The Assassin’s Blade: Novella 5 – Chapter 3

Dawn crept into their room, filling it with golden light that caught in Sam’s hair and made it shine like bronze.

Propped on one elbow, Celaena watched him sleep.

His bare torso was still gloriously tanned from the summer—suggesting days spent training in one of the courtyards of the Keep, or maybe lounging on the banks of the Avery. Scars of varying lengths were scattered across his back and shoulders—some of them slender and even, some of them thicker and jagged. A life spent training and battling … His body was a map of his adventures, or proof of what growing up with Arobynn Hamel was like.

She ran a finger down the groove of his spine. She didn’t want to see another scar added to his flesh. She didn’t want this life for him. He was better than that. Deserved better.

When they moved, maybe they couldn’t leave behind death and killing and all that came with it—not at first, but someday, far in the future, perhaps …

She brushed the hair from his eyes. Someday, they would both lay down their swords and daggers and arrows. And by leaving Rifthold, by leaving the Guild, they’d take the first step toward that day, even if they had to keep working as assassins for a few more years at least.

Sam’s eyes opened, and, finding her watching him, he gave her a sleepy smile.

It hit her like a punch to the gut. Yes—for him, she could someday give up being Adarlan’s Assassin, give up the notoriety and fortune.

He pulled her down, wrapping an arm around her bare waist and tucking her in close to him. His nose grazed her neck, and he breathed her in deeply.

“Let’s take down Jayne and Farran,” she said softly.

Sam purred a response onto her skin that told her he was only half-awake—and that his mind was on anything but Jayne and Farran.

She dug her nails into his back, and he grunted his annoyance, but made no move to awaken.

“We’ll eliminate Farran first—to weaken the chain of command. It’d be too risky to take them both out at once—too many things could go wrong. But if we take out Farran first, even if it means Jayne’s guards will be on alert, they’ll still be in total chaos. And that’s when we’ll dispatch Jayne.” It was a solid plan. She liked this plan. They merely needed a few days to figure out Farran’s defenses and how to get around them.

Sam mumbled another response that sounded like anything you want, just go back to sleep.

Celaena looked up at the ceiling and smiled.

After breakfast, and after she’d gone to the bank to transfer a huge sum of money to Arobynn’s account (an event that left both Celaena and Sam rather miserable and on edge), they spent the day gathering information on Ioan Jayne. As the biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold, Jayne was well-protected, and his minions were everywhere: orphan spies in the streets, harlots working in the Vaults, barkeeps and merchants and even some city guards.

Everyone knew where his house was: a sprawling three-story building of white stone on one of the nicest streets in Rifthold. The place was so well-watched that it was too risky to do more than walk past. Even stopping to observe for a few minutes might spark the interest of one of the disguised henchmen loitering on the street.

It seemed absurd that Jayne would have his house on this street. His neighbors were well-off merchants and minor nobility. Did they know who lived next door and what sort of evil went on beneath the emerald-tiled roof?

They had a stroke of good luck as they meandered past the house, looking for all the world like a well-dressed, handsome couple on a morning walk through the capital. Just as they were passing by, Farran, Jayne’s Second, swaggered out the door, heading for the black carriage parked out front.

Celaena felt Sam’s arm tense under her hand. He kept looking ahead, not daring to stare at Farran for too long in case someone noticed. But Celaena, pretending that she’d discovered a pull in her forest-green tunic, was able to glance over a few times.

She’d heard about Farran. Most everyone had. If she had a rival for notoriety, it was him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and in his late twenties, Farran had been born and abandoned in the streets of Rifthold. He’d begun working for Jayne as one of his orphan spies, and over the years had clawed his way up the ranks of Jayne’s twisted court, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake until he was appointed Second. Looking at him now, with his fine gray clothes and his gleaming black hair slicked into submission, it was impossible to tell that he’d once been one of the vicious little beasts that roamed the slums in feral packs.

As he walked down the stairs to the carriage that awaited him in the private drive, Farran’s steps were smooth, calculated—his body rippling with barely restrained power. Even from across the street, Celaena could see how his dark eyes shone, his pale face set in a smile that made a shiver go down her spine.

The bodies Farran had left in his wake, she knew, hadn’t been left in one piece. Somewhere in the years he’d spent rising from orphan to Second, Farran had developed a taste for sadistic torture. It had earned him his spot at Jayne’s side—and kept his rivals from challenging him.

Farran slung himself into the carriage. The movement was so easy that his well-tailored clothes barely shifted out of place. The carriage started down the driveway, turned onto the street, and Celaena looked up as it ambled past.

Only to see Farran looking out the window—staring right at her.

Sam pretended not to notice. Celaena kept her face utterly blank—the disinterest of a well-bred lady who had no idea that the person staring at her like a cat watching a mouse was actually one of the most twisted men in the empire.

Farran gave her a smile. There was nothing human in it.

And that was why their client had offered a kingdom’s ransom for Farran’s and Jayne’s deaths.

She bobbed her head in a demure deflection of his attention, and Farran’s grin only grew before the carriage continued past and was swallowed up in the flow of city traffic.

Sam loosed a breath. “I’m glad we’re taking him out first.”

A dark, wicked part of her wished the opposite … wished she could see that feline grin vanish when Farran found out that Celaena Sardothien had killed Jayne. But Sam was right. She wouldn’t sleep one wink if they took out Jayne first, knowing Farran would expend all his resources hunting them down.

They made a long, slow circle around the streets surrounding Jayne’s house.

“It’d be easier to catch Farran on his way somewhere,” Celaena said, all too aware of how many eyes were tracking them on these streets. “The house is too well-guarded.”

“I’ll probably need two days to figure it out,” Sam said.

“You’ll need?”

“I figured you’d want the glory of taking out Jayne. So I’ll dispatch Farran.”

“Why not work together?”

His smile faded. “Because I want you to stay out of this for as long as possible.”

“Just because we’re together doesn’t mean I’ve become some weakling ninny.”

“I’m not saying that. But can you blame me for wanting to keep the girl I love away from someone like Farran? And before you begin to rattle off your accomplishments, let me tell you that I do know how many people you’ve killed and the scrapes you’ve gotten out of. But I found this client, so we’re doing it my way.”

If there hadn’t still been eyes on every corner, Celaena might have hit him. “How dare you—”

“Farran is a monster,” Sam said, not looking at her. “You said so yourself. And if anything goes wrong, the last place I want you to be is in his hands.”

“We’d be safer if we worked together.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I don’t need you looking out for me, Celaena.”

“Is this because of the money? Because I’m paying for things?”

“It’s because I’m responsible for this hire, and because you don’t always get to make the rules.”

“At least let me do some aerial spotting for you,” she said. She could let Sam take on Farran—she could become secondary for this mission. Hadn’t she just accepted that she could someday let go of being Adarlan’s Assassin? He could have the spotlight.

“No aerial spotting,” Sam said sharply. “You’ll be on the other side of the city—far away from this.”

“You know how ridiculous that is, don’t you?”

“I’ve had just as much training as you, Celaena.”

She might have pushed it—might have kept arguing until he gave in—but she caught the flicker of bitterness in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that bitterness in months, not since Skull’s Bay, when they’d been all but enemies. Sam had always been forced to watch while glory was heaped upon her, and always taken whatever missions she didn’t deign to accept. Which was absurd, really, given how talented he was.

If death-dealing could be called a talent.

And while she loved strutting around, calling herself Adarlan’s Assassin, with Sam that sort of arrogance now sometimes felt like cruelty.

So though it killed a part of her to say it, and though it went against all her training to agree, Celaena nudged him with a shoulder and said, “Fine. You take down Farran by yourself. But I get to dispatch Jayne—and then we’ll do it my way.”

Celaena had her weekly dancing lesson with Madame Florine, who also trained all of the dancers at the Royal Theater, so she left Sam to finish his scouting as she headed to the old woman’s private studio.

Four hours later, sweaty and aching and utterly spent, Celaena made her way back home across the city. She’d known the stern Madame Florine since she was a child: she taught all of Arobynn’s assassins the latest popular dances. But Celaena liked to take extra lessons because of the flexibility and grace the classical dances instilled. She’d always suspected the terse instructor had barely tolerated her—but to her surprise, Madame Florine had refused to take any pay for lessons now that she’d left Arobynn.

She’d have to find another dance instructor once they moved. More than that, a studio with a decent pianoforte player.

And the city would have to have a library, too. A great, wonderful library. Or a bookshop with a knowledgeable owner who could make sure her thirst for books was always sated.

And a good clothier. And perfumer. And jeweler. And confectionary.

Her feet dragged as she walked up the wooden steps to her apartment above the warehouse. She blamed it on the lesson. Madame Florine was a brutal taskmistress—she didn’t accept limp wrists or sloppy posture or anything except Celaena’s very best. Though she did always turn a blind eye to the last twenty minutes of their lesson, when she allowed Celaena to tell the student on the pianoforte to play her favorite music and set herself loose, dancing with wild abandon. And now that Celaena had no pianoforte of her own in the apartment, Madame Florine even let her remain after the lesson to practice.

Celaena found herself atop the stair landing, staring at the silvery-green door.

She could leave Rifthold. If it meant being free from Arobynn, she could leave behind all these things she loved. Other cities on the continent had libraries and bookshops and fine outfitters. Perhaps not as wonderful as Rifthold’s, and perhaps the city’s heart wouldn’t beat with the familiar rhythm that she adored, but … for Sam, she could leave.

Sighing, Celaena unlocked the door and walked into the apartment.

Arobynn Hamel was sitting on the couch.

“Hello, darling,” he said, and smiled.