Celaena checked on Fleetfoot, who was still unconscious on the bed, and then walked to the balcony doors. She studied the night sky for a long moment, seeking out a familiar constellation—the Stag, the Lord of the North. She took a long breath.

“My great-grandmother was Fae,” she said. “And even though my mother couldn’t switch into an animal form the way the Fae can, I somehow inherited the ability to shift. Between my Fae form and my human form.”

“And you can’t shift anymore?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “When magic stopped ten years ago, I lost my ability. It’s what saved my life, I think. As a child, when I was scared or upset or had tantrums, I couldn’t control the shift. I was learning to master it, but I would have given myself away at some point.”

“But in that—that other world, you could …”

She turned to face him, seeing the haunted gleam in his eyes. “Yes. In that world, magic, or something like it, still exists. And it is just as awful and overwhelming as I remembered.” She eased onto the edge of her bed, the distance between them feeling like leagues. “I had no control over it—over the shift, or the magic, or myself. I was as likely to hurt you as I was to hurt that creature.” She closed her eyes, her hands shaking a bit.

“So you did open a portal to another world. How?”

“All those books I’ve been reading on the Wyrdmarks—they had spells to open temporary portals.” And then she explained about finding the passage on Samhuinn, and the tomb and Elena’s command to become the Champion, and what Cain had been doing and how she had killed him, and how tonight she had wanted to open a portal to see Nehemia. She left out the Wyrdkeys, the king, and what she suspected he might be doing with Kaltain and Roland.

When she finished, Chaol said, “I would say you’re insane, except I have the blood of that creature on me, and went into that world myself.”

“If anyone knew—not just about the spells to open portals, but about what I am,” she said wearily, “you understand that I would be executed.”

His eyes flashed. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I swear it.”

She bit her lip, nodding, and walked back to the window. “Archer told me that he was the one who had Nehemia assassinated, because she was a threat to his control over the group. He posed as Councilman Mullison and hired Grave. He kidnapped you to lure me away. He planted that anonymous threat against her life, too. Because he wanted me to blame you for her death.”

Chaol swore, but she kept gazing out the window, kept looking at that constellation.

“But even though I know you’re not responsible,” she said softly, “I still …” She found his face full of anguish.

“You still can’t trust me,” he finished.

She nodded. In this, she knew Archer had won, and hated him for it. “When I look at you,” she whispered, “all I want to do is touch you. But what happened that night … I don’t know if I can ever forget it.” The deepest cut on his cheek had scabbed, and she knew it would scar. “For my part, I am sorry for what I did to you.”

He stood, wincing at his wounds, and walked over to her. “We both made mistakes,” he said in that voice that made her heart stumble.

She found the nerve to turn to him, gazing up into his face. “How can you still look at me like that when you know what I truly am?”

His fingers grazed her cheeks, warming her chilled skin. “Fae, assassin—no matter what you are, I—”

“Don’t.” She stepped back. “Don’t say it.”

She couldn’t give him everything again—not now. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Even if she ever learned to forgive him for picking the king over Nehemia, her journey to find the Wyrdkeys would require her to go far away, to a place where she would never ask him to follow.

“I need to prepare Archer’s body to present to the king,” she got out. Before he could say anything else, she picked up Damaris from where she’d dropped it by the door and vanished into the passage.

She waited until she was deep inside before she let the tears start flowing.

Chaol stared at where she had gone and wondered if he should follow her into that ancient darkness. But he thought of all that she’d told him, all the secrets she’d revealed, and knew he needed time to comprehend it all.

He could tell that she had left out information. She’d told him only the vaguest details; and then there was the matter of her Fae heritage. He’d never heard of anyone inheriting their powers in such a throwback way, but then again, no one spoke of the Fae nowadays. It explained how she knew the ancient dirges.

With a gentle pat on Fleetfoot’s head, he left the room. The halls were empty and silent.

And Dorian—she had acted like Dorian had some power, too. There had been the moment when the creature was blasted away by an invisible wall … But it was impossible for Dorian to have power. How could he, when Celaena’s own—own magic had disappeared as soon as she returned to this world?

Celaena was Fae, and heir to a power she couldn’t control. Even if she couldn’t shift, if anyone ever discovered what she was…

It explained why she was so terrified of the king, why she never said anything about where she’d come from, or what she’d been through. And living here … this was the most dangerous place for her—or any Fae—to be.

If someone found out what she was, they could use that information against her, or have her killed. And there would be nothing he could do to save her. No lie he could tell, no strings he could pull. How long before someone else went digging into her past? How long before someone decided to go right to Arobynn Hamel and torture him for the truth?

Chaol’s feet knew where he was going long before he’d made the choice, formed the plan. Minutes later, he found himself knocking on a wooden door.

His father’s eyes were bleary with sleep, and they narrowed as they saw him. “Do you know what time it is?”

He didn’t, and he didn’t care. Chaol shouldered his way into the room and shut the door, scanning the dimness for any other people. “I have a favor to ask you, but before I do, promise you won’t ask any questions.”

His father gave him a slightly bemused look, then crossed his arms. “No questions. Make your request.”

Beyond the window, the sky was beginning to lighten into a softer shade of black. “I think that we should send the King’s Champion to Wendlyn to dispatch the royal family.”

His father’s brows rose. Chaol went on. “We’ve been at war with them for two years, and have yet to break past their naval defenses. But if the king and his son are eliminated, we might stand a chance of getting through in the ensuing chaos. Especially if the King’s Champion also gets her hands on their naval defense plans.” He took a breath, keeping his voice disinterested. “I want to present the idea to the king this morning. And I want you to support me.”

Because Dorian would never agree to it, not without knowing what Celaena was. And Chaol would never tell anyone, Dorian included. But with an idea this drastic, he’d need as much political muscle as he could get.

“An ambitious, ruthless plan.” His father smiled. “And if I support this idea and convince my allies on the council to support it, too, then what can I expect in return?” From the way his eyes gleamed, his father already knew the answer.

“Then I will go back to Anielle with you,” Chaol said. “I will leave my position as Captain and … return home.”

It wasn’t his home, not anymore, but if it meant getting Celaena out of the country … Wendlyn was the last stronghold of the Fae, and the one place in Erilea where she’d be truly safe.

Whatever shred of hope he’d had for a future with her was gone. She still felt something for him, she’d admitted, but she would never trust him. She would always hate him for what he’d done.

But he could do this for her. Even if he never saw her again, even if she abandoned her duties as King’s Champion and stayed with the Fae in Wendlyn forever—as long as he knew that she was safe, that no one could hurt her … He’d sell his soul again and again for that.

His father’s eyes gleamed with triumph. “Consider it done.”

Chapter 53

When Celaena finished telling Dorian the story she’d told Chaol—albeit a much more limited version—he let out a long sigh and fell back onto his bed. “It sounds like something out of a book,” he said, staring at the ceiling. She sat down on the other side of the bed.

“Believe me, I thought I was going mad for a while.”

“So you actually opened a portal to another world? Using these Wyrdmarks?”

She nodded. “You also knocked that creature aside like it was a leaf caught in a wind.” Oh, she hadn’t forgotten about that. Not for one moment had she forgotten what it meant for him to have such raw power.

“That was dumb luck.” She watched him, this kind, clever prince of hers. “I still can’t control it.”

“In the tomb,” she said, “there is someone who might … offer you some advice on how to control it. Who might have some information about the kind of power you’ve inherited.” Right then, though, she didn’t exactly know how to explain Mort to him, so she just said, “Someday soon, you and I could go down there and meet him.”

“Is he—”

“You’ll see when we get there. If he deigns to speak to you. It might take a while for him to decide he likes you.”

After a moment, Dorian reached over and took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a swift kiss. Nothing romantic—a gesture of thanks. “Even though things are different between us now, I meant what I said after the duel with Cain. I will always be grateful that you came into my life.”

Her throat tightened, and she squeezed his hand.

Nehemia had dreamed of a court that could change the world, a court where loyalty and honor were more valued than blind obedience and power. The day Nehemia had died, Celaena had thought the dream of that court forever vanished.

But looking at Dorian as he smiled at her, this prince who was smart and thoughtful and kind, who inspired good men like Chaol to serve him …

Celaena wondered if Nehemia’s impossible, desperate dream of that court might yet come to pass.

The real question now was whether his father knew what a threat his son posed.

The King of Adarlan had to give the captain credit; the plan was ruthless and bold, and would send a message not just to Wendlyn, but to all their enemies. With the embargo between their countries, Wendlyn refused to let Adarlanian men into their borders. But women and children seeking refuge could still enter. It made sending anyone else impossible, but his Champion …

The king looked down his council table, where the captain was waiting for his decision. Westfall’s father and four others had immediately supported the idea. Another bit of unexpected cunning from the captain. He’d brought allies to this meeting.

Dorian, however, was watching the captain with barely concealed surprise. Clearly, Westfall hadn’t thought Dorian would support his decision. If only Westfall had been his heir instead; his warrior’s mind was sharp, and he didn’t balk from doing what needed to be done. The prince had yet to learn that kind of ruthlessness.

Getting the assassin away from his son would be an unexpected benefit. He trusted the girl to do his dirty work—but he didn’t want her around Dorian.

She’d brought Archer Finn’s head to him this morning, not a day later than she’d promised him, and explained what she’d discovered: that Archer had been responsible for Nehemia’s assassination due to their mutual involvement in that traitorous society. He wasn’t surprised that Nehemia was involved.