The Assassin and the Empire

A chill wind blew past, ripping strands of hair from her braid. She shouldn’t have let herself walk so close, even if the odds of ever encountering the king were next to none. Just the thought of him sent a wretched fear splintering through her.



Her only consolation was that most people from the kingdoms conquered by the king probably felt the same way. When he’d marched into Terrasen nine years ago, his invasion had been swift and brutal—so brutal that it made even Celaena sick to recall some of the atrocities that had been committed to secure his rule.



Shuddering, she turned on her heel and headed home.



Sam didn’t return until dinner.



Celaena was sprawled on the couch before the roaring fireplace, book in hand, when Sam strode into the apartment. His hood still concealed half of his face, and the hilt of the sword strapped to his back glinted in the orange light of the room. As he locked the door behind him, she caught the dull gleam of the gauntlets strapped to his forearms—thick, embroidered leather that concealed hidden daggers. He moved with such precise efficiency and controlled power that she blinked. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that the young man she shared the apartment with was also a trained, ruthless killer.



“I found a client.” He pulled off his hood and leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his broad chest.



Celaena shut the book she’d been gobbling down and set it on the couch. “Oh?”



His brown eyes were bright, though his face was unreadable. “They’ll pay. A lot. And they want to keep it from reaching the Assassins Guild’s ears. There’s even a contract in it for you.”



“Who’s the client?”



“I don’t know. The man I spoke to had the usual disguises—hood, unremarkable clothing. He could have been acting on behalf of someone else.”



“Why do they want to avoid using the Guild?” She moved to perch on the arm of the couch. The distance between her and Sam felt too large, too full of lightning.



“Because they want me to kill Ioan Jayne and his Second in Command, Rourke Farran.”



Celaena stared at him. “Ioan Jayne.” The biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold.



Sam nodded.



A roaring filled her ears. “He’s too well-guarded,” she said. “And Farran … That man is a psychopath. He’s a sadist.”



Sam straightened and approached her. “You said that in order to move to another city, we need money. And since you’re insisting on paying off the Guild, then we really need money. So unless you want to wind up as thieves, I suggest we take it.”



She had to tilt her head back to look at him. “Jayne is dangerous.”



“Then it’s good that we’re the best, isn’t it?” Though he gave her a lazy smile, she could see the tension in his shoulders.



“We should find another contract. There’s bound to be someone else.”



“You don’t know that. And no one else would pay this much.” He named the figure, and Celaena’s brows rose. They’d be very comfortable after that. They could live anywhere.



“You’re sure you don’t know who the client is?”



“Are you looking for excuses to say no?”



“I’m trying to make sure that we’re safe,” she snapped. “Do you know how many people have tried to take out Jayne and Farran? Do you know how many of them are still alive?”



Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Do you want to be with me?”



“What?”



“Do you want to be with me?”



“Yes.” Right now, that was all she wanted.



A half smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “Then we’ll do this, and we’ll have enough money to tie up our loose ends in Rifthold and set ourselves up somewhere else on the continent. If you asked, I’d still leave tonight without giving Arobynn or the Guild a penny, but you’re right: I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. It should be a clean break. I want that for us.” Her throat tightened, and she looked toward the fire. Sam hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up to him again. “So will you go after Jayne and Farran with me?”



He was so beautiful—so full of all the things that she wanted, all that she hoped for. How had she never noticed that until this year? How had she spent so long hating him?



“I’ll think about it,” she rasped. It wasn’t just bravado. She did need to think about it. Especially if their targets were Jayne and Farran.



Sam’s smile grew and he leaned down to brush a kiss to her temple. “Better than a no.”



Their breath mingled. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier today.”



“An apology from Celaena Sardothien?” His eyes danced with light. “Do I dream?”



She scowled, but Sam kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his, and a low growl escaped from him as their tongues met. Her hands tangled in the strap that held his sword against his back, and she withdrew long enough to unclasp the scabbard buckle across his chest.



His sword clattered to the wooden floor behind them. Sam looked her in the eyes again, and it was enough for her to grab him closer. He kissed her thoroughly, lazily, as if he had a lifetime of kisses to look forward to.



She liked that. A lot.



He slid one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees, sweeping her up in a fluid, graceful movement. Though she’d never tell him, she practically swooned.



He carried her from the living room and into the bedroom, gently setting her down on the bed. He withdrew only long enough to remove the deadly gauntlets from his wrists, followed by his boots, cloak, jerkin, and shirt beneath. She took in his golden skin and muscled chest, the slender scars that peppered his torso, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe.



He was hers. This magnificent, powerful creature was hers.



Sam’s mouth found hers again, and he eased her farther onto the bed. Down, down, his clever hands exploring every inch of her until she was on her back and he braced himself on his forearms to hover over her. He kissed her neck, and she arched up into him as he ran his hand down the plane of her torso, unbuttoning her tunic as he went. She didn’t want to know where he had learned to do these things. Because if she ever learned the names of those girls …



Her breath hitched as he reached the last button and pulled her out of the jacket. He looked down at her body, his breathing ragged. They had gone further than this before, but there was a question in his eyes—a question written over every inch of his body.



“Not tonight,” she whispered, her cheeks flaring with heat. “Not yet.”



“I’m in no rush,” he said, bending down to graze his nose along her shoulder.



“It’s just …” Gods above, she should stop talking. She didn’t owe him an explanation, and he didn’t push it with her, but … “If I’m only going to do this once, then I want to enjoy every step.” He understood what she meant by this—this relationship between them, this bond that was forming, so unbreakable and unyielding that it made the entire axis of her world shift toward him. That terrified her more than anything.



“I can wait,” he said thickly, kissing her collarbone. “We have all the time in the world.”



Maybe he was right. And spending all the time in the world with Sam …



That was a treasure worth paying anything for.



Chapter Three



Dawn crept into their room, filling it with golden light that caught in Sam’s hair and made it shine like bronze.



Propped on one elbow, Celaena watched him sleep.



His bare torso was still gloriously tanned from the summer—suggesting days spent training in one of the outside courtyards of the Keep, or maybe lounging on the banks of the Avery. Scars of varying lengths were scattered across his back and shoulders—some of them slender and even, some of them thicker and jagged. A life spent training and battling … His body was a map of his adventures, or a proof of what growing up with Arobynn Hamel was like.



She ran a finger down the groove of his spine. She didn’t want to see another scar added to his flesh. She didn’t want this life for him. He was better than that. Deserved better.



When they moved, maybe they couldn’t leave behind death and killing and all that came with it—not at first, but someday, far in the future, perhaps …



She brushed the hair from his eyes. Someday, they would both lay down their swords and daggers and arrows. And by leaving Rifthold, by leaving the Guild, they’d take the first step toward that day, even if they had to keep working as assassins for a few more years at least.



Sam’s eyes opened, and, finding her watching him, he gave her a sleepy smile.



It hit her like a punch to the gut. Yes—for him, she could someday give up being Adarlan’s Assassin, give up the notoriety and fortune.



He pulled her down, wrapping an arm around her bare waist and tucking her in close to him. His nose grazed her neck, and he breathed her in deeply.



“Let’s take down Jayne and Farran,” she said softly.



Sam purred a response onto her skin that told her he was only half awake—and that his mind was on anything but Jayne and Farran.



She dug her nails into his back, and he grunted his annoyance, but made no move to awaken.



“We’ll eliminate Farran first—to weaken the chain of command. It’d be too risky to take them both out at once—too many things could go wrong. But if we take out Farran first, even if it means Jayne’s guards will be on alert, they’ll still be in total chaos. And that’s when we’ll dispatch Jayne.” It was a solid plan. She liked this plan. They just needed a few days to figure out Farran’s defenses and how to get around them.



Sam mumbled another response that sounded like anything you want, just go back to sleep.



Celaena looked up at the ceiling and smiled.



After breakfast, and after she’d gone to the bank to transfer a huge sum of money to Arobynn’s account (an event that left both Celaena and Sam rather miserable and on edge), they spent the day gathering information on Ioan Jayne. As the biggest Crime Lord in Rifthold, Jayne was well-protected, and his minions were everywhere: orphan-spies in the streets, harlots working in the Vaults, barkeeps and merchants and even some city guards.



Everyone knew where his house was: a sprawling three-story building of white stone on one of the nicest streets in Rifthold. The place was so well-watched that it was too risky to do more than walk past. Even stopping to observe for a few minutes might spark the interest of one of the disguised henchmen loitering on the street.



It seemed absurd that Jayne would have his house on this street. His neighbors were well-off merchants and minor nobility. Did they know who lived next door and what sort of evil went on beneath the emerald-tiled roof?



They had a stroke of good luck as they meandered past the house, looking for all the world like a well-dressed, handsome couple on a morning walk through the capital. Just as they were passing by, Farran, Jayne’s Second, swaggered out the door, heading for the black carriage parked out front.



Celaena felt Sam’s arm tense under her hand. He kept looking ahead, not daring to stare at Farran for too long in case someone noticed their interest. But Celaena, pretending that she’d discovered a pull in her forest-green tunic, was able to glance over a few times.



She’d heard about Farran. Most everyone had. If she had a rival for notoriety, it was him.



Tall, broad-shouldered, and in his late twenties, Farran had been born and abandoned in the streets of Rifthold. He’d begun working for Jayne as one of his orphan-spies, and over the years had worked his way up the ranks of Jayne’s twisted court, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake until he was appointed Second. Looking at him now, with his fine gray clothes and his gleaming black hair slicked into submission, it was impossible to tell that he’d once been one of the vicious little beasts that roamed the slums in feral packs.