Chasing Tides | Throne of Glass

I

coepimus

Sam Cortland had struck a deal with the devil. 

Well, not quite the devil exactly, but it was a worthy comparison, given who his former bastard of a master was. His life for his death: Arobynn's oath that he would not come to bother Sam ever again for as long as he was proclaimed dead in Erilea. Arobynn's schemes knew no bounds, but Sam knew also that he would keep his word – if Sam upheld his end of the bargain, too. And so, it was decided. He'd cursed Arobynn, flinging profanities filthier than he'd ever dared to say to anyone before. But his former master had only smiled, those cunning, silver eyes gleaming with the pleasure of a man who had attained exactly what he had wanted. Because as ridiculous, as stupid as his bargain was, he knew he had won the moment Sam had set foot inside the entrance of the Keep for the last time.

Sam had protested. What Arobynn had proposed would break Celaena, and the stunt she'd likely pull afterwards would cost her even more. But it was either that, or his death. Arobynn would not allow Sam to live for as long as Celaena loved him. And yes, he had been selfish. What man would choose death if there was some means to salvation? He had willingly agreed to sign away Celaena's heart; what he'd agreed to was as good as plunging a knife through it. He had ruined Celaena so that he himself would not be ruined. And he hated himself for it.

There hadn't been time for him to go back on his word once he had made the agreement. Almost as if he'd been waiting for those final words in the stifling atmosphere of Arobynn's study, Wesley had struck him down with a blow to the temple. But the kindly bodyguard's eyes had been soft, filled with an unbreakable loyalty as he had looked down at Sam, and as darkness swept in to claim him, Sam had been grateful that Wesley would be there to avenge him.

So he woke on a vessel headed for Wendlyn. Arobynn had granted him the freedom to choose the continent which he would spend the rest of his life upon, and the Southern Continent felt much too out of reach if he were to go entirely by sea. He remembered the time he had once contemplated the idea together with Celaena – when he'd run into Arobynn on the streets of Rifthold a little while before their final contract, and Arobynn had worked him into such a seething rage that he'd afterwards gone and found the first ship that would take them away to the Southern Continent. But now, alone... the ship's route would have taken him into the Dead Islands. An encounter which he wished to avoid, considering the terms he – and Celaena – had left with Rolfe upon parting. And without her cheek, her spirit, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to put up with any more unfavourable situations.

He thought of an alternative, too, entertaining in his mind that, if he kept a spy within Rifthold, should Arobynn meet an untimely death, he would immediately be free to return to Adarlan. But he knew no contacts upon this ship, and especially none in Wendlyn. And the amount of gold he possessed now... It was hardly enough to employ a person, let alone provide for himself for these initial weeks if he spent it wisely. Arobynn had not given him any more generosity. He had only been allowed the few dregs of gold that remained in his bank account. A fool. He'd been a fool to expect else.

With nothing but the wild, frolicking waves that sometimes gave way to buffeting gales and roaring storms to keep him company, Sam began to think of life in Wendlyn. There was hardly a moment where, if his mind was unoccupied, he wouldn't be thinking of Celaena, so he tried to fill it up with as many other things as possible. On the first day, he sat there, numb, unable to process what had become of him, missing even all meals. Twice, he even regretted his decision. Would've rather died by the hands of Rourke Farran, if only it would relieve him from this heartache. This unfaltering love that had been so suddenly ripped from him. From Celaena. Twice, he'd wanted the ocean to swallow the ship whole, during those unforgiving nights where a tempest battered the glass windows. Innumerable times, he cried. Let himself cry.