He rolled his neck, and his smile was a bit strained. “I think Nehemia is on her way here to tell you about the contract. She’ll be mad at me for telling you first; apologize for me, will you?” He paused when he opened the door, his hand still upon the knob. “Congratulations, Celaena,” he said quietly. Before she could reply, he shut the door and left.

Alone, Celaena looked to the window and put a hand on her heart, whispering the word to herself again and again.

Free.

Chapter 54

Several hours later, Chaol stared at the door to her dining room. He didn’t entirely know what he was doing back here. But he’d looked for Dorian in his rooms, and he hadn’t been there, and he needed to tell him that things weren’t as they’d seemed when he walked in on them earlier. He glanced at his hands.

The king had barely said anything to him over the past week, and Cain’s name hadn’t been mentioned in any of their meetings. Not that it would be, as Cain was little more than a pawn in a game to amuse the king, and certainly not a member of the royal guard.

But he was still dead. Cain’s eyes would open no more because of him . . . He would not draw breath because of him . . . His heart had stopped beating because of him . . .

Chaol’s hand drifted to where his sword should have been. He’d thrown it in the corner of his room as soon as he’d returned from the duel last week. Mercifully, someone had cleaned the blood from it. Perhaps the guards who had taken Chaol to his chambers and given him a strong drink. They’d sat in silence until some semblance of reality returned, and then left without a word, not waiting for Chaol to thank them.

Chaol ran a hand through his short hair and opened the dining room door.

Celaena was picking at her dinner, slouched in her seat. Her brows rose. “Two visits in one day?” she said, setting down her fork. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He frowned. “Where’s Dorian?”

“Why would Dorian be here?”

“I thought he usually came here at this hour.”

“Well, don’t expect to find him here after today.”

He approached, stopping at the edge of the table. “Why?”

She popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “Because I ended it.”

“You did what?”

“I’m the King’s Champion. Surely you realize how inappropriate it would be for me to have a relationship with a prince.” Her blue eyes glittered, and he wondered at the slight emphasis she put on prince, and why it made his heart skip a beat.

Chaol fought his own smile. “I was wondering when you’d come to your senses.” Did she fret as he did? Did she constantly think about her blood-covered hands? But for all of her swaggering, for all of her gloating and parading about with hands on her hips . . .

There was still something soft in her face. It gave him hope—hope that he had not lost his soul in the act of killing, hope that humanity could still be found, and honor could be regained . . . She had come out of Endovier and could still laugh.

She twirled her hair around a finger. She was still wearing that absurdly short nightgown, which slid up her thighs as she propped her feet on the edge of the table. He focused on her face.

“Would you like to join me?” she asked, gesturing with one hand to the table. “It’s a shame for me to celebrate alone.”

He looked at her, at that half grin on her face. Whatever had happened with Cain, whatever had happened at the duel . . . that would haunt him. But right now . . .

He pulled out the chair in front of him and sat down. She filled a goblet with wine and handed it to him. “To four years until freedom,” she said, lifting her glass.

He raised his in salute. “To you, Celaena.”

Their eyes met, and Chaol didn’t hide his smile as she grinned at him. Perhaps four years with her might not be enough.

Celaena stood in the tomb, and knew she was dreaming. She often visited the tomb in her dreams—to slay the ridderak again, to be trapped inside Elena’s sarcophagus, to face a featureless young woman with golden hair and a crown far too heavy for her to bear—but tonight . . . tonight, it was just her and Elena, and the tomb was filled with moonlight, not a sign to be seen of the ridderak’s corpse.

“How are you recovering?” the queen asked, leaning against the side of her own sarcophagus.

Celaena stayed in the doorway. The queen’s armor was gone, replaced by her usual flowing gown. None of the fierceness twisted her features, either. “Fine,” Celaena said, but glanced down at herself. In this dream world, her injuries were gone. “I didn’t know you were a warrior,” she said, jerking her chin toward the stand where Damaris stood.

“There are many things history has forgotten about me.” Elena’s blue eyes glowed with sorrow and anger. “I fought on the battlefields during the demon wars against Erawan—at Gavin’s side. That’s how we fell in love. But your legends portray me as a damsel who waited in a tower with a magic necklace that would help the heroic prince.”

Celaena touched the amulet. “I’m sorry.”

“You could be different,” Elena said quietly. “You could be great. Greater than me—than any of us.”

Celaena opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Elena took a step toward her. “You could rattle the stars,” she whispered. “You could do anything, if you only dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most.”

She walked to Celaena, and it was all the assassin could do to keep from backing out of the tomb and running away. The queen’s blazing, glacier-blue eyes were as ethereal as her lovely face. “You found and defeated the evil Cain was bringing into the world. And now you’re the King’s Champion. You did as I asked.”

“I did it for my freedom,” Celaena said. Elena gave her a knowing smile that made her want to scream, but Celaena kept her face blank.

“So you say. But when you called for help—when the amulet snapped, and you let your need be felt—you knew someone would answer. You knew I would answer.”

“Why?” Celaena dared ask. “Why answer? Why do I need to be the King’s Champion?”

Elena lifted her face toward the moonlight streaming into the tomb. “Because there are people who need you to save them as much as you yourself need to be saved,” she said. “Deny it all you want, but there are people—your friends—who need you here. Your friend, Nehemia, needs you here. Because I was sleeping—a long, endless sleep—and I was awoken by a voice. And the voice didn’t belong to one person, but to many. Some whispering, some screaming, some not even aware that they were crying out. But they all want the same thing.” She touched the center of Celaena’s forehead. Heat flared, and a blue light flashed across Elena’s face as Celaena’s mark burned and then faded. “And when you are ready—when you start to hear them crying out as well—then you will know why I came to you, and why I have stood by you, and will continue to watch over you, no matter how many times you shove me away.”

Celaena’s eyes stung, and she took a step back toward the hall.

Elena smiled sadly. “Until that day comes, you’re exactly where you need to be. From the king’s side, you’ll be able to see what needs to be done. But for now—enjoy the accomplishment.”

Celaena felt ill at the thought of what else might be asked of her, but she nodded. “Fine,” she breathed, making to leave, but paused in the hall. She looked over her shoulder, to where the queen still stood, watching her with those sad eyes. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Elena bowed her head. “Blood ties can’t be broken,” she whispered, and then vanished, her words echoing in the silent tomb.

Chapter 55

The following day, Celaena approached the glass throne, casting a wary glance about the council chamber. It was the same one in which she’d seen the king those many months ago. A greenish fire burned in the mouthlike fireplace, and thirteen men sat at a long table, each staring at her. But there were no other Champions left—only her. The victor. Dorian stood beside his father and smiled at her.