If anything,
that
made him different from Ansel. Sam could have hurt or betrayed her a dozen times over, but heâd never jumped at the opportunity.
A half smile tugged at a corner of her lips. Sheâd missed him. Seeing the expression on her face, he gave her a bewildered sort of grin. She swallowed, feeling the words bubbling up through herâ
I missed you
âbut the door to the drawing room opened.
âSam!â a dark-haired, green-eyed young woman chided, laughter on her lips. âThere youââ The girlâs eyes met Celaenaâs. Celaena stopped smiling as she recognized her.
A feline sort of smirk spread across the young womanâs stunning features, and she slipped out of the doorway and slunk over to them. Celaena took in each swish of her hips, the elegant angle of her hand, the exquisite dress that dipped low enough to reveal her generous bosom. âCelaena,â she cooed, and Sam eyed the two girls warily as she stopped beside him. Too close beside him for a casual acquaintance.
âLysandra,â Celaena echoed. Sheâd met Lysandra when they were both ten, and in the seven years that theyâd known each other, Celaena couldnât recall a time when she didnât want to beat in the girlâs face with a brick. Or throw her out a window. Or do any of a number of things sheâd learned from Arobynn.
It didnât help that Arobynn had spent a good deal of money assisting Lysandra in her rise from street orphan to one of the most anticipated courtesans in Riftholdâs history. He was good friends with Lysandraâs madamâand had been Lysandraâs doting benefactor for years. Lysandra and her madam remained the only courtesans aware that the girl Arobynn called his ânieceâ was actually his protégée. Celaena had never learned why Arobynn had told them, but whenever she complained about the risk of Lysandra revealing her identity, he seemed certain she would not. Celaena, not surprisingly, had trouble believing it; but perhaps threats from the King of the Assassins were enough to keep even the loud-mouthed Lysandra silent.
âI thought youâd been packed off to the desert,â Lysandra said, running a shrewd eye over Celaenaâs clothes. Thank the Wyrd sheâd bothered to change at that tavern. âIs it possible the summer passed
that
quickly? I guess when youâre having so much fun â¦â
A deadly, vicious sort of calm filled Celaenaâs veins. Sheâd snapped once at Lysandraâwhen they were thirteen and Lysandra had snatched a lovely lace fan right out of Celaenaâs hands. The ensuing fight had sent them tumbling down a flight of stairs. Celaena had spent a night in the Keepâs dungeon for the welts sheâd left on Lysandraâs face by beating her with the fan itself.
She tried to ignore how close the girl stood to Sam. Heâd always been kind to the courtesans, and they all adored him. His mother had been one of them, and had asked Arobynnâa patron of hersâto look after her son. Sam had only been six when she was murdered by a jealous client. Celaena crossed her arms. âShould I bother to ask what youâre doing here?â
Lysandra gave her a knowing smile. âOh, Arobynnââshe purred his name like they were the most intimate of friendsââthrew me a luncheon in honor of my upcoming Bidding.â
Of course he did. âHe invited your future clients here?â
âOh, no.â Lysandra giggled. âThis is just for me and the girls. And Clarisse, of course.â She used her madamâs name, too, like a weapon, a word meant to crush and dominateâa word that whispered:
I am more important than you; I have more influence than you; I am everything and you are nothing
.
âLovely,â Celaena replied. Sam still hadnât said anything.
Lysandra lifted her chin, looking down her delicately freckled nose at