The Assassin's Blade
Page 62
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He swallowed. “Have lunch with me, Celaena.”
Lysandra clicked her tongue and strode off muttering, “Why would you want to have lunch with her?”
“I’m busy,” Celaena said. It wasn’t a lie; she did still have to finalize her plan to break into the house to find out more about Doneval’s documents. She jerked her chin toward Lysandra and the sitting room beyond her. “Go enjoy yourself.”
Without wanting to see what he chose, she kept her eyes on the marble floors, the teal drapes, and the gilded ceiling as she walked to her room.
The walls of Doneval’s house were unguarded. Wherever he’d gone tonight—from the look of his clothes, probably to the theater or a party—he’d taken several of his guards with him, though she hadn’t counted his hulking bodyguard in their ranks. Perhaps the bodyguard had the night off. It still left several guards patrolling the grounds, not to mention whoever was inside.
While she loathed the thought of getting her new black suit wet, Celaena was grateful for the rain that had started again at sundown, even if it meant forgoing her usual mask in order to keep her weather-limited senses open. Thankfully, the heavy downpour also meant that the guard on the side of the house didn’t even notice her slipping right past him. The second floor was fairly high up, but the window was darkened, and the latch was easily unlocked from the outside. She’d mapped the house already. If she was correct—and she was certain she was—that window led right into the second-floor study.
Listening carefully, she waited until the guard was looking the other way, and began to climb. Her new boots found their grip on the stone, and her fingers had no trouble at all seeking out cracks. The suit was a little heavier than her usual tunic, but with the built-in blades in the gauntlets, she didn’t have the additional encumbrance of a sword on her back or daggers at her waist. There were even two knives built into her boots. This was one gift from Arobynn that she’d get a lot of use out of.
But while the rain quieted and clouded her, it also masked the sound of anyone approaching. She kept her eyes and ears wide open, but no other guards rounded the corner of the house. The additional risk was worth it. Now that she knew what time the meeting would take place, she had two days to gather as much specific information as she could about the documents, namely how many pages there were and where Doneval hid them. In a few moments, she was at the sill of the study window. The guard below didn’t even look up at the house towering behind him. Top-notch guards indeed.
One glance inside showed a darkened room—a desk littered with papers, and nothing else. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to leave the lists out in plain sight, but …
Celaena hauled herself onto the ledge, and the slender knife from her boot gleamed dully as it wedged into the slight gap between the window doors. Two angled jabs, a flick of her wrist, and—
She eased the window open, praying for silent hinges. One of them creaked quietly, but the other swung away without a sound. She slid into the study, boots quiet on the ornate rug. Carefully, holding her breath, she eased the windows shut again.
She sensed the attack a heartbeat before it happened.
CHAPTER
7
Celaena whirled and ducked, the other knife from her boot instantly in her hand, and the guard went down with a groan. She struck fast as an asp—a move she’d learned in the Red Desert. As she yanked the knife from his thigh, hot blood pumped onto her hand. Another guard swiped a sword at her, but she met it with both her knives before kicking him squarely in the stomach. He staggered back, yet not fast enough to escape the blow to his head that knocked him out. Another maneuver the Mute Master had taught her while she’d been studying how the desert animals moved. In the darkness of the room, she felt the reverberations as the guard’s body slammed into the floor. But there were others, and she counted three more—three more grunting and moaning as they crumpled around her—before someone grabbed her from behind. There was a vicious thump against her head, and something wet and putrid pressed to her face, and then—
Oblivion.
Celaena awoke, but she didn’t open her eyes. She kept her breathing steady, even as she inhaled the reek of filth and the damp, rotten air around her. And she kept her ears open, even as she heard the chuckle of male voices and the gurgle of water. She kept very still, even as she felt the ropes that bound her to the chair, and the water that was already up to her calves. She was in the sewer.
Splashes approached—heavy enough that the sewer water showered her lap.
“I think that’s enough sleeping,” said a deep voice. A powerful hand slapped her cheek. Through stinging eyes, she found the hatchet-hewn face of Doneval’s bodyguard smiling at her. “Hello, lovely. Thought we didn’t notice you spying on us for days, did you? You might be good, but you’re not invisible.”
Behind him, four guards loitered by an iron door—and beyond it was another door, through which she could see a set of steps that led upward. It must be a door into the cellar of the house. Several of the older houses in Rifthold had such doors: escape routes during wars, ways to sneak in scandal-worthy guests, or merely an easy way to deposit the household’s waste. The double doors were to keep out the water—airtight, and made long ago by skilled craftsmen who had used magic to coat the thresholds with water-repellent spells.
“There are a lot of rooms to break into in this house,” the bodyguard said. “Why’d you choose the upstairs study? And where’s your friend?”
She gave him a crooked grin, all the while taking in the cavernous sewer around her. The water was rising. She didn’t want to think about what was floating in it.
“Will this be an interrogation, then torture, then death?” she asked him. “Or am I getting the order wrong?”
The man grinned right back at her. “Smart-ass. I like it.” His accent was thick, but she understood him well enough. He braced his hands on either arm of her chair. With her own arms bound behind her back, she only had the freedom to move her face. “Who sent you?”
Her heart beat wildly, but her smile didn’t fade. Withstanding torture was a lesson she’d learned long ago. “Why do you assume anyone sent me? Can’t a girl be independent?”
The wooden chair groaned under his weight as he leaned so close their noses were almost touching. She tried not to inhale his hot breath. “Why else would a little bitch like you break into this house? I don’t think you’re after jewels or gold.”
She felt her nostrils flare. But she wouldn’t make her move—not until she knew she had no chance to glean information from him.
“If you’re going to torture me,” she drawled, “then get it started. I don’t particularly enjoy the smell down here.”
The man pulled back, his grin unfaltering. “Oh, we’re not going to torture you. Do you know how many spies and thieves and assassins have tried to take down Doneval? We’re beyond asking questions. If you don’t want to talk, then fine. Don’t talk. We’ve learned how to deal with you filth.”
“Philip,” one of the guards said, pointing with his sword down the dark tunnel of the sewer. “We’ve got to go.”
Lysandra clicked her tongue and strode off muttering, “Why would you want to have lunch with her?”
“I’m busy,” Celaena said. It wasn’t a lie; she did still have to finalize her plan to break into the house to find out more about Doneval’s documents. She jerked her chin toward Lysandra and the sitting room beyond her. “Go enjoy yourself.”
Without wanting to see what he chose, she kept her eyes on the marble floors, the teal drapes, and the gilded ceiling as she walked to her room.
The walls of Doneval’s house were unguarded. Wherever he’d gone tonight—from the look of his clothes, probably to the theater or a party—he’d taken several of his guards with him, though she hadn’t counted his hulking bodyguard in their ranks. Perhaps the bodyguard had the night off. It still left several guards patrolling the grounds, not to mention whoever was inside.
While she loathed the thought of getting her new black suit wet, Celaena was grateful for the rain that had started again at sundown, even if it meant forgoing her usual mask in order to keep her weather-limited senses open. Thankfully, the heavy downpour also meant that the guard on the side of the house didn’t even notice her slipping right past him. The second floor was fairly high up, but the window was darkened, and the latch was easily unlocked from the outside. She’d mapped the house already. If she was correct—and she was certain she was—that window led right into the second-floor study.
Listening carefully, she waited until the guard was looking the other way, and began to climb. Her new boots found their grip on the stone, and her fingers had no trouble at all seeking out cracks. The suit was a little heavier than her usual tunic, but with the built-in blades in the gauntlets, she didn’t have the additional encumbrance of a sword on her back or daggers at her waist. There were even two knives built into her boots. This was one gift from Arobynn that she’d get a lot of use out of.
But while the rain quieted and clouded her, it also masked the sound of anyone approaching. She kept her eyes and ears wide open, but no other guards rounded the corner of the house. The additional risk was worth it. Now that she knew what time the meeting would take place, she had two days to gather as much specific information as she could about the documents, namely how many pages there were and where Doneval hid them. In a few moments, she was at the sill of the study window. The guard below didn’t even look up at the house towering behind him. Top-notch guards indeed.
One glance inside showed a darkened room—a desk littered with papers, and nothing else. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to leave the lists out in plain sight, but …
Celaena hauled herself onto the ledge, and the slender knife from her boot gleamed dully as it wedged into the slight gap between the window doors. Two angled jabs, a flick of her wrist, and—
She eased the window open, praying for silent hinges. One of them creaked quietly, but the other swung away without a sound. She slid into the study, boots quiet on the ornate rug. Carefully, holding her breath, she eased the windows shut again.
She sensed the attack a heartbeat before it happened.
CHAPTER
7
Celaena whirled and ducked, the other knife from her boot instantly in her hand, and the guard went down with a groan. She struck fast as an asp—a move she’d learned in the Red Desert. As she yanked the knife from his thigh, hot blood pumped onto her hand. Another guard swiped a sword at her, but she met it with both her knives before kicking him squarely in the stomach. He staggered back, yet not fast enough to escape the blow to his head that knocked him out. Another maneuver the Mute Master had taught her while she’d been studying how the desert animals moved. In the darkness of the room, she felt the reverberations as the guard’s body slammed into the floor. But there were others, and she counted three more—three more grunting and moaning as they crumpled around her—before someone grabbed her from behind. There was a vicious thump against her head, and something wet and putrid pressed to her face, and then—
Oblivion.
Celaena awoke, but she didn’t open her eyes. She kept her breathing steady, even as she inhaled the reek of filth and the damp, rotten air around her. And she kept her ears open, even as she heard the chuckle of male voices and the gurgle of water. She kept very still, even as she felt the ropes that bound her to the chair, and the water that was already up to her calves. She was in the sewer.
Splashes approached—heavy enough that the sewer water showered her lap.
“I think that’s enough sleeping,” said a deep voice. A powerful hand slapped her cheek. Through stinging eyes, she found the hatchet-hewn face of Doneval’s bodyguard smiling at her. “Hello, lovely. Thought we didn’t notice you spying on us for days, did you? You might be good, but you’re not invisible.”
Behind him, four guards loitered by an iron door—and beyond it was another door, through which she could see a set of steps that led upward. It must be a door into the cellar of the house. Several of the older houses in Rifthold had such doors: escape routes during wars, ways to sneak in scandal-worthy guests, or merely an easy way to deposit the household’s waste. The double doors were to keep out the water—airtight, and made long ago by skilled craftsmen who had used magic to coat the thresholds with water-repellent spells.
“There are a lot of rooms to break into in this house,” the bodyguard said. “Why’d you choose the upstairs study? And where’s your friend?”
She gave him a crooked grin, all the while taking in the cavernous sewer around her. The water was rising. She didn’t want to think about what was floating in it.
“Will this be an interrogation, then torture, then death?” she asked him. “Or am I getting the order wrong?”
The man grinned right back at her. “Smart-ass. I like it.” His accent was thick, but she understood him well enough. He braced his hands on either arm of her chair. With her own arms bound behind her back, she only had the freedom to move her face. “Who sent you?”
Her heart beat wildly, but her smile didn’t fade. Withstanding torture was a lesson she’d learned long ago. “Why do you assume anyone sent me? Can’t a girl be independent?”
The wooden chair groaned under his weight as he leaned so close their noses were almost touching. She tried not to inhale his hot breath. “Why else would a little bitch like you break into this house? I don’t think you’re after jewels or gold.”
She felt her nostrils flare. But she wouldn’t make her move—not until she knew she had no chance to glean information from him.
“If you’re going to torture me,” she drawled, “then get it started. I don’t particularly enjoy the smell down here.”
The man pulled back, his grin unfaltering. “Oh, we’re not going to torture you. Do you know how many spies and thieves and assassins have tried to take down Doneval? We’re beyond asking questions. If you don’t want to talk, then fine. Don’t talk. We’ve learned how to deal with you filth.”
“Philip,” one of the guards said, pointing with his sword down the dark tunnel of the sewer. “We’ve got to go.”
