Throne of Glass: Chapters 30–40

Thankfully, someone had created some semblance of order before they arrived.

She didn’t know where to look first. At the body, with the gaping chest cavity and missing brain and face, at the claw marks gouged into the ground, or at the two Wyrdmarks, drawn on either side of the body in chalk.

“I like music,” she said slowly, “because when I hear it, I...I lose myself within myself, if that makes sense. I become empty and full all at once, and I can feel the whole earth roiling around me. When I play, I’m not...for once, I’m not destroying. I’m creating.”

“I want to hear your answer—it must be interesting if you’re so ardently resisting.”

He stared at her sullenly.

He sidled closer to her, and his fingers brushed hers—calloused, warm, and hard.

Her look became shallow, as if she were more interested in how his jacket might complement her dress.

She had five minutes left—five minutes during which she not only had to identify the poisons in seven goblets, but arrange them in the order of the most benign to the deadliest.

Celaena picked up the penultimate goblet and sniffed.

“It just has a foul disposition. It won’t come near anyone—human or canine.”

“It’s not a crime if you consider him handsome. I’ll admit I judged him wrong; I thought him to be a pompous, selfish idiot, but he’s not so bad.”

“I was indisposed.” She resisted the urge to rest her too-heavy head on the couch.

“It’s hard to believe someone as disreputable as the Lady Lillian won the heart of the prince.”

“I know that I’m sometimes aloof with you, and I know you complain about it to Dorian, but—”

You’d think a man in his position wouldn’t be so squeamish, especially after examining all of those corpses.

The week surrounding Yulemas was a time of relaxation, a time to celebrate the carnal pleasures that kept one warm on a winter’s night.

Women wore their hair down; some even refused to don a corset.

“Hate me and my court for our frivolity and mindlessness when so many horrible things are going on outside of this city. I heard about those butchered rebels, and I—I’m ashamed,” he said, leaning his head against the window.

I can’t call myself a man when I allow my father to encourage such unforgivable atrocities. Yet even if I pleaded for clemency on behalf of the conquered kingdoms, he wouldn’t listen.

“But if I had refused to sponsor a Champion, my father would have seen it as a sign of dissent, and I’m not yet enough of a man to stand against him like that. So I chose Adarlan’s Assassin to be my Champion, because the choice of my Champion was the only choice I had.”

“It’s very old looking. Been robbing the royal coffer, have you?”

Celaena didn’t hear him, and though they talked for a good hour afterward meandering through the grounds, she couldn’t get her heart to calm.

They remained in the main room of the library as she set off through the stacks, heading toward the musty, forgotten alcove where she’d found the majority of the books on the Wyrdmarks.

There was something inherently peaceful about the day, despite the darkness of her encounter with Nehemia.

All of her favorites were there: chocolate-covered gummies, chocolate almond bark, berry-shaped chews, gem-shaped hard sugar, peanut brittle, plain brittle, sugarlace, frosted red licorice, and, most importantly, chocolate. She popped a hazelnut truffle into her mouth.

A border of ermine lined the neck and provided slender sleeves that only covered her shoulders.

The red-and-gold glass doors appeared, and she could see the wreaths and candles that bedecked the massive hall.

Nehemia still sat with the queen, wearing a gold-and-turquoise mask with a lotus motif.

He shook his head as he adjusted the lapel on his black tunic.

“Anyway,” Chaol added, jerking his chin at Dorian, “I think you have far more attractive suitors vying for your attention. I’m boring company to keep.”

Dorian spun Celaena with speed and dexterity, and she snapped into his arms, her shoulders rising with exhilaration.

Kaltain watched in rage and agony as Lillian Gordaina and the Crown Prince of Adarlan danced and danced and danced. Even with a much more concealing mask, she would have recognized the upstart.

It was certainly not the dull, drab mess of crystal that the conniving harlot wore.

It was certainly not the dull, drab mess of crystal that the conniving harlot wore.

A precipice opened before her.