Assassin's Blade (6 page)

She whirled to face him. “How can you bear to look at those people and not do anything?”

“The slaves?”

She resumed her pacing. “It makes me sick. It makes me … makes me so mad I think I might …” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“Might what?” Splashing steps sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to find him approaching. He crossed his arms, bracing for a fight. “Might do something as foolish as attacking Rolfe’s men in their own warehouse?”

It was now or never. She hadn’t wanted to involve him, but … now that her plans had changed, she needed his help.

“I might do something as foolish as freeing the slaves,” she said.

Sam went so still that he might have been turned into stone. “I knew you were thinking up something—but
freeing
them …”

“I’m going to do it with or without you.” She’d only intended to ruin the deal, but from the moment she’d walked into that warehouse tonight, she’d known she couldn’t leave the slaves there.

“Rolfe will kill you,” Sam said. “Or Arobynn will, if Rolfe doesn’t first.”

“I have to try,” she said.

“Why?” Sam stepped close enough that she needed to tilt her head back to see his face. “We’re assassins. We
kill
people. We destroy lives every day.”

“We have a choice,” she breathed. “Maybe not when we were children—when it was Arobynn or death—but now … Now you and I have a
choice
in the things we do. Those slaves were just
taken
. They were fighting for their freedom, or lived too close to a battlefield, or some mercenaries passed through their town and
stole
them. They’re innocent people.”

“And we weren’t?”

Something icy pierced her heart at the glimmer of memory. “We kill corrupt officials and adulterous spouses; we make it quick and clean. These are entire families being ripped apart. Every one of these people used to be somebody.”

Sam’s eyes glowed. “I’m not disagreeing with you. I don’t like the idea of this at all. Not just the slaves, but Arobynn’s involvement.
And those children …” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we’re just two people—surrounded by Rolfe’s pirates.”

She gave him a crooked grin. “Then it’s good that we’re the best. And,” she added, “it’s good that I’ve been asking him so many questions about his plans for the next two days.”

Sam blinked. “You realize this is the most reckless thing you’ve ever done, right?”

“Reckless, but maybe the most meaningful, too.”

Sam stared at her long enough for heat to flood her cheek, as if he could see right inside of her—see everything. The fact that he didn’t turn away from whatever he saw made her blood thrum in her veins. “I suppose if we’re going to die, it should be for a noble cause,” he said.

She snorted, using it as an excuse to step away from him. “We’re not going to die. At least, not if we follow my plan.”

He groaned. “You already have a plan?”

She grinned, then told him everything. When she finished, he only scratched his head. “Well,” he admitted, sitting on the sand, “I suppose that’d work. We’d have to time it right, but …”

“But it could work.” She sat beside him.

“When Arobynn finds out …”

“Leave Arobynn to me. I’ll figure out how to deal with him.”

“We could always just …
not
return to Rifthold,” Sam suggested.

“What, run away?”

Sam shrugged. Though he kept his eyes on the waves, she could have sworn a blush darkened his cheeks. “He might very well kill us.”

“If we ran away, he’d hunt us for the rest of our lives. Even if we took different names, he’d find us.” As if she could leave her entire life behind! “He’s invested too much money in us—and we’ve yet to pay him back entirely. He’d see it as a bad investment.”

Sam’s gaze drifted northward, as if he could see the sprawling
capital city and its towering glass castle. “I think there’s more at work here than this trade agreement.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam traced circles in the sand between them. “I mean, why send the two of us here in the first place? His excuse for sending us was a lie. We’re not instrumental to this deal. He could just as easily have sent two other assassins who aren’t at each other’s throats all the time.”

“What are you implying?”

Sam shrugged. “Perhaps Arobynn wanted us out of Rifthold right now. Needed to get us out of the city for a month.”

A chill went through her. “Arobynn wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Sam asked. “Did we ever find out why Ben was there the night Gregori got captured?”

“If you’re implying that Arobynn somehow set Ben up to—”

“I’m not implying anything. But some things don’t add up. And there are questions that haven’t been answered.”

“We’re not supposed to question Arobynn,” she murmured.

“And since when do you ever follow orders?”

She stood. “Let’s get through the next few days. Then we’ll consider whatever conspiracy theories you’re inventing.”

Sam was on his feet in an instant. “I don’t have any
theories
. Just questions that you should be asking yourself, too.
Why
did he want us gone this month?”

“We can trust Arobynn.” Even as the words left her mouth, she felt stupid for saying them.

Sam stooped to pick up his boots. “I’m going back to the tavern. Are you coming?”

“No. I’m staying here for a little longer.”

Sam gave her an appraising look, but nodded. “We’re to examine Arobynn’s slaves on their ship at four tomorrow afternoon. Try not to stay out here the whole night. We need all the rest we can get.”

She didn’t reply, and turned away before she could watch him head toward the golden lights of Skull’s Bay.

She walked along the curve of the shoreline, all the way to the lone watchtower. After studying it from the shadows—the two catapults near its top, the giant chain anchored above them—she continued on. She walked until there was nothing in the world but the grumble and hiss of the waves, the sigh of the sand beneath her feet, and the glare of the moon on the water.

She walked until a surprisingly cold breeze swept past her. She halted.

Slowly, Celaena turned north, toward the source of the breeze, which smelled of a faraway land she hadn’t seen in eight years. Pine and snow—a city still in winter’s grasp. She breathed it in, staring across the leagues of lonely, black ocean, seeing, somehow, that distant city that had once, long ago, been her home. The wind ripped the strands of hair from her braid, lashing them across her face. Orynth. A city of light and music, watched over by an alabaster castle with an opal tower so bright it could be viewed for miles.

The moonlight vanished behind a thick cloud. In the sudden dark, the stars glowed brighter.

She knew all the constellations by heart, and she instinctively sought out the Stag, Lord of the North, and the immovable star that crowned his head.

Back then, she hadn’t had any choice. When Arobynn offered her this path, it was either that, or death. But now …

She took a shuddering breath. No, she was as limited in her choices as she’d been when she was eight years old. She was Adarlan’s Assassin, Arobynn Hamel’s protégée and heir—and she would always be.

It was a long walk back to the tavern.

CHAPTER
6

After yet another miserably hot and sleepless night, Celaena spent the following day with Sam, walking through the streets of Skull’s Bay. They kept their pace leisurely, pausing at various vendors’ carts and popping into the occasional shop, but all the while tracing each step of their plan, going over every detail that they’d need to orchestrate perfectly.

From the fishermen along the docks, they learned that the rowboats tied to the piers belonged to nobody in particular, and that tomorrow’s morning tide came in just after sunrise. Not advantageous, but better than midday.

From flirting with the harlots along the main street, Sam learned that every once in a while, Rolfe covered the tab for all the pirates in his service, and the revelry lasted for days. Sam also picked up a few other pointers that he refused to tell Celaena about.

And from the half-drunk pirate languishing in an alley, Celaena
learned how many men guarded the slave ships, what manner of weapons they carried, and where the slaves were kept.

When four o’clock rolled around, Celaena and Sam were standing aboard the ship Rolfe had promised them, watching and counting as the slaves stumbled onto the wide deck. Ninety-three. Mostly men, most of them young. The women were a broader range of ages, and there were only a handful of children, just as Rolfe had said.

“Do they meet your refined tastes?” Rolfe asked as he approached.

“I thought you said there’d be more,” she replied coldly, keeping her eyes upon the chained slaves.

“We had an even hundred, but seven died on the journey.”

She bit back the anger that flared. Sam, knowing her far too well for her liking, cut in. “And how many can we expect to lose on the journey to Rifthold?” His face was relatively neutral, though his brown eyes flashed with annoyance. Fine—he was a good liar. As good as she was, maybe.

Rolfe ran a hand through his dark hair. “Don’t you two ever stop
questioning?
There’s no way of predicting how many slaves you’ll lose. Just keep them watered and fed.”

A low growl slipped through her teeth, but Rolfe was already walking to his group of guards. Celaena and Sam followed him, observing as the last of the slaves were shoved onto the deck.

“Where are the slaves from yesterday?” Sam asked.

Rolfe waved a hand. “Most are on that ship, and will leave tomorrow.” He pointed to a nearby ship and ordered one of the slave drivers to start the inspection.

They waited until a few slaves had been looked over, offering remarks on how fit a slave was, where he’d fetch a good price in Rifthold. Each word tasted fouler than the last.

“Tonight,” she said to the Pirate Lord, “you can guarantee that this ship’s protected?” Rolfe sighed loudly and nodded. “That watchtower
across the bay,” she pressed. “I assume that they’ll also be responsible for monitoring this ship, too?”

“Yes,” Rolfe snapped. Celaena opened her mouth, but he interrupted. “And before you ask, let me say that we change the watch just before dawn.” So they’d have to target the morning watch instead, to avoid any alarm being raised at dawn—at high tide. Which was a slight hitch in her plan, but they could easily fix it.

“How many of the slaves speak our language?” she asked.

Rolfe raised a brow. “Why?”

She could feel Sam tense beside her, but she shrugged. “It might add to their value.”

Rolfe studied her a bit too closely, then whirled to face a slave woman standing nearby. “Do you speak the common tongue?”

She looked this way and that, clutching her scraps of clothing to her—a mix of fur and wool undoubtedly worn to keep her warm in the frigid mountain passes of the White Fangs.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Rolfe demanded. The woman lifted her shackled hands. Raw, red skin lay around the iron.

“I think the answer is no,” Sam offered.

Rolfe glared at him, then walked through the stables. “Can any of you speak the common tongue?” He repeated himself, and was about to turn back when an older Eyllwe man—reed thin and covered with cuts and bruises—stepped forward.

“I can,” he said.

“That’s it?” Rolfe barked at the slaves. “No one else?” Celaena approached the man who had spoken, committing his face to memory. He recoiled at her mask and her cloak.

“Well, at least he might fetch a higher price,” Celaena said over her shoulder to Rolfe. Sam summoned Rolfe with a question about the mountain-woman in front of him, providing enough distraction. “What’s your name?” Celaena asked the slave.

“Dia.” His long, frail fingers trembled slightly.

“You’re fluent?”

He nodded. “My—my mother was from Bellhaven. My father was a merchant from Banjali. I grew up with both languages.”

And he’d probably never worked a day in his life. How had
he
gotten caught up in this mess? The other slaves on the deck hung back, huddling together, even some of the larger men and women whose scars and bruises marked them as fighters—prisoners of war. Had they already seen enough of slavery to break them? For both her sake and theirs, she hoped not.

“Good,” she said, and strode away.

Hours later, no one noticed—or if they did, they certainly didn’t care—when two cloaked figures slipped into two rowboats and headed toward the slave ships hovering several hundred yards offshore. A few lanterns illuminated the behemoth vessels, but the moon was bright enough for Celaena to easily make out the
Golden Wolf
as she rowed toward it.

To her right, Sam rowed as quietly as he could to the
Loveless
, where the slaves from yesterday were being held. Silence was their only hope and ally, though the town behind them was already in the midst of revelry. It hadn’t taken long for word to get out that Arobynn Hamel’s assassins had opened a celebratory tab at the tavern, and even as they had strode to the docks, pirates were already streaming the other way toward the inn.