To the Stars | Throne of Glass

44

She struck, ramming her fist into the man's jaw, and he stumbled - only to careen into the wall behind him. Her grin was purely predatory as she advanced, daggers in hand. Blood, red and thick and dark, dripped from the two blades. Breathing jagged, hands raised before him in feeble defence, he moaned, 'Please.'

She didn't care. The blade of her dagger pressed into his cheek, and the man sobbed. She leaned in, and purred, 'Don't worry. Just a little while longer.' The man was beyond listening, only screamed in agony as her dagger slashed into his cheek, then lower, across his tendons.

His knees collapsed and he fell to the ground. She was already there, crouched on her haunches as she leered in. No pity, no remorse filled her features.

And no one came running to help as a shriek burst from the man's mouth as her other dagger plunged into his thigh, pinning it to the cobblestone ground.

Her feral grin was nothing short of wicked. Humming, she held up a knife with a gleaming tip before his terror-struck face for him to see. The sharp, clean edge glinted in the moonlight, piercing even the darkness. 'Would you prefer lines or circles?' she asked, her tone as if questioning what flavour she should bake a pie.

A wet patch bloomed across the front of his pants. She reveled in his panic and fear, so strong it was almost tangible. 'PLEASE - NO - I BEG YOU - PLEASE-'

That god-awful word again. 'Lines or circles?' she repeated. Then she added, more to herself, 'Circles are quite a pain to do. Lines it is, then.' She brought the knife to his arm. And drew a long slash from the shoulder to the wrist in a slow, cruel, movement, dragging out, savouring, the pain.

The screech which came out of his mouth was terrible, but there was no one to help him. No one who cared, anyway. She fingered the purple veins that ran along the length of his other arm, hand leaking blood where the dagger protruded from it. She flicked her wrist, and then-

His scream vibrated off the brick walls, a siren in the night. She smiled. 'That was only the beginning. I'll make this nice and long, just as you wanted.'

~

His head hung limp, lolling about, eyes dull and dead. With a groan, he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

And suddenly his face was not his own - but Hunter's.

His face was contorted in pain, eyes glittering in agony, wounds evident beneath his clothes and blood seeping over the fabric, dyeing it a deep red.

She stumbled back and clutched her head, those whimpers driving deep into her soul.

Hunter. Dearest Hunter, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-

Then she snarled and plunged the knife into his heart, and he slumped in her arms, dead.

~

The sound of swords clashed over and over again in the training hall. Ben had gathered a few assassins to participate in a small tournament. Arobynn didn't know. Didn't care. The competition was not annual, nor monthly, but just random. It started with a sprint round the courtyards, then archery, and finally swordplay. Archer, Sam, Gregori, Cassar, seven others, and Celaena herself. 

There was a lot of rivalry, but beneath all the taunts and jibes, Celaena knew why Ben had done this. Appreciated it. Because he knew that when she wasn't doing anything, her mind unwittingly drifted to the things she had desperately tried to avoid. In other words, this was a useful distraction.

'Ach!' Her opponent, a boy with chestnut-coloured hair and big, onyx eyes, cursed as her sword nicked his hand. If she'd wanted, she would have struck harder so he'd have lost the limb entirely. The boy smiled apologetically. Celaena ignored him, and thrust the sword again. He barely deflected the attack, whirling to block the blade with his own.

Celaena didn't want to make anymore friends. Not after Hunter. Archer was an exception, if that counted as friendship.

The boy panted through his teeth as he yielded a step, on the defensive. He offered no more smiles or glances, and they finished their sparring in wordless silence.

~

But she was grinning, grinning at Gregori as he thrust his sword here and there in desperate blocks to her attacks. Archer had been training, as proved when he almost managed to outlast her - longer than she expected. Sam was, as usual, back to frowns and glares. And the curses they threw at each other didn't help the mood at all. But Gregori... she lunged again, and if it weren't for the swift manoeuvre, he would have been impaled on her blade.

They danced on the floor with nimble footwork and smooth strikes. Both attack and defences were strong; and neither gained any ground for some while. Until she saw him lagging, exposing his left side each time he went to block a thrust. A trap, or weakness.

Celaena took the risk, feigning right then jabbing the tip of the sword at his left. Gregori twisted, and she swept a leg. He tumbled to the ground. Celaena had her sword over his heart in a beat.

Gregori's ugly face glared at her. She stomped on the hilt of his sword, and it went sprawling out of reach. Gregori made to prop himself onto his elbows, but she moved the blade closer. 'I wouldn't, if I were you,' she smiled. He growled back.

Ben strolled over, and clapped her on the back. Just like he'd done after each activity this morning. 'You can let Gregori go now,' he said. She sheathed the sword and Gregori got to his feet, spitting.

Ben gave him a warning look. But Gregori rolled his eyes, and pulled a face. 'It's obvious you favour her. I don't have to listen to you. This competition,' he spat, 'was pointless. Arobynn's Second? You're more like her chew toy.'

He was on the ground, howling a second later. Blood dripped from his nose, and he clutched his stomach in pain.

Ben stalked to him, and despite his usually-nice nature, his face was contorted into a terrifying snarl. Even Celaena found herself drawing back slightly. 'Get up,' he said. Gregori didn't. Ben sank onto his haunches, and snatched a fistful of Gregori's tunic.

Then lifted him clean into the air.

'You,' Ben said, voice deadly-soft, 'are dancing a dangerous line. If I ever catch you addressing me or her like that ever again, you'll be on the streets before you can bark a single curse. Do you understand?'

Gregori trembled.

Ben snarled, his handsome face taut with rage, lips pulled back from his teeth in a purely lupine action. 'UNDERSTOOD?' he roared.

Gregori looked like he was about to puke, but one more glance at Ben's still-growling expression had him nodding furiously. Ben let go, and Gregori landed with an audible thump hard onto the floor.

Ben looked up, and raked his glare over the rest of the group, who had all paused to watch the scene. 'Anyone else?' he snarled, a ferocious growl stuck in his throat. No one dared to blink; to move a muscle. 'You're dismissed. We're done for today.'

The assassins, both child and young-adult alike, darted out of the room. Leaving just Celaena and Ben. Even Archer had fled.

Celaena cautiously approached her mentor, and dear friend. She prised his fingers from the curled claws they had formed, and he allowed her to take his hand. It was still damp from Gregori's blood.

'You're not taking his words seriously, are you?' she asked quietly - quiet, but not meek.

Ben's eyes finally unglazed as he looked down at her, face softening. 'No. No, I'm not.'

After a moment, gripping his hand tighter, she said, 'Thank you, still.' The words felt rather strange as they slid off her tongue. Not often used. But she didn't want him to mistake her silence for anything else.

Ben smiled gently. 'Anything for you,' he said.

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