To the Stars | Throne of Glass

20

'Celaena!' Gregori barked.

She rolled her eyes. Of course when Ben had asked him who he'd fight, he'd pick her. Unfastening her cloak, she dropped it in a puddle outside the ring. She rolled her neck and shoulders, then made sure all her weapons were strapped tightly to her side - she was going to refrain from using them as much as possible, though she longed to just hurl another knife at his face.

This morning, Gregori had finally appeared, with a huge ugly scar which stretched in a jagged line from his cheekbone to the tip of his ear. Celaena had reveled at his discomfort, though she was slightly disappointed that his other cheek had healed. Maybe she should've slashed a little deeper to give him matching scars.

She toed the mat with a foot as she waited for Gregori to begin. But he didn't.

So she struck first.

It was a dance, for both of them. Gregori had the advantage of experience; he was fifteen - five years older that her. And also a head taller. But that didn't stop her.

He struck low, and she parried. She threw a punch at his jaw, and he blocked with his forearm.

Where one struck, it was stopped. Soon, Celaena grew bored of the playing. She managed to land a blow on Gregori, and he grabbed her arm to pull her in. But she ducked, and twirled, and before he could react, smashed her elbow into his nose. He yelled, the sound echoing though the training hall. In rage, he launched himself at her, propelling a sequence of spinning, flying, kicks at her head, one after the other. With maddening ease, she dodged each one.

His breathing grew laboured, and a trail of crimson red dribbled out of his nostril. When his kick faltered, Celaena took that as an opportunity. Drawing a dagger, she darted in. She leapt up, and struck the pommel of the blade hard at the side of his head. Gregori didn't go down, but stumbled. Landing smoothly, she struck again, this time to his chest with a foot.

He went flying out of the ring, and skidded into the wall with an audible grunt. He managed to raise his head to growl at Celaena. With a wide grin, she sent a dagger towards his face. It struck the wall, just above the top of his ear, a hair's breadth away from his head.

Arobynn wasn't present to watch; he probably had other things to do besides watch them spar. 'Anyone else?' Celaena called. She wasn't allowed to take on the older assassins yet, Arobynn said. When she asked about the men that attempted to kill her in her first week, he had just said they were just trainees. So Celaena had fought, and won, against every opponent she sparred. To her annoyance, they all had to be under eighteen, but still better than nothing.

Silence. Then, a voice spoke up from the shadows. 'I'll do it.'

Celaena rolled her eyes. 'Are you sure, Sam?'

'Positive.'

'Actually,' she said, walking up to him, 'I just remembered. I'm busy.' She bent down to pick up her cloak. 'Goodbye.'

Sam snorted.

~

When it came to missions, you didn't ask why. Even though that was what Celaena always wanted to ask. Arobynn just sent you to do it; you did it, no ifs, no buts. Arobynn had many enemies that stretched far and wide across Rifthold, and they were usually wealthy men.

Back in her room, Celaena re-braided her hair, and slipped on her hood. She had chosen to execute the mission at dusk - when no one walked the streets, save for the occasional urchins. The wall of the neighbouring mansion was less than a metre across from her open window, and she often used this route to the roof; Celaena preferred this to the front door. She gripped the crags in the bricks, and used her foot to swing her window shut. This path used so frequently that she was at the top in a few heartbeats. Breaking into a sprint, Celaena sprang with feline grace across the rooftops, avoiding the occasional loose tile. The Keep was huge, but Celaena preferred to run outdoors with fresh air. On the roof.

Keeping her breathing steady, she pelted at a steady pace along the slanted tiles, and, just for fun, ran though a flock of resting pigeons. They scattered into the air, feathers drifting, and she raised her arms, caught in the tempest of talons and fluff and startled hoots. Over the years, Celaena had memorised a map of Rifthold's rooftops. However, as she looked at the city sprawled beneath her, it seemed so incredibly vast - and it took at least ten minutes to reach her destination.

Celaena still wasn't out of breath in the slightest as she flicked open the locked window and slipped inside onto the carpet. She smoothed her wind-ruffled hair, and blew out a long breath between her teeth. A lot of preparation was required before the mission could be completed. So Celaena was positive that if she turned right here, there should've been a door... Ah. There it was. She eased it open, and studied the room before her.

A young man sat at a worn desk, gripping a feather pen tightly as he scribbled on a stack of paper. She had done this enough times to know that to loiter, to waste time, gave you enough time to feel, to regret.

So Celaena drew her favourite knife. She was upon the man before he even realised, and with a small flick, it was done. Quick and clean.

Celaena sheathed her blade and stalked out.