sometimes hurt to breathe.
There was nothing romantic about sharing a bed with Rowan, and they kept to their own sides. There certainly was nothing romantic about it when they reached the site of the corpse and she peeled off her shirt to cool down. In nothing but her underclothes, Celaena’s skin was bitten by the sea air with a delightful chill, and even Rowan unbuttoned his heavy jacket as they carefully approached the coordinates.
“Well, I can certainly smell him this time,” Celaena said between panting breaths. They’d reached the site in little less than three hours, guessing by the sun. That was faster and longer than she’d ever run, thanks to the Fae form she’d been training in.
“This body has been rotting -here longer than the demi--Fae from three days ago.”
She bit back her retort. There had been another demi--Fae body found, and he hadn’t let her go see it, instead forcing her to practice all day while he flew to the site. But this morning, he’d taken one look at the fire smoldering in her eyes and relented.
Celaena stepped carefully on the pine carpet, scanning for any signs of a fight or of the attacker. The ground was churned up, and despite the rushing stream, the flies -were buzzing near what appeared to be a heap of clothing peeking from behind a small boulder.
Rowan swore, low and viciously, even lifting his forearm to cover his nose and mouth as he examined the husk that remained, the demi--Fae male’s face twisted in horror. Celaena might done the same, except . . . except—
That second smell was -here, too. Not as strong as it had been at the first site, but it lingered. She shoved back against the memory that wanted to rise in response to the smell, the memory that had overwhelmed her that day in the barrow--field.
“It has our attention and it knows it,” she said. “It’s targeting demi--Fae—either to send a message, or because they . . . taste good. But—” She pictured the map Rowan kept in his room, detailing the wide area where the corpses had been found, and winced. “What if there’s more than one?” Rowan looked back at her, brows high. She didn’t say anything -else until she had moved to where he stood by the body, careful not to disturb any clues. Her stomach lurched and bile stung the back of her throat, but she clamped down on the horror with a wall of ice that even her fire could not melt. “You’re old as hell,” she said. “You must have considered that -we’re dealing with a few of them, given how vast the territory is. What if the one we saw in the barrows -wasn’t even the creature responsible for these bodies?”
He narrowed his eyes, but conceded a nod. She studied the hollowed--out face, the torn clothes.
Torn clothes, what looked like small cuts along the palms—as if he’d dug in his fingernails. The others had barely been touched, but this . . .
“Rowan.” She waved away flies. “Rowan, tell me you see what I’m seeing.”
Another vicious curse. He crouched, using the tip of a dagger to push back a bit of clothing torn at the collar. “This male—”
“Fought. He fought back against it. None of the others did, according to the reports.”
The stench of the corpse was nearly enough to bring her to her knees. But she squatted by the decaying hand and forearm, shriveled and wasted from the inside out. She held out a hand for Rowan’s dagger, still possessing none of her own. He hesitated as she looked up at him.
Only for the afternoon, he seemed to growl as he pressed the hilt into her open palm.
She yanked down the dagger. I know, I know. I -haven’t earned my weapons back yet. Don’t get your feathers ruffled.
She turned back to the husk, cutting off their wordless conversation and getting a snarl in response. Butting heads with Rowan was the least of her concerns, even if it had become one of her favorite activities.
There was something so familiar about doing this, she thought as she carefully, as gently and respectfully as she could, ran the tip of the dagger under the male’s cracked and filthy nails, then smeared the contents on the back of her own hand. Dirt and black . . . black . . .
“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.”
No, it -wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to—
“This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—-this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.”
There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if . . . what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they -were now . . . ready?
“Tell me,” Rowan growled, the words barely understandable as he seemed to struggle to rein in the killing edge he rode in response to the threat lurking somewhere in these woods.
She lifted her hand to rub her eyes, but realized what was on her fingers and went to wipe them on her shirt. Only to recall that she was wearing nothing but the soft white band around her breasts, and that she was cold to her very bones. She rushed to the nearby stream to scrub off the dried black blood, hating even that the trace of it would be in the water, in the world, and quickly, quietly told Rowan of the creature in the library, the Wyrdkeys, and the information Maeve held hostage regarding how to destroy that power. Power that was being used by the king to make things—-and targeting people with magic in their blood to be their hosts.
A warm breeze wrapped around her, heating her bones and blood, steadying her. “How did it get -here?” Rowan asked, his features now set with icy calm.
“I don’t know. I hope I’m wrong. But that smell—-I’ll never forget that smell as long as I live. Like it had rotted from the inside out, its very essence ruined.”
“But it retained some cognitive abilities. And what-ever this is, it must have them, too, if it’s dumping the bodies.”
She tried to swallow—-twice—but her mouth was dry. “Demi--Fae . . . they would make perfect hosts, with so many of them able to use magic and no one in Wendlyn or Doranelle caring if they live or die. But these corpses—-if he wanted to kidnap them, why kill them?”
“Unless they -weren’t compatible,” Rowan said. “And if they -weren’t compatible, then what better use for them than to drain them dry?”
“But what’s the point of leaving the bodies where we can find them? To drum up fear?”
Rowan ground his jaw and stalked through the area, examining the ground, the trees, the rocks. “Burn the body, Aelin.” He removed the sheath and belt that had -housed the dagger still dangling from her hand and tossed them to her. She caught them with her free hand. “We’re going hunting.”
?
They found nothing, even when Rowan shifted into his other form and circled high above. As the light grew dim, they climbed into the biggest, densest tree in the area. They squeezed onto a massive branch, huddling together, as he would not let her summon even a flicker of flame.
When she complained about the conditions, Rowan pointed out that there was no moon that night, and worse things than the skinwalkers prowled the woods. That shut her up until he asked her to tell him more about the creature in the library, to explain every detail and weakness and strength.
After she finished, he took out one of his long knives—-a fraction of the marvelous assortment he carried—-and began cleaning it. With her heightened senses, she could see enough in the starlight to make out the steel, his hands, and the shifting muscles in his shoulders as he wiped the blade. He himself was a beautiful weapon, forged by centuries of ruthless training and warring.
“Do you think I was mistaken?” she said as he put away the knife and reached for the ones hidden beneath his clothes. Like the first, none of them -were dirty, but she didn’t point it out. “About the creature, I mean.”
Rowan slung his shirt over his head to get at the weapons strapped beneath, revealing his broad back, muscled and scarred and glorious. Fine—-some very feminine, innate part of her appreciated that. And she didn’t mind his half--nakedness. He’d seen every inch of her now. She supposed there was no part of him that would be much of a surprise, either, thanks to Chaol. But—-no, she -wouldn’t think about Chaol. Not when she was feeling balanced and clear--headed and good.
“We’re dealing with a cunning, lethal predator, regardless of where it originated and how many there are,” he said, cleaning a small dagger that had been strapped across his pectoral muscle. She followed the path of his tattoo down his face, neck, shoulders, and arm. Such a stark, brutal marking. Had the scars on Chaol’s face healed, or would they be a permanent reminder of what she’d done to him? “If you -were mistaken, I’d consider it a blessing.”
She slumped against the trunk. That was twice now she’d thought of Chaol. She must truly be exhausted, because the only other option was that she just wanted to make herself feel miserable.
She didn’t want to know what Chaol had been doing these months, or what he now thought of her. If he’d sold the information about her past to the king, maybe the king had sent one of those things -here, to hunt her. And Dorian—-gods, she’d been so lost in her own misery that she’d hardly wondered about him, whether he’d managed to keep his magic secret. She prayed he was safe.
She suffered with her own thoughts until Rowan finished with his weapons, then took out their skin of water and rinsed his hands, neck, and chest. She watched him sidelong, the way the water gleamed on his skin in the starlight. It was a damn good thing Rowan had no interest in her, either, because she knew she was stupid and reckless enough to consider whether moving on in the physical sense might solve the problem of Chaol.
There was still such a mighty hole in her chest. A hole that grew bigger, not smaller, and that no one could fix, not even if she took Rowan to bed. There -were some days when the amethyst ring was her most precious belonging—-others when it was all she could do not to melt it down in a flame of her own making. Maybe she had been a fool to love a man who served the king, but Chaol had been what she needed after losing Sam, after surviving the mines.
But these days . . . she didn’t know what she needed. What she wanted. If she felt like admitting it, she actually didn’t have the faintest clue who the hell she was anymore. All she knew was that what-ever and whoever climbed out of that abyss of despair and grief would not be the same person who had plummeted in. And maybe that was a good thing.
Rowan put his clothes back on and settled against the trunk, his body warm and solid against hers. They sat in the dark for a little until she said quietly, “You once told me that when you find your mate, you can’t stomach the idea of hurting them physically. Once you’re mated, you’d sooner harm yourself.”
“Yes; why?”
“I tried to kill him. I mauled his face, then held a dagger over his heart because I thought he was responsible for Nehemia’s death. I would have done it if someone hadn’t stopped me. If Chaol—-if he’d truly been my mate, I -wouldn’t have been able to do that, would I?”
He was silent for a long while. “You hadn’t been in your Fae form for ten years, so perhaps your instincts -weren’t even able to take hold. Sometimes, mates can be together intimately before the actual bond snaps into place.”
“It’s a useless hope to cling to, anyway.”
“Do you want the truth?”
She tucked her chin into her tunic and closed her eyes. “Not to-night.”
46
Shielding her eyes from the glare, Celaena scanned the cliffs and the spit of beach far below. It was scorching, with hardly a breeze, but Rowan remained in his heavy pale-gray jacket and wide belt, vambraces strapped to his forearms. He’d deigned to give her a few of his weapons that morning—-as a precaution.
They’d returned to the latest site at dawn to retrace their steps—-and that was where Celaena had picked up a trail. Well, she’d spied a droplet of dark blood on a nearby rock, and then Rowan had followed the scent back toward the cliffs. She looked down the beach, at the natural--cut arches of the many caves along its curving length. But there was nothing -here—-and the trail, thanks to the sea and wind and elements, had gone cold. They’d been -here for the past half hour, looking for any other signs, but there was nothing. Nothing, except—
There. A sagging curve in the cliff edge, as if many pairs of feet had worn the lip down as they slid carefully over the edge. Rowan gripped her arm as she leaned to view the crumbled, hidden stair. She glared at him, but he didn’t let go. “I’m trying not to be insulted,” she said. “Look.”
They -were hardly steps now—-just lumps of rock and sand peppered with shrubs. The water beyond the beach was so clear and calm that a slight break could be seen in the barrier reef that guarded these shores. It was one of the few ways to make a safe landing -here without shattering your boat, only wide enough for a small craft to pass through. No warships or merchant vessels would fit, undoubtedly one reason this area had never been developed. It was the perfect place, however, if you wanted to surreptitiously enter the country—-and stay hidden.
She began sketching in the sandy earth, a long, hard line, then drew dot after dot after dot.
“The bodies -were dumped in streams and rivers,” she said.
“The sea was never far off,” he said, kneeling beside her. “They could have dumped the bodies there. But—”
“But then those bodies probably would drift right back to shore, and prompt people to look along the beach. Look -here,” she said, pointing to the stretch of coastline she’d sketched—-and where they -were currently sitting, smack dab in the middle of it.
“There are countless caves along this section of the shore.”
She indicated where the waves broke on the reef and the small, calm space between them. “It’s an easy access point from—” She swore. She -couldn’t say it. There -were no ships along -here, but that didn’t mean that one or two or more -couldn’t have come from Adarlan, sneaking in at night, and slipped in their violent, vicious cargo using smaller boats.
Rowan stood. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Don’t you think they would already have attacked if they’d seen us?”
Rowan pointed to the sun. If he was about to tell her it -wasn’t safe for a queen to be throwing herself into danger, then he could— “If -we’re going to explore, then -we’re going to do it under cover of darkness. So -we’re going back to the stream, and -we’re going to find something to eat. And then, Princess,” he said with a wild grin, “we are going to have some fun.”
?
Some god must have decided to take pity on them, because the rain started right after sunset, thundering clouds rolling in with a vengeance to conceal any sound they made as they returned to the beach and began a thorough search of the caves.
But that was about where their favor from the gods ended, because what they found, while lying on their bellies on a narrow cliff overhanging a barren beach, was worse than anything they’d anticipated. It -wasn’t only monsters of the king’s making.
It was a host of soldiers.
A few men came out of the massive cave mouth, which was camouflaged among the rocks and sand. They might have missed them had it not been for Rowan’s keen sense of smell. He did not have the words, he said, to describe what that smell was like. But she knew it.
Celaena’s mouth had gone dry, her stomach a knot as the dark figures slipped in and out of the cave with disciplined, economic movements that suggested they -were highly trained. They -weren’t rabid, half--feral monsters like the one in the library, or cold, flawless creatures like what she’d seen in the barrows, but mortal soldiers. All of them aware, disciplined, ruthless.
“The crab--monger,” Celaena murmured to Rowan. “In the village. He said—-he said he found weapons in his nets. They must be taking ships and then getting close enough to swim through the reef without attracting attention. We need to get a closer look.” She raised her brows at Rowan, who gave her a hunter’s smile. “I knew you’d be useful someday.”
Rowan just snorted and shifted, a flicker of light that she hoped was gobbled up by the storm. He flapped over the cliff edge and glided across the water, nothing more than a predator looking for a meal, then circled back until he rested on a rock just beyond the breaking waves. She watched him hunt, moving toward the cave itself, an animal looking for shelter from the rain. And then, keeping close to the towering ceiling of the cave, he swept inside.
She didn’t breathe the entire time he was out of her sight. She counted the gaps between the thunder and the lightning, her fingers itching to grab on to the hilt of her sword.
But at long last, Rowan swooped out of the cave in a leisurely flight. He made his way up to her, then flew past, heading into the woods. A message to follow. Carefully, she dragged herself through the dirt and mud and rocks until she was far enough away to slip between the trees. She followed Rowan for a ways, the forest growing denser, the rain masking all sounds.
She found him standing with crossed arms against a gnarled pine. “There are about two hundred mortal soldiers and three of those creatures in the caves. There’s a hidden network of them all along the shore.”
Her throat closed up. She made herself wait for him to go on.
“They are under the command of someone called General Narrok. The soldiers all look highly trained, but they keep well away from the three creatures.” Rowan wiped at his nose, and in the flash of lightning, she beheld the blood. “You -were right. The three creatures look like men, but aren’t men. What-ever dwells inside their skin is . . . disgusting isn’t the right word. It was as if my magic, my blood—-my very essence was repelled by them.” He examined the blood on his fingers. “All of them seem to be waiting.”
Three of those things. Just one had nearly killed her. “Waiting for what?”
Rowan’s animal eyes glowed as they fixed on her. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“The king never said anything about this. He—-he . . .” Had something gone wrong in Adarlan? Had Chaol somehow told the king who and what she was, and the king sent these men -here to . . . No, it had to have taken weeks, months, to get these creatures smuggled -here. “Send word for Wendlyn’s forces—-warn them right now.”
“Even if I reached Varese tomorrow, it would take over a week to get -here on foot. Most of the units have been deployed in the north all spring.”
“We still need to warn them that they’re at risk.”
“Use your head. There are endless caves and places to hide along the western coastline. And yet they pick -here, this access point.”
She visualized the map of the area. “The mountain road will take them past the fortress.” Her blood chilled, and even her magic, flickering in an attempt to soothe her, could not warm her as she said, “No—-not past. To the fortress. They’re going after the demi--Fae.”
A slow, grave nod. “I think those bodies we found -were experiments. To learn the weaknesses and strengths of the demi--Fae, to learn which ones -were . . . compatible with what-ever it is they do to warp beings. With these numbers, I’d suggest this unit was sent -here to capture and retrieve the demi--Fae, or to wipe out a potential threat.”
Because if they could not be converted and enslaved to Adarlan, then the demi--Fae could be convinced to potentially fight for Wendlyn in a war. They could be the strongest warriors in Wendlyn’s forces—-and cause more than a bit of trouble for Adarlan as a result.
She lifted her chin and said, “Then right now—-right now, we’ll go down to that beach and unleash our magic on them all. While they’re sleeping.” She turned, even as part of her soul started bucking and thrashing at the thought of it.
Rowan grabbed her elbow. “If I had thought there was a way to do it, I would have suffocated them all. But we -can’t—-not without endangering our lives in the pro-cess.”
“Believe me, I can and I will.” They -were Adarlan’s soldiers—-they had butchered and pillaged and done more evil than she could stomach. She could do it. She would do it.
“No. You physically cannot harm them, Aelin. Not right now. They know enough about those Wyrdmarks to have protected their -whole rutting camp from our kind of magic. Wards—-like the stones around the fortress, but different. They wear iron everywhere they can, in their weapons, in their armor. They know their enemy well. We might be good, but we -can’t take them on alone and walk out of those caves alive.”
Celaena paced, running her hands through her rain--wet hair, and then realized he hadn’t finished. “Say it,” she demanded.
“Narrok is in the very back of the caves, in a private chamber. He is like them, a creature wearing the skin of a man. He sends out his three monsters to retrieve the demi--Fae, and they bring them back to the cave—-for him to experiment on.”
She knew, then, why Rowan had moved her into the trees, far from the beach. Not for safety, but because—-because there was a demi--Fae in there right now.
“I tried to cut off her air—-to make it easier for her,” Rowan said. “But they have her in too much iron, and . . . she won’t make it through the night, even if we go in there now. She is already a husk, barely able to breathe. There is no coming back from what they’ve done. They’ve fed on the very life of her, trapping her in her mind, making her relive what-ever horrors and miseries she’s already encountered.”
Even the fire in her blood froze. “It truly fed on me that day in the barrows,” she whispered. “If I hadn’t managed to escape, it would have drained me like that.” A low, confirming growl rippled out of Rowan.
Nauseated, Celaena scrubbed at her face—-tipped her head back to the rain trickling in from the canopy above, then finally took a long breath and faced Rowan. “We cannot kill them with our magic while they are encamped. Wendlyn’s forces are too far away, and Narrok is going after the demi--Fae with three of those monsters plus two hundred soldiers.” She was thinking aloud, but Rowan nodded -anyway. “How many of the sentries at Mistward have actually seen -battle?”
“Thirty or less. And some, like Malakai, are too old, but will fight anyway—-and die.”
Rowan walked deeper into the woods. She followed him, if only because she knew if she took one step closer to the beach, she would go after that female. From the tension in Rowan’s shoulders, she knew he felt the same.
The rain ceased, and Celaena pulled back her hood to let the misty air soak into her too--hot face. This area was full of shepherds and farmers and fishermen. Aside from the demi--Fae, there was no one -else to fight the creatures. They had no advantage, save for knowing their territory better than their enemy. They would send word to Wendlyn, of course, and maybe, maybe help would arrive in the next week.
Rowan held up a fist, and she halted as he scanned the trees ahead and behind. With expert quietness, he unsheathed one of the blades in his vambraces. The smell hit her a second later—-the stench of what-ever those creatures -were beneath the mortal meat.
“Only one.” He was so quiet she could hardly hear even with her Fae ears.
“That’s not reassuring,” she said with equal softness, drawing her own dagger.
Rowan pointed. “He’s coming dead at us. You head to the right for twenty yards, I’ll go left. When he’s between us, wait for my signal, then strike. No magic—-it might attract too much attention if others are nearby. Keep it quick and quiet and fast.”
“Rowan, this thing—”
“Quick and quiet and fast.”
His green eyes flashed, but she held his stare. It fed on me and would have turned me into a husk, she silently said. We could easily meet that fate right now.
You -were unprepared, he seemed to say. And I was not with you.
This is insane. I faced one of the defective ones, too, and it almost killed me.
Scared, Princess?
Yes, and wisely so.
But he was right. These -were their woods, and they -were warriors. This time, it would be different. So she nodded, a soldier accepting orders, and did not bother with farewells before she slipped into the trees. She made her footfalls light, counting the distance, listening to the forest around them, keeping her breathing steady.
She ducked behind a mossy tree and drew her other blade. The smell deepened into a steady reek that made her head pound. As the clouds overhead cleared further, the starlight faintly illuminated the low--lying mist on the loamy earth. Nothing.
She was starting to wonder whether Rowan had been mistaken when the creature appeared between the trees ahead—-closer to her than she’d anticipated. Much, much closer.
She felt him first: the smudge of blackness, the silence that enveloped him like an extra cloak. Even the fog seemed to pull away from him.
Beneath his hood, she could only glimpse pale skin and sensual lips. He did not bother with weapons. But it was his nails that made her breath catch. Long, sharp nails that she remembered all too well—-how they’d felt when they ripped into her in the library.
Unlike those nails, these -were unbroken, the polished black curves gleaming. The skin on his fingers was bone--white and flawless, too smooth to be natural. Indeed, she could have sworn she saw dark, glittering veins, a mockery of the blood that had once flowed there.
Celaena didn’t dare bat an eyelash as the thing turned his hooded head toward her. Rowan still didn’t give the signal. Did he realize how close it was?
A wet trickle of warmth flowed onto her lips from one of her nostrils. She tensed, bracing herself, and wondered how fast he could move and how deeply she would have to slice with her long knives. The sword would be a last resort, as it was more cumbersome. Even if using the knives meant getting in close.
He scanned the trees, and Celaena pressed behind hers. The creature beneath the library had torn through metal doors as if they -were curtains. And it knew how to use the Wyrdmarks—
She glanced out in time to see him step toward her tree, the movement deadly elegant and promising a long, painful end. He had not had his mind broken; he still retained the ability to think, to calculate. These things -were so good at their work, it seemed that the king had thought only three -were necessary -here. How many others remained hidden on her continent?
The forest had fallen so still that she could hear a huffing sound. He was scenting her. Her magic flared, and she shoved it down. She didn’t want her magic touching this thing, with or without Rowan’s command. The creature sniffed again—-and took another step in her direction. Just like that day at the barrows, the air began to hollow out, pulsing against her ears. Her other nostril began to bleed. Shit.
The thought hit her then, and the world stumbled. What if it had gotten to Rowan first? She dared another glance around the tree.
The creature was gone.