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.
As she walked up the wooden steps to her apartment above the warehouse, her feet dragged. 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.
Chapter Four
Alone in the kitchen, Celaena poured herself a cup of tea, trying to keep her hands from shaking. How had he found her apartment? He’d probably gotten the information from the servants who had helped bring her things over here. To find him here, having broken into her home … How long had he been sitting inside? Had he gone through her things?
She poured another cup of tea for Arobynn. Cups and saucers in hand, she walked back into the living room. He had his legs crossed, one arm sprawled across the back of the sofa, and seemed to have made himself quite at home.
She said nothing as she gave him the cup and then took a seat in one of the armchairs. The hearth was dark, and the day had been warm enough that Sam had left one of the living room windows open. A briny breeze off the Avery flowed into the apartment, rustling the crimson velvet curtains and teasing through her hair. She’d miss that smell, too.
Arobynn took a sip, then peered into his teacup to look at the amber liquid inside. “Who can I thank for the impeccable taste in tea?”
“Me. But you already know that.”
“Hmm.” Arobynn took another sip. “You know, I did know that.” The afternoon light caught in his gray eyes, turning them to quicksilver. “What I don’t know is why you and Sam think it’s a good idea to dispatch Ioan Jayne and Rourke Farran.”
Of course he knew. “It’s none of your business. Our client wanted to operate outside of the Guild, and now that I’ve transferred the money to your account, Sam and I are no longer a part of the Guild.”
“Ioan Jayne,” Arobynn repeated, as if she somehow didn’t know who he was. “Ioan Jayne. Are you insane?”
She clenched her jaw. “I don’t see why I should trust any of your advice.”
“Even I wouldn’t take on Jayne.” Arobynn’s gaze burned. “And I’m saying that as someone who has spent years thinking of ways to put that man in a grave.”
“I’m not playing another one of your mind games.” She set down her tea and rose from her seat. “Get out of my house.”
Arobynn just stared up at her as if she were a sullen child. “Jayne is the undisputed Crime Lord in Rifthold for a reason. And Farran is his Second for a damn good reason, too. You might be excellent, Celaena, but you’re not invincible.”
She crossed her arms. “Maybe you’re trying to dissuade me because you’re worried that when I kill him, I will have truly surpassed you.”
Arobynn shot to his feet, towering over her. “The reason I’m trying to dissuade you, you stupid, ungrateful girl, is because Jayne and Farran are lethal. If a client offered me the glass castle itself, I wouldn’t touch an offer like that!”
She felt her nostrils flare. “After all that you’ve done to me, how can you expect me to believe a word that comes out of your mouth?” Her hand had started drifting toward the dagger at her waist. Arobynn’s eyes remained on her face, but he was aware—he knew every movement her hands made and didn’t have to look at her to track them. “Get out of my house,” she growled.
Arobynn gave her a half smile and looked around the apartment with deliberate care. “Tell me something, Celaena: do you trust Sam?”
“What sort of a question is that?”
Arobynn casually slid his hands into the pockets of his silver tunic. “Have you told him the truth about where you came from? I have a feeling that’s something he’d like to know. Perhaps before he dedicates his life to you.”
She focused on keeping her breathing even, and pointed at the door again. “Go.”
Arobynn shrugged, waving a hand as if to dismiss the questions he’d raised, and walked toward the front door. She watched his every move, took in every step and shift of his shoulders, noted what he looked at. He reached for the brass doorknob, but turned to her. His eyes—those silver eyes that would probably haunt her for the rest of her life—were bright.
“No matter what I have done, I really do love you, Celaena.”
The word hit her like a stone to the head. He’d never said that word to her before. Ever.
A long silence fell between them.
Arobynn’s neck shifted as he swallowed. “I do the things that I do because I’m scared … and because I don’t know how to express what I feel.” He said it so quietly that she barely heard it. “I did all of those things because I was angry with you for picking Sam.”
Was it the King of the Assassins who spoke, or the father, or the lover who had never manifested himself?
Arobynn’s carefully cultivated mask fell, and the wound she’d given him flickered in those magnificent eyes. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Stay in Rifthold.”
She swallowed, and found it particularly hard to do so. “I’m going.”
“No,” he said softly. “Don’t go.”
No.
That was what she’d said to him that night he’d beaten her, in the moment before he’d struck her, when she thought he was going to hurt Sam instead. And then he’d beaten her so badly she’d been knocked unconscious. Then he’d beaten Sam, too.
Don’t.
That was what Ansel had said to her in the desert, when Celaena had pressed the sword into the back of her neck, when the agony of Ansel’s betrayal had been almost enough to make Celaena kill the girl she’d called a friend. But that betrayal still paled in comparison to what Arobynn had done to her when he’d tricked her into killing Doneval, a man who could have freed countless slaves.
He was using words as chains to bind her again. He’d had so many chances over the years to tell her that he loved her—he’d known how much she’d craved those words. But he hadn’t spoken them until he needed to use them as weapons. And now that she had Sam, Sam who said those words without expecting anything in return, Sam who loved her for reasons she still didn?
?t understand …
Celaena tilted her head to the side, the only warning she gave that she was still ready to attack him. “Get out of my house.”
Arobynn just looked at her one final time, nodded slowly, and left.
The Black Cygnet tavern was packed wall-to-wall, as it was most nights. Seated with Sam at a table in the middle of the busy room, Celaena didn’t particularly feel like eating the beef stew in front of her. Or like talking, even though Sam had told her all about the information he’d gathered on Farran and Jayne. She hadn’t mentioned Arobynn’s surprise visit.