Heir of Fire Read Free Page B

sunny street, to random doorways, anywhere to escape his challenging stare.
    Celaena knew before his sharp eyes met hers that he was ­here for her, and who had sent him.
    She reached for her Eye amulet, startled to fi nd it was no longer around her neck. She’d given it to Chaol—­the only bit of protection she could grant him upon leaving. He’d probably thrown it away as soon as he fi gured out the truth. Th en he could go back to the haven of being her enemy. Maybe he’d tell Dorian, too, and the pair of them would both be safe.
    Before she could give in to the instinct to scuttle back up the drainpipe and onto the roof, she considered the plan she’d abandoned. Had some god remembered she existed and decided to throw her a bone? She’d needed to see Maeve.
    Well, ­here was one of Maeve’s elite warriors. Ready. Waiting.
    And from the vicious temper emanating from him, not entirely happy about it.
    Th e alley remained as still as a graveyard while the Fae warrior surveyed her. His nostrils fl ared delicately, as if he ­were—
    He was getting a whi ff of her scent.
    She took some small satisfaction in knowing she smelled horri fi c, but it ­wasn’t that smell he was reading. No, it was the scent that marked her as her —­the smell of her lineage and blood and what and who she was. And if he said her name in front of these people . . . then she knew that Galan Ashryver would come running home. Th e guards would be on high alert, and that was not part of her plan at all.
    Th e bastard looked likely to do such a thing, just to prove who was in charge. So she summoned her energy as best she could and sauntered over to him, trying to remember what she might have done months ago, before the world had gone to hell. “Well met, my friend,” she purred. “Well met, indeed.”
    She ignored the shocked faces around them, focusing solely on sizing him up. He stood with a stillness that only an immortal could achieve. She willed her heartbeat and breathing to calm. He could probably hear them, could probably smell every emotion raging through her. Th ere’d be no fooling him with bravado, not in a thousand years. He’d probably lived that long already. Perhaps there’d be no beating him, either. She was Celaena Sardothien, but he was a Fae warrior and had likely been one for a great while.
    She stopped a few feet away. Gods, he was huge. “What a lovely surprise,” she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. When was the last time she’d sounded that pleasant? She ­couldn’t even remember the last time she’d spoken in full sentences. “I thought we ­were to meet at the city walls.”
    He didn’t bow, thank the gods. His harsh face didn’t even shi ft . Let him think what he wanted. She was sure she looked nothing like what he’d been told to expect—­and he’d certainly laughed when that woman mistook her for a fellow vagrant.
    â€œLet’s go,” was all he said, his deep, somewhat bored voice seeming to echo o ff the stones as he turned to leave the alley. She’d bet good money that the leather vambraces on his forearms concealed blades.
    She might have given him a rather obnoxious reply, just to feel him out a bit more, but people ­were still watching. He prowled along, not deigning to look at any of the gawkers. She ­couldn’t tell if she was impressed or revolted.
    She followed the Fae warrior into the bright street and through the bustling city. He was heedless of the humans who paused their working and walking and milling about to stare. He certainly didn’t wait for her to catch up as he strode up to a pair of ordinary mares tied by a trough in a nondescript square. If memory served her correctly, the Fae usually possessed far fi ner ­horses. He had probably arrived in another form and purchased these ­here.
    All Fae possessed a secondary animal form. Celaena