The Assassin and the Underworld

  “Do I dare ask?” Arobynn massaged his temples.

  The servants hurried out, and Celaena shut the door behind them. Without a word, she opened the lids of the trunks. Gold shone in the noontime sun.

  She turned to Arobynn, clinging to the memory of what it had felt like to sit on the roof after the party. His face was unreadable.

  “I think this covers my debt,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “And then some.”

  Arobynn remained seated.

  She swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. Why had she thought this was a good idea?

  “I’d like to keep working with you,” she said carefully. He’d looked at her like this before—on the night he’d beaten her. “But you don’t own me anymore.”

  His silver eyes flicked to the trunks, then to her. In a moment of silence that lasted forever, she stood still as he took her in. Then he smiled, a bit ruefully. “Can you blame me for hoping that this day would never come?”

  She almost sagged with relief. “I mean it: I want to keep working with you.”

  She knew in that moment that she couldn’t tell him about the apartment and that she was moving out—not right now. Small steps. Today, the debt. Perhaps in a few weeks, she could mention that she was leaving. Perhaps he wouldn’t even care that she was getting her own home.

  “And I’ll always be happy to work with you,” he said, but remained seated. He took a sip from his tea. “Do I want to know where that money came from?”

  She became aware of the scar on her neck as she said, “The Mute Master. Payment for saving his life.”

  Arobynn picked up the morning paper. “Well, allow me to extend my congratulations.” He looked at her over the top of the paper. “You’re now a free woman.”

  She tried not to smile. Perhaps she wasn’t free in the entire sense of the word, but at least he wouldn’t be able to wield the debt against her anymore. That would suffice for now.

  “Good luck with Doneval tomorrow night,” he added. “Let me know if you need any help.”

  “As long as you don’t charge me for it.”

  He didn’t return her smile, and set down the paper. “I would never do that to you.” Something like hurt flickered in his eyes.

  Fighting her sudden desire to apologize, she left his study without another word.

  The walk back to her bedroom was long. She’d expected to crow with glee when she gave him the money, expected to strut around the Keep. But seeing the way he’d looked at her made all that gold feel … cheap.

  A glorious start to her new future.

  Though Celaena never wanted to set foot in the vile sewer again, she found herself back there that afternoon. There was still a river flowing through the tunnel, but the narrow walkway alongside it was dry, even with the rain shower that was now falling on the street above them.

  An hour before, Sam had just showed up at her bedroom, dressed and ready to spy on Doneval’s house. Now he crept behind her, saying nothing as they approached the iron door she remembered all too well. She set down her torch beside the door and ran her hands along the worn, rusty surface.

  “We’ll have to get in this way tomorrow,” she said, her voice barely audible above the gurgle of the sewer river. “The front of the house is too well-guarded now.”

  Sam traced a finger through the groove between the door and the threshold. “Aside from finding a way to haul a battering ram down here, I don’t think we’re getting through.”

  She shot him a dark look. “You could try knocking.”

  Sam laughed under his breath. “I’m sure the guards would appreciate that. Maybe they’d invite me in for an ale, too. That is, after they finished pumping my gut full of arrows.” He patted the firm plane of his stomach. He was wearing the suit Arobynn had forced him to buy, and she tried not to look too closely at how well it displayed his form.

  “So we can’t get in this door,” she murmured, sliding her hand along it again. “Unless we figure out when the servants dump the trash.”

  “Unreliable,” he countered, still studying the door. “The servants might empty the trash whenever they feel like it.”

  She swore and glanced about the sewer. What a horrible place to have almost died. She certainly hoped that she’d run into Philip tomorrow. That arrogant ass wouldn’t see what was coming until she was right in front of him. He hadn’t even recognized her from the party the other night.

  She smiled slowly. What better way to get back at Philip than to break in through the very door he’d revealed to her? “Then one of us will just have to sit out here for a few hours,” she whispered, still staring at the door. “With the landing outside the door, the servants need to take a few steps to reach the water.” Celaena’s smile grew. “And I’m sure that if they’re lugging a bunch of trash, they probably won’t think to look behind them.”

  Sam’s teeth flashed in the torchlight as he smiled. “And they’ll be preoccupied long enough for someone to slip in and find a good hiding spot in the cellar to wait out the rest of the time until seven thirty.”

  “What a surprise they’ll have tomorrow, when they find their cellar door unlocked.”

  “I think that’ll be the least of their surprises tomorrow.”

  She picked up her torch. “It certainly will be.” He followed her back down the sewer walkway. They’d found a grate in a shadowy alley, far enough away from the house that no one would suspect them. Unfortunately, it meant a long walk back through the sewers.

  “I heard you paid off Arobynn this morning,” he said, his eyes on the dark stones beneath their feet. He still kept his voice soft. “How does it feel to be free?”

  She glanced at him sidelong. “Not the way I thought it would.”

  “I’m surprised he took the money without a fight.”

  She didn’t say anything. In the dim light, Sam took a ragged breath.

  “I think I might leave,” he whispered.

  She almost tripped. “Leave?”

  He wouldn’t look at her. “I’m going down to Eyllwe—to Banjali, to be precise.”

  “For a mission?” It was common for Arobynn to send them all over the continent, but the way Sam was speaking felt … different.

  “Forever,” he said.

  “Why?” Her voice sounded a little shrill in her ears.

  He faced her. “What do I have to tie me here? Arobynn already mentioned that it might be useful to firmly establish ourselves in the south, too.”

  “Arobynn—” she seethed, fighting to keep her voice to a whisper. “You talked to Arobynn about this?”

  Sam gave her a half shrug. “Casually. It’s not official.”

  “But—but Banjali is a thousand miles away.”

  “Yes, but Rifthold belongs to you and Arobynn. I’ll always be … an alternative.”

  “I’d rather be an alternative in Rifthold than ruler of the assassins in Banjali.” She hated that she had to keep her voice so soft. She was going to splatter someone against a wall. She was going to rip down the sewer with her bare hands.

  “I’m leaving at the end of the month,” he said, still calm.

  “That’s two weeks away!”

  “Do I have any reason why I should stay here?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed as loudly as she could while still maintaining a hushed tone. “Yes, you do.” He didn’t reply. “You can’t go.”

  “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “Because I’ll miss you, damn it!” she hissed, splaying her arms. “Because what was the point in anything if you just disappear forever?”

  “The point in what, Celaena?” How could he be so calm when she was so frantic?

  “The point in Skull’s Bay, and the point in getting me that music, and the point in … the point in telling Arobynn that you’d forgive him if he never hurt me again.”

  “You said you didn’t care what I thought. Or what I did. Or if I died, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I lied! And you know I lied, you
stupid bastard!”

  He laughed quietly. “You want to know how I spent this summer?” She went still. He ran a hand through his brown hair. “I spent every single day fighting the urge to slit Arobynn’s throat. And he knew I wanted to kill him.”

  I’ll kill you! Sam had screamed at Arobynn.

  “The moment I woke up after he beat me, I realized I had to leave. Because I was going to kill him if I didn’t. But I couldn’t.” He studied her face. “Not until you came back. Not until I knew you were all right—until I saw that you were safe.”

  Breathing became very, very hard.

  “He knew that, too,” Sam went on. “So he decided to exploit it. He didn’t recommend me for missions. Instead, he made me help Lysandra and Clarisse. He made me escort them around the city on picnics and to parties. It became a game between the two of us—how much of his horseshit I could take before I snapped. But we both knew he’d always have the winning hand. He’d always have you. Still, I spent every day this summer hoping you’d come back in one piece. More than that—I hoped you’d come back and take revenge for what he’d done to you.”

  But she hadn’t. She’d come back and let Arobynn shower her with gifts.

  “And now that you’re fine, Celaena, now that you’ve paid off your debt, I can’t stay in Rifthold. Not after all the things he’s done to us.”

  She knew it was selfish, and horrible, but she whispered, “Please don’t go.”

  He let out an uneven breath. “You’ll be fine without me. You always have been.”

  Maybe once, but not now. “How can I convince you to stay?”

  “You can’t.”

  She threw down the torch. “Do you want me to beg, is that it?”

  “No—never.”

  “Then tell me—”

  “What more can I say?” he exploded, his whisper rough and harsh. “I’ve already told you everything—I’ve already told you that if I stay here, if I have to live with Arobynn, I’ll snap his damned neck.”

  “But why? Why can’t you let it go?”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Because I love you!”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “I love you,” he repeated, shaking her again. “I have for years. And he hurt you and made me watch because he’s always known how I felt, too. But if I asked you to pick, you’d choose Arobynn, and I. Can’t. Take. It.”

  The only sounds were their breathing, an uneven beat against the rushing of the sewer river.

  “You’re a damned idiot,” she breathed, grabbing the front of his tunic. “You’re a moron and an ass and a damned idiot.” He looked like she had hit him. But she went on, and grasped both sides of his face, “Because I’d pick you.”

  And then she kissed him.

  Chapter Ten

  She’d never kissed anyone. And as her lips met his and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against him, she honestly had no idea why she’d waited so long. His mouth was warm and soft, his body wondrously solid against hers, his hair silken as she threaded her fingers through it. Still, she let him guide her, forced herself to remember to breathe as he eased her lips apart with his own.

  When she felt the brush of his tongue against hers, she was so full of lightning she thought she might die from the rush of it. She wanted more. She wanted all of him.

  She couldn’t hold him tight enough, kiss him fast enough. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat, so full of need she felt it in her core. Lower than that, actually.

  She pushed him against the wall, and his hands roamed all over her back, her sides, her hips. She wanted to bask in the feeling—wanted to rip off her suit so she could feel his callused hands against her bare skin. The intensity of that desire swept her away.

  She didn’t give a damn about the sewers. Or Doneval, or Philip, or Arobynn.

  Sam’s lips left her mouth to travel along her neck. They grazed a spot beneath her ear and her breath hitched.

  No, she didn’t give a damn about anything right now.

  It was nighttime when they left the sewers, hair disheveled and mouths swollen. He wouldn’t let go of her hand during the long walk back to the Keep, and when they got there, she ordered the servants to send dinner for them to her room. Though they stayed up long into the night, doing a minimal amount of talking, their clothes remained on. Enough had happened today to change her life, and she was in no particular mood to alter yet another major thing.

  But what had happened in the sewer …

  Celaena lay awake that night, long after Sam had left her room, staring at nothing.

  He loved her. For years. And he’d endured so much for her sake.

  For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. She’d been nothing but horrible to him, and had repaid any kindness on his part with a sneer. And what she felt for him …

  She hadn’t been in love with him for years. Until Skull’s Bay, she wouldn’t have minded killing him.

  But now … No, she couldn’t think about this now. And she couldn’t think about it tomorrow, either. Because tomorrow, they’d infiltrate Doneval’s house. It was still risky, but the payoff … She couldn’t turn down that money, not now that she would be supporting herself. And she wouldn’t let the bastard Doneval get away with his slave-trade agreement, or blackmailing those who dared to stand against it.

  She just prayed Sam wouldn’t get hurt.

  In the silence of her bedroom, she swore an oath to the moonlight that if Sam were hurt, no force in the world would hold her back from slaughtering everyone responsible.

  After lunch the next afternoon, Celaena waited in the shadows beside the sewer door to the cellar. A ways down the tunnel, Sam also waited, his black suit making him almost invisible in the darkness.

  With the household lunch just ending, it was a good bet that Celaena would soon have her best chance to slip inside. She’d been waiting for an hour already, each noise whetting the edge she’d been riding since dawn. She’d have to be quick and silent and ruthless. One mistake, one shout—or even a missing servant—might ruin everything.

  A servant had to come down here to deposit the trash at some point soon. She pulled a little pocket watch out of her suit. Carefully, she lit a match to glance at the face. Two o’clock. She had five hours until she needed to creep into Doneval’s study to await the seven-thirty meeting. And she was willing to bet he wouldn’t enter the study until then; a man like that would want to greet his guest at the door, to see the look on his partner’s face as he led him through the opulent halls. Suddenly, she heard the first, interior door to the sewers groan, and footsteps and grunts sounded. Her trained ear heard the noises of one servant—female. Celaena blew out the match.

  She pressed herself into the wall as the lock to the outer door snapped open, and the heavy door slid against the ground. She could hear no other footsteps, save for the woman who hauled a vat of garbage onto the landing. The servant was alone. The cellar above was empty, too.

  The woman, too preoccupied with depositing the metal pail of garbage, didn’t think to look to the shadows beside the door. She didn’t even pause as Celaena slipped past her. Celaena was through both doors, up the stairs, and into the cellar before she even heard the plop and splatter of the trash landing in the water.

  As Celaena rushed toward the darkest corner of the vast, dimly lit cellar, she took in as many details as she could. Countless barrels of wine and shelves crammed full of food and goods from across Erilea. One staircase leading up. No other servants to be heard, save for somewhere above her. The kitchen, probably.

  The outer door slammed shut, the lock sounding. But Celaena was already crouched behind a giant keg of wine. The interior door also shut and locked. Celaena slid on the smooth black mask she’d brought with her, tossing the hood of her cloak over her hair. The sound of footsteps and light panting, and then the servant reappeared at the top of the sewer stairs, empty garbage pail creaking as it swung from one hand. She walked right by, humming to h
erself as she mounted the stairs that led toward the kitchen.

  Celaena loosed a breath when the woman’s footsteps faded, then grinned to herself. If Philip had been smart, he would have slit her throat in the sewer that night. Perhaps when she killed him, she’d let him know exactly how she got into the house.

  When she was absolutely certain that the servant wasn’t returning with a second pail of garbage, Celaena hurried toward the small set of steps that led down to the sewer. Quiet as a jackrabbit in the Red Desert, she unlocked the first door, crept through, then unlocked the second. Sam wouldn’t sneak in until right before the meeting—or else someone might come down and discover him preparing the cellar for the fire that would serve as a distraction. And if someone found the two unlocked doors before then, it could just be blamed on the servant who’d dumped the trash.

  Celaena carefully shut both doors, making sure the locks remained disabled, and then returned to her place in the shadows of the cellar’s vast wine collection.

  Then she waited.

  At seven, she left the cellar before Sam could arrive with his torches and oil. The ungodly amount of alcohol stocked inside would do the rest. She just hoped he made it out before the fire blew the cellar to bits.

  She needed to be upstairs and hidden before that happened—and before the exchange was made. Once the fire started a few minutes after seven thirty, some of the guards would be called downstairs immediately, leaving Doneval and his partner with far fewer men to protect them.

  The servants were eating their evening meal, and from the laughter inside the sub-level kitchen, none of them seemed aware of the deal that was to occur three flights above them. Celaena crept past the kitchen door. In her suit, cloak, and mask, she was a mere shadow on the pale stone walls. She held her breath the entire way up the servants’ narrow spiral staircase.

  With her new suit, it was far easier to keep track of her weapons, and she slid a long dagger out of the hidden flap in her boot. She peered down the second floor hallway.