The Assassin and the Desert Read Free

start training tomorrow,” Ansel went on. “At dawn.”
    The Master sank onto the cushions, and Celaena almost sagged with relief. Arobynn had made her think that convincing him to train her would be nearly impossible. Fool. Pack her off to the desert to suffer, would he!
    â€œThank you,” Celaena said to the Master, keenly aware of the eyes watching her in the hall as she bowed again. He waved her away.
    â€œCome,” Ansel said, her hair shimmering in a ray of sunlight. “I suppose you’ll want a bath before you do anything else.
I
certainly would, if I were you.” Ansel gave her a smile that stretched the splattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
    Celaena glanced sidelong at the girl and her ornate armor, and followed her from the room. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in weeks,” she said with a grin.
    Alone with Ansell as they strode through the halls, Celaena keenly felt the absence of the long daggers usually sheathed in her belt. But they’d been taken from her at the gate, along with her sword and her pack. She let her hands dangle at her sides, ready to react to the slightest movement from her guide. Whether or not Ansel noticed Celaena’s readiness to fight her, the girl swung her arms casually, her armor clanking with the movement.
    Her roommate. That was an unfortunate surprise. Sharing a room with Sam for a few nights was one thing. But a month with a complete stranger? Celaena studied Ansel out of the corner of her eye. She was slightly taller, but Celaena couldn’t see much else about her, thanks to the armor. She’d never spent much time around other girls, save the courtesans that Arobynn invited to the Keep for parties or took to the theater, and most of them were not the sort of person that Celaena cared to know. There were no other female assassins in Arobynn’s guild. But here . . . in addition to Ansel, there had been just as many women as men. In the Keep, there was no mistaking who she was. Here, she was just another face in the crowd.
    For all she knew, Ansel might be better than her. The thought didn’t sit well.
    â€œSo,” Ansel said, her brows rising. “Celaena Sardothien.”
    â€œYes?”
    Ansel shrugged—or at least shrugged as well as she could, given the armor. “I thought you’d be . . . more dramatic.”
    â€œSorry to disappoint,” Celaena said, not sounding very sorry at all. Ansel steered them up a short staircase, then down a long hall. Children popped in and out of the rooms along the passage, buckets and brooms and mops in hand. The youngest looked about eight, the eldest about twelve.
    â€œAcolytes,” Ansel said in response to Celaena’s silent question. “Cleaning the rooms of the older assassins is part of their training. Teaches them responsibility and humility. Or something like that.” Ansel winked at a child who gaped up at her as she passed. Indeed, several of the children stared after Ansel, their eyes wide with wonder and respect; Ansel must be well regarded, then. None of them bothered to look at Celaena. She raised her chin.
    â€œAnd how old were you when you came here?” The more she knew the better.
    â€œI had barely turned thirteen,” Ansel said. “So I just missed having to do the drudgery work.”
    â€œAnd how old are you now?”
    â€œTrying to get a read on me, are you?”
    Celaena kept her face blank.
    â€œI just turned eighteen. You look about my age, too.”
    Celaena nodded. She certainly didn’t have to yield any information about herself. Even though Arobynn had ordered her not to hide her identity here, that didn’t mean she had to give away details. And at least Celaena had started her training at eight; she had several years on Ansel. That had to count for something. “Has training with the Master been effective?”
    Ansel gave her a rueful smile. “I