Queen Of Glass

Chapter 25

Celaena Sardothien stalked through the streets of Renaril, cloaked in darkness. To the ordinary passerby, she might have been nothing more than a caliginous shadow cast across a dimly lit street. To the more observant, she would have appeared as a person not to be trifled with; a person who would have no qualms about bringing you into her dark cocoon with no intention of letting you leave alive. In either case, Celaena hunted with no interference.
These back streets were the epitome of filth. Sewage and puddles of excrement lay beneath almost every window; and the cobblestone streets were in need of serious repair. The buildings were cracked and misshaped like smashed stones, and candlelight was a rare commodity. The drunken antics of the unfortunate souls who lived within this broken world could be heard from every direction. At this time of night the cheap taverns were filled to the brim with those who sought to drown their problems away until the sun rose through the bars of their prison, turning this hellish nightmare into a real one of rotting stone and flesh.
Even as Adarlan's assassin she had avoided this part of Renaril, taking heed to the admonishments of her mentors. In the past three years the crime level had gotten worse, but none of that mattered right now—this was where her quarry nested.
Celaena knew that whoever had committed the crime did not live in the palace—no one there, no matter how corrupt, was that skilled or ruthless. For an aristocrat or worker, a few stabs in the heart or a slit throat would have done the job. What had occurred was a twisted form of artwork—a sick practice that she had once taken a part of. It had occurred to Celaena that this might be some form of punishment for her previous heinous crimes, but she had not allowed the idea to outweigh the task at hand.
She knew that once given the permission to slaughter, an assassin was left up to his or her own devices. If it had been a while since their latest kill, they would take longer and delight in it, being as efficiently creative as possible. Since her capture, the assassin market had stalled considerably—none dared to hire and no assassin wanted to put their services up for sale. In that sense, her enslavement had had the effect that the King had wanted: it had scared many out of their professions and had put many out on the streets, yearning for gold and blood. No one had risen to her empty throne in the past three years—instead they had all crumbled to pieces.
Now, in this spoiled spot of earth, all the cutthroats, impoverished, and outcasts of Adarlan were gathered, living together in a world where each day brought about more pain and horror—forever trapped in an ashen prison of misery and despair.
It was here that she would find what she had been seeking for the past few hours. It was here that her first step at revenge would be taken. The assassin responsible for the murder was skilled and had probably received a haughty fee for his services, which would eventually lead him to a tavern. She knew at which ones he would be found—things had hardly changed in a few years. The assassin wouldn't have left Renaril—oh, no, of course not—especially now that the

market seemed to be opening up once again. If there was one rich person that was willing to pay for the assassination of a helpless princess, there might be more, many more, which had been waiting for a long time...
Celaena turned a corner and looked down the street in front of her. Yes, this was the one. Candlelight and drunken laughter leaked from the few windows of a tavern that was buried between two slanted houses. A few drunks littered the street outside—dead or simply asleep she did not know.
She emerged from the shadows as nothing more than a wisp of some hellish demon, seen and then gone in the blink of an eye through portal of light.
The tavern smelled strongly of ale and unwashed bodies. It was lit strategically: bright near the front tables and bar, but dim in the back for those who sought not to be seen.
As the black figure strode into the tavern some laughter halted —suddenly afraid that whoever was hidden beneath those folds of black cloak and shadow might be after them. But she paid them no heed and stalked over to the bar, her eyes upon the man behind the counter.
The bartender was a fat and pale man with sparse hair; and his color became even more pallid as the stranger approached him. He tried in vain to see beneath the cowl—to try to catch a glimpse of the face of this nameless fear that had appeared, but his eyes only found the darkness of the night lurking within. Nothing about this person revealed anything save that they had come to his bar for something more than a drink.
In truth, that was how Celaena had wanted it. She had dressed entirely in black, from the ends of her boots to the black cape and cowl that hid her face. To ensure that her face was not seen (and possibly recognized), she wore a black mask beneath her hood, making her more demon than human, even to herself. Lost within her flowing cloak was an assortment of the tools of her craft—each more vicious than the last, each selected with one purpose: revenge. However, none of these weapons or dire clothing could compare to the cold fury that had encased her heart. It consumed her, blinding all other thoughts from her mind save one. But, in the end, Celaena knew that this was the only way that she would be capable of seeking revenge. It was with this attitude that she had become Adarlan's assassin those many years ago.
The tender gripped the edge of the counter to keep his hands from shaking. Surely this was some servant of the dark god sent to drag him to an eternity of torture!
Those seated closest to where she stopped moved away silently.
Celaena stopped and leaned over the edge of the bar, causing the bartender to step back in fear. He kept a dagger beneath the raised table, but he somehow knew that a dagger would not work on this creature—nothing could possibly save him from this cloaked shadow except the light of the sun.
"I have come to inquire after a man," she said slowly, her voice scratchy and deep from behind the mask. "A man who recently earned a large sum of gold for the assassination of a young woman. Where might I find him?"
The few who had heard the sexless voice exchanged worried glances before they felt for their weapons. Officers of law were not welcome within this part of Renaril.
The bartender shook all over, his fear taking control of him. "I-I know n-nothing," he stuttered, using his bar like a barricade, going so pale that he appeared to be a ghost unwilling to be taken away by the god of death who stood before him.
Celaena reached a hand into a hidden pocket and drew forth a fistful of jewels and gold that glittered wickedly in the light of the bar.
"Allow me to repeat my question, bartender."
Graev fled through the streets of Renaril, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Something was following him...something not human. He turned down the maze of streets, desperately seeking the slanted building in which he made his home, but in the process of trying to lose his hunter, he had managed to lose himself. He cursed himself for bringing that large bag of gold with him to the bar tonight—it had attracted too much attention and these days a man would do anything for just a day's worth of bread. Even kill.