Queen Of Glass

Book 2 Chapter 22

Celaena Sardothien stared at the empty goblet before her, willing it to move.
As expected, just as it had been for the past half hour, the glass refused to budge. It sat on the table carved out of a massive stump, its silver surface dull in the twilight. Her brows narrowed, her eyes squinting, as her whole face bunched up in concentration.

She tried to imagine an invisible hand around it, tried to talk to it, tried wriggling her fingers at it, tried mumbling some nonsense syllables from faerie-tales, but none of it worked. Now, with her patience as thin as cheesecloth, Celaena could not stop a growl from escaping her lips.
Move, damn you!
It sat there, looking as bored and solid as the rest of the empty cups and plates on the table, and did not even bother to give her the satisfaction of the smallest of wobbles.
I SAID MOVE!
Her eyes were now bulging out of her skull, their sapphire and gold orbs blazing.
"Try calming yourself before attempting to move it," Maeve said from behind her.
"You calm yourself!" the assassin spat back before thinking.
Maeve laughed, and Celaena turned around to look at the Faerie Queen, a bellicose look on her face.
The beautiful woman was seated on her marble throne, enshrouded in glistening purple and navy robes that seemed to have millions of stars throbbing along its gossamer material. A crown of five such stars sat on her head, each the size of Celaena's fist, their burgundy and cobalt blue centers pulsating as they expanded and contracted, shivering slightly, along her long raven-black hair. Her ivory skin showed no sign of age, though her violet eyes, filled with the light that danced around her, revealed much wisdom, if even a little sorrow.
Celaena, seeing Maeve for the first time in a while, remembered what Raal had told her about her engagement with the Fae hero, Athril, and felt a pool of pity fill her heart.
To lose the one you love is hard enough, but to live throughout the ages, alone, with not even the comfort of death to ease your pain...
"You look sad," Maeve said, cocking her head to the side. Was she allowed to bring up the subject? "I—" Celaena began, biting her lip.
Maeve raised her dark eyebrows.
"I can't do this," the assassin lied, gesturing back at the goblet. "It won't work."
Maeve considered her words. "Your mind and heart might not be willing to try it once again."
"But it worked yesterday—I mean, I made Luca win! And I didn't have to mutter things and make ridiculous gestures with my hands or wish it to happen for so long! I just wanted it to happen and it did!"
"Then perhaps that indicates that you do not really want to be doing this right now."
Celaena clicked her tongue and ran her thumb across Raal's ring, which now sat on her index finger. "I'm here now, aren't I? I allowed you to convince me to do this instead of running around the woods with Raonn."
"Maybe you're still a tiny bit groggy from all of the liquor you put into yourself last night. Your body may not be happy with you right now, which would explain why it won't respond to your command."
"Being hung over has nothing to do with magick."
"Oh?" Maeve raised a single eyebrow, her flawless skin wrinkling slightly. "The last time I checked, I believe that you claimed to know nothing about magick of any sort—blood or Fae."
Celaena scowled and put her hands on her hips.

She had been so drunk by the end of the festivities last night that Luca had had to carry her into the wagon and drop her into the back, sprawled amongst the ten or so people who joined them for a ride home. It wasn't until eleven this morning that she had awoken to a loud screech in her ear, and had been so terrified and deafened that she had flipped over onto the floor, smashing her head on the bed frame before opening her eyes to see Raonn sitting on her bed, his legs crossed, already looking cross. She hadn't even changed out of her clothes from yesterday, and she dressed herself hurriedly behind the screen in the corner of the room, throwing on the miserable brown dress and white apron that had been provided for her. Her hair hung in tangles that could not be cured without a bath, so she had tied it back with the blue ribbon that Cindrillion had left on her dresser, donning her black slipper-like shoes before leaving the room, Raonn snickering from behind.
With the Baroness and her daughters due to awaken in an hour, Celaena had gone downstairs to help Leighanna prepare their meal (a combination of breakfast and lunch), and was immensely surprised when Raonn had gone with her, still in his Fae form, to wish everyone a good morning.
Celaena, her head throbbing slightly from either the previous night or her collision with the bed, had downed the food in front of her in lightning speed, chugging several glasses of water before finally feeling a bit more alive. She had expected Raonn to leave after speaking casually to her friends about their nights, and found it hard to contain her irritation when he remained in the kitchen, taking a seat at the wooden table and pouring himself a glass of water from the pewter pitcher that sat on its center.
When she had asked him if he would like a feast to go with his drink, her mouth popped open at the scolding that Cindrillion and Stephaenya had given her, telling her that as a prince, he was entitled to their entire pantry if he desired.
It was at that moment that Celaena, for the first time in fifteen years, had really wanted to tell someone that she was a queen. She could buy this entire region if she bothered to, let alone their pantry. She had almost smacked Raonn across the face for the look that he gave her, and she remained icy towards him even as they reached Dora'nelle.
Luca was still ecstatic from the night before, his confidence unwavering, and he had thanked Raonn profusely throughout the twenty minutes that they sat in the kitchen, telling the Fae prince what a fantastic time he—and everyone—had, and how the whole town, possibly the whole region, was thrilled that the Fae had joined them. Celaena, her hangover now really a hangover, had drowned out his babbling until it became too much to bear, and then dragged Raonn out of the kitchen without even saying goodbye to her companions.
She remained silent for their journey, slumped in the saddle of her white horse, and each time that Raonn began to speak to her, she merely pulled down her bottom eyelids with both hands and stuck out her tongue. After trying three times to ignite a conversation, the Fae lord had merely transformed himself and flown off, leaving her to find Dora'nelle on her own. Celaena, now sorely regretting all of the dancing and drinking, couldn't have cared less. The horse seemed to know where it was going, and she was too tired to even bother holding the reins.
But every now and then she heard a shrill squawk that reminded her—or the horse—that her company was still within eyeshot of her trudging pace. When they reached Dora'nelle, Maeve, of course, had questioned her on everything, from her cheating to Raal's discovery. Celaena had told her everything that she could recall, trying to contain her anger as the Fae Queen had given her an "I told you so" look upon seeing Raal's ring.
Celaena, still too out of it to really care, had allowed Maeve to bully her into training and reintroducing her magick, an event that began and ended with her attempt to move a simply cup from the table of empty dishes that the queen had provided. Raonn, thankfully, was nowhere to be found, though now that she had woken up a good deal, the assassin felt slightly guilty about shunning him earlier.
"It won't work, no matter what I try," she said again, letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Perhaps there is too much on your mind for your magick to respond."
"There was the same amount on my mind at the tournament!"
"Yes," Maeve said, a small smile on her red lips, "but you were incredibly focused on the task at hand. Whereas here," she gestured at the glowing gardens and forests of Dora'nelle, "your mind may tend to drift."
Celaena scratched her brow, "I suppose you're right."