To the Stars | Throne of Glass

33

One word. Brothel. And Sam had walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Celaena didn't offer another glance to Clarisse or Arobynn as she followed suit. The echo of his footsteps lingered in the hallways and she hurried in his direction. Celaena found Sam in the pianoforte room, leaning eyes closed against the wall.

'Are you okay?'

He scoffed. 'Celaena Sardothien, caring?'

She snapped back, 'What happened?' Sam paled, and shook his head. Celaena pushed on. 'Why?'

He shook his head again. 'Please.' Celaena placed a hand on his shoulder, and he didn't shrug it off. 'Tell me.'

Sam sunk onto his haunches against the wall. She glimpsed silver lining his eyes. Celaena took a step back, at a loss for words. She'd barely taken another step away when Sam spoke in a low, quiet voice she'd never heard him use before. 'My mother was twenty-eight when she... died.' He looked up, and Celaena blinked, shocked, at the damp trails which ran down his cheeks and the cold, distant fury in his eyes.

It was a long minute before he spoke again.

'My mother was born an orphan, and sold to a brothel madam. She spent twenty-two years of her life - twenty-two years in which she became one of the most successful courtesans in Rifthold.' A glimmer of pride, then his voice turned spiteful. 'Despite the money she'd made, it wasn't enough for to provide for me when she bore me, let alone liberate her from the brothel. Turns out, she didn't need to worry about that anymore for much sooner.' Celaena counted the years- counted, because... Sam- Sam was only six when his mother died. 'She did nothing wrong,' he whispered. 'But lucky for me,' the word was hissed, spat out like poison, 'my mother was a good friend, a favourite, I was told, of Arobynn's, and she left him with me when she passed.'

She understood. She wanted to tell him she understood. That she had felt loss and rage like he had. Only perhaps even worse. She understood the rage and agony. Understood every bit of it. That night, she had been so scared. Now, only a fiery rage remained, burning yet icy- and she knew it would never disappear. Slumber it may... but it returned. Cleaved through her heart with a violent crack, and drive her to the point of maddening fury. Someone always died after that.

But she didn't dare tell him- not now.

His voice twisted so that Celaena could feel the pulsing hate within each word. 'And you want to know how she died?' Celaena sat and hugged her knees. Sam gave her a cold smile, eyes expressionless and empty. Celaena shivered. 'She was murdered.' The fire in his eyes told her that he was beyond furious.

But Celaena did nothing. She didn't know what to do. Sam, with his compassion- the compassion she didn't have- would know what to do. But she wasn't Sam. And she was as lost as he was.

So she offered a hand, intertwining it with Sam's. Gripping it hard to tell him she was there; she was with him. And they sat there, side by side, as Sam cried, silent tears running down his cheeks.

~

He supposed it was a blessing for Celaena to even have approached him in the first place, let alone offer her hand.

It felt strange when he finally spoke. His throat was rough and the words came out in short bursts of pain. Sam picked up enough nerve to ask, 'What about you?' Celaena stiffened, and it was as if shutters had been drawn over her eyes. 'It's not a story for you to hear.' Her voice was soft with lethal calm, and Sam's heartbeat fluttered like a bird in a cage. If Celaena was to turn on him now, he'd be dead in a matter of moments.

But she just stood up, and stalked from the room without another word.

~

She wanted to tell him. She really did. It would be nice to have another person know, to understand. But she couldn't. The words froze on her tongue and Celaena could only walk out of the room.

She sagged against the wall, and pulled at her hair in frustration, cursing the gods and herself until her mind whirled with a storm vulgar words.

The door creaked as it was opened. Sam walked out, rubbing his red eyes. 'Are you okay?' Celaena barked a vicious laugh at the irony of her words being turned around; Sam asking her if she was okay. Sam recoiled slightly at her tone. 'I'm goddamned fine so shut your rutting mouth and leave me alone,' she spat at him. Even as the words left her lips, she knew she didn't mean it. And she cursed her very existence as Sam froze, eyes wide. She regretted every single word. Sam backed away, step by step, and Celaena did nothing to stop him.

It was like having invisible tethers on her tongue, her arms, her legs, even worming into her mind. Celaena didn't know how to say sorry, didn't know how to approach him, didn't know how to utter a single, rutting apology to show remorse or guilt. But her neck pricked with heat, and her own eyes were wide with dismay. And slowly, Sam retreated, hands on the hilts of his daggers. Until he disappeared.

Gone.

~

Hours passed as she sat on the piano stool, fingers resting on the keys.

~

She let him approach. She thought he had gone for good - that when they crossed paths again, he would look at her with hurt and ire. But he stood in front of her, a hand reaching for her shoulder. Celaena looked up to lock gazes with Sam. Only sorrow and sympathy lingered in his eyes.

'I don't want your pity.'

Sam's stare didn't falter. 'I can empathise.'

'What do you know about my childhood?' she spat.

'Believe me, I know enough. That you've gone through enough to look at the world with those eyes. Celaena, that rage. That daunting rage. It shimmers in your eyes, even when you think yourself to be content. I don't know exactly what happened, but I know enough.' Celaena flinched. She hadn't expected this from him. Didn't deserve it in the least.

'I didn't know you could be so poetic,' she snorted.

But Sam didn't squirm. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

Celaena sighed through her nose, and tried to press her lips together in a thin line. A strangled noise that sounded vaguely like a sob and a choke came from her throat. 'I can't.'

He nodded. 'I understand.' Celaena wanted to punch him, to strangle him, to hurt him. Because he didn't understand. He couldn't. But she knew that his presence alone was something that she did not deserve. So she sat, still as a statue.

A rustle, and a silver package was placed on the top of the pianoforte. Sam stood up. 'I'm always here, if you need me.' Celaena didn't have to look at him to know that his eyes would be glittering with warmth; the warmth that she could never manifest, the warmth that made Sam beautiful, the warmth and the compassion he always showed when others needed it. Celaena envied him for his good will. She tried to be nice. She really did.

With no further words, Sam eased open the door and left once more. Celaena reached a shaking hand for the foil.

The scent of chocolate filled the air as she unwrapped the silver gift.