The Assassin's Blade
Page 78

“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.
 
 
CHAPTER
4
 

Alone in the kitchen, Celaena poured herself a cup of tea, trying to keep her hands from shaking. He’d probably gotten the address from the servants who had helped bring over her things. 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 it the money to your account, Sam and I are no longer a part of it.”
“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 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.”