Ironteeth. I didnât care if she killed me. But she told me that it was not my fate to die there. That I should journey south, to the Silent Assassins in the Red Desert, and there . . . there I would find my fate. She fed me, and bound my bleeding feet, and gave me goldâgold that I later used to commission my armorâthen sent me on my way.â
Ansel wiped at her eyes. âSo Iâve been here ever since, training for the day when Iâm strong enough and fast enough to return to Briarcliff and take back what is mine. Someday, Iâll march into High King Lochâs hall and repay him for what he did to my family. With my fatherâs sword.â Her hand grazed the wolf-head hilt. âThis sword will end his life. Because this sword is all I have left of them.â
Celaena hadnât realized she was crying until she tried to take a deep breath. Saying that she was sorry didnât feel adequate. She knew what this sort of loss was like, and words didnât do anything at all.
Ansel slowly turned to look at her, her eyes lined with silver. She traced Celaenaâs cheekbone, where the bruises had once been. âWhere do men find it in themselves to do such monstrous things? How do they find it acceptable?â
âWeâll make them pay for it in the end.â Celaena grasped Anselâs hand. The girl squeezed back hard. âWeâll see to it that they pay.â
âYes.â Ansel shifted her gaze back to the stars. âYes, we will.â
Chapter Seven
Celaena and Ansel knew their little escapade with the Asterion horses would have consequences. Celaena had at least expected to have enough time to tell a decent lie about how they acquired the horses. But when they returned to the fortress and found Mikhail waiting, along with three other assassins, she knew that word of their stunt had somehow already reached the Master.
She kept her mouth shut as she and Ansel knelt at the foot of the Masterâs dais, heads bowed, eyes on the floor. She certainly wouldnât convince him to train her now.
His receiving chamber was empty today, and each of his steps scraped softly against the floor. She knew he could be silent if he wished. He wanted them to feel the dread of his approach.
And Celaena felt it. She felt each footstep, the phantom bruises on her face throbbing with the memory of Arobynnâs fists. And suddenly, as the memory of that day echoed through her, she remembered the words Sam kept screaming at Arobynn as the King of the Assassins beat her, the words that she somehow had forgotten in the fog of pain:
Iâll kill you!
Sam had said it like he meant it. Heâd bellowed it. Again and again and again.
The clear, unexpected memory was almost jarring enough for her to forget where she wasâbut then the snow-white robes of the Master came into view. Her mouth went dry.
âWe just wanted to have some fun,â Ansel said quietly. âWe can return the horses.â
Celaena, eyes still lowered, glanced toward Ansel. She was staring up at the Master as he towered over them. âIâm sorry,â Celaena murmured, wishing she could convey it with her hands, too. Though silence might have been preferable, she needed him to hear her apology.
The Master just stood there, disapproval written all over his face.
Ansel was the first to break under his stare. She sighed. âI know it was foolish. But thereâs nothing to worry about. I can handle Lord Berick; Iâve been handling him for ages.â
There was enough bitterness in her words that Celaenaâs brows rose slightly. Perhaps his refusal to train her wasnât easy for Ansel to bear. She was never outright competitive about getting the Masterâs attention, but . . . After so many years of living here, being stuck as the mediator between the Master and Berick didnât exactly seem like the sort of glory Ansel was interested in. Celaena certainly wouldnât
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