Crown of Midnight Read Free Page A

to part with their seal rings or other token items. And it was even easier to get them to hand over their nightclothes so she could slash them in accordance with the wounds she would claim to have given them. Bodies were easy to acquire, too.
    Sick-houses were always dumping fresh corpses. It was neverhard to find one that looked enough like her target—especially since the locations of the kills had been distant enough to give the flesh time to rot.
    She didn’t know who the head of Lord Nirall actually belonged to—only that he had similar hair, and when she inflicted a few slashes on his face and let the whole thing decompose a bit, it did the job. The hand had also come from that corpse. And the lady’s hand … that had come from a young woman barely into her first bleeding, struck dead by a sickness that ten years ago a gifted healer could easily have cured. But with magic gone and those wise healers hanged or burned, people were dying in droves. Dying from stupid, once-curable illnesses. She rolled over to bury her face in Fleetfoot’s soft coat.
    Archer. How was she going to fake
his
death? He was so popular, and so recognizable. She still couldn’t imagine him having a connection to whatever this underground movement was. But if he was on the king’s list, then perhaps in the years since she’d seen him Archer had used his talents to become powerful.
    Yet what information could the movement possibly have on the king’s plans that would make it a true threat? The king had enslaved the entire continent—what more could he do?
    There were other continents, of course. Other continents with wealthy kingdoms—like Wendlyn, that faraway land across the sea. It had held out against his naval attacks so far, but she’d heard next to nothing about that war since before she’d gone to Endovier.
    And why would a rebel movement care about kingdoms on another continent when they had their own to worry about? So the plans had to be about
this
land,
this
continent.
    She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know what the king was doing, what he imagined for the empire. She’d use this month to figure out what to do with Archer and pretend she’d never heard that horrible word:
plans
.
    Celaena fought a shudder. She was playing a very,
very
lethal game. And now that her targets were people in Rifthold—now that it was
Archer
… She’d have to find a way to play it better. Because if the king ever learned the truth, if he found out what she was doing …
    He’d destroy her.

Chapter 3
    Celaena sprinted through the darkness of the secret passageway, her breathing ragged. She glanced over her shoulder to find Cain grinning at her, his eyes like burning coals.
    No matter how fast she ran, his stalking gait easily kept him just behind her. After him flowed a wake of glowing green Wyrdmarks, their strange shapes and symbols illuminating the ancient blocks of stone. And behind Cain, its long nails scraping against the ground, lumbered the ridderak.
    Celaena stumbled, but remained upright. Each step felt like she was wading through mud. She couldn’t escape him. He would catch her eventually. And once the ridderak got hold of her … She didn’t dare glance again at those too-big teeth that jutted out of its mouth or those fathomless eyes, gleaming with the desire to devour her bit by bit.
    Cain chuckled, the sound grating on the stone walls. He was closenow. Close enough that his fingers raked against the nape of her neck. He whispered her name, her true name, and she screamed as he—

    Celaena awoke with a gasp, clutching the Eye of Elena. She scanned the room for denser shadows, for glowing Wyrdmarks, for signs that the secret door was open behind the tapestry that concealed it. But there was only the crackling of the dying fire.
    Celaena sank back into her pillows. It was just a nightmare. Cain and the ridderak were gone, and Elena wouldn’t bother her again. It was over.
    Fleetfoot, sleeping under the many