Despite the hope his grin provided, she couldn’t ignore the terror that welled in her heart as the king, with dark eyes, watched her walk forward. The gold skirts of her dress were the only sound in the chamber. Celaena kept her hands pressed against the maroon bodice, trying not to wring them.
She stopped, and bowed. Chaol, standing beside her, did the same. The captain stood closer to her than he needed to.
“You have come to sign your contract,” the king said, and his voice made her bones splinter.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said as submissively as possible, staring at the man’s boots.
“Be my Champion, and you’ll find yourself a free woman. Four years of service was the bargain you set with my son, though I cannot imagine why he felt the need to bargain with
Her heart dropped and rose inside of her like a buoy. She would do whatever the king asked—every foul mission he could throw at her, and then when the four years were over, she’d be free to live her own life, without fear of pursuit or enslavement. She could begin again—far away from Adarlan. She could go away and forget this awful kingdom.
She didn’t know whether to smile, or to laugh, or to nod, or to cry and dance about. She could live off of her fortune until old age. She wouldn’t have to kill. She could say good-bye to Arobynn and leave Adarlan forever.
“Aren’t you going to thank me?” the king barked.
She dropped into a low bow, barely able to contain her joy. She had defeated him—she had sinned against his empire and now would emerge victorious. “Thank you for such an honor and gift, Your Majesty. I am your humble servant.”
The king snorted. “Lying won’t help you. Bring the contract forward.” A councilman dutifully placed a piece of parchment on the table before her.
She stared at the quill and the blank line where her name was to go.
The king’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t bite. Just one sign of rebellion, one movement of aggression, and he’d hang her. “There will be no questioning on your part. When I tell you to do something, you will do it. I don’t need to explain myself to you. And if you somehow are caught, you will deny any connection to me to your last breath. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Majesty.”
He strode from the dais. Dorian started to move, but Chaol shook his head.
Celaena looked at the floor as the king stopped before her. “Now understand this, assassin,” the king said. She felt small and frail, so close to him. “Should you fail any of my tasks, should you forget to return, you will pay dearly.” The king’s voice became so soft that even she could barely hear it. “If you don’t return from the missions on which I send you, I’ll have your friend, the captain”—he paused for emphasis—“killed.”
Her eyes were wide as she stared at his empty throne.
“If you fail to return after that, I’ll have Nehemia killed. Then, I’ll have her brothers executed. Not long after that, I’ll bury their mother beside them. Don’t believe I’m not as cunning and stealthy as you are.” She could feel him smile. “You get the picture, don’t you?” He pulled away. “Sign it.”
She looked at the blank space, and what it offered. She took a silent, long breath, and with a prayer for her soul, she signed. Each letter was harder to form than the last. Finally, she let the quill drop onto the table.
“Good. Now get out,” the king said, pointing at the door. “I’ll summon you when you’re needed.”
The king sat on his throne again. Celaena bowed carefully, not taking her stare from his face. Only for an instant did she glance at Dorian, whose sapphire eyes gleamed with what she could have sworn was sadness before he smiled at her. She felt Chaol’s hand graze her arm.
Chaol would die. She couldn’t send him to his death. Or the Ytger family. With feet both heavy and light, she left the chamber.
Outside, the wind bellowed and raged against the glass spire, but it could do nothing to shatter the walls.
With each step away from the chamber, the weight on her shoulders lifted. Chaol remained silent until they entered the stone castle, when he turned to her.
“Well, Champion,” he said. He still wasn’t wearing his sword.
“Yes, Captain?”
The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Are you happy now?”
She didn’t fight her own grin. “I may have just signed away my soul, but . . . yes. Or as happy as I can be.”
“Celaena Sardothien, the King’s Champion,” he mused.
“What about it?”
“I like the sound of it,” he said, shrugging. “Do you want to know what your first mission will be?”
She looked at his golden-brown eyes and all of the promises that lay within them, and linked her arm with his as she smiled. “Tell me tomorrow.”
Acknowledgements
It’s taken a decade for
Endless gratitude to my agent and very own Champion, Tamar Rydzinski, who understood Celaena from page one. Thank you for the phone call that changed my life.
To my brilliant and daring editor, Margaret Miller—how can I ever thank you enough for believing in me and
I owe a huge debt to Mandy Hubbard for giving me that initial shove out the door. Mandy, you are—and will always be—my Yoda.
To my wonderful husband, Josh—you give me a reason to wake up every morning. You are my better half in every possible way.
Thank you to my parents, Brian and Carol, for reading me fairy tales and never telling me that I was too old for them; to my little brother, Aaron—you are the kind of person I wish I could be.
To Stanlee Brimberg and Janelle Schwartz—you have no idea how far your encouragement went (though maybe this book offers some proof). I wish there were more teachers like you.
To Susan Dennard, for the incredible revision suggestions and for being a true friend through thick and thin. You came into my life when I needed you most, and my world is now brighter because you’re in it.
Thanks to Alex Bracken, an amazing critique partner, a phenomenal writer, and an even better friend—words can’t express how grateful I am to call you that. Or how grateful I am for all of the candy you sent me during revisions!
To Kat Zhang, for always making time to critique my work and for being a stellar friend. To Brigid Kemmerer, for all the e-mails that kept me sane. To Biljana Likic—because talking with you about the characters and plot made it real. To Leigh Bardugo, my bunker buddy extraordinaire—I couldn’t have gotten through this process without you.
To Erin Bowman, Amie Kaufman, Vanessa Di Gregorio, Meg Spooner, Courtney Allison Moulton, Aimee Carter, and the ladies at Pub(lishing) Crawl—you’re such talented writers and wonderful people, thank you for being a part of my life.
To Meredith Anderson, Rae Buchanan, Renee Carter, Anna Deles, Gordana Likic, Sarah Liu, Juliann Ma, Chantal Mason, Arianna Sterling, Samantha Walker, Diyana Wan, and Jane Zhao: I’ve never met any of you face-to-face, but the years of your unfailing enthusiasm have meant so much to me. Kelly De Groot, thanks for the incredible map of Erilea!
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, thank you to all my readers from FictionPress.com. Your letters, fan art, and encouragement gave me the confidence to try to get published. I’m honored to have you as fans—but even
