To the Stars | Throne of Glass

62

The roaring grew louder. And yet all was silent in her head.

A rage was beginning to build up, and it was nothing like Celaena had ever experienced before. It was like ice - ice colder than the snow that lay on the mountains of Morath - and it crept through her veins. Celaena welcomed the sensation. And a cool calm settled over her.

Death. That was the only thing she could think of. And Lysandra, still waving the fan about, was completely oblivious to the unrelenting rage that had consumed her rival. Celaena snarled once. The sound was like no other - a sound that couldn't be made by humans. But Celaena snarled again, the vibrations rumbling down to her very core.

Lysandra looked up. And there was terror - terror and pure panic as she beheld the fire and ice in Celaena's eyes.

One moment, Lysandra held the fan in her hands. The next, Celaena had seized it. And then she tackled Lysandra to the ground. Lysandra was screaming incomprehensible words as Celaena raised the fan.

Lysandra struggled, damn it, she tried to wriggle free of Celaena's grasp. But Celaena didn't let go. Lysandra was wailing like a cat as Celaena shoved her down the stairs, and together they rolled, grappling for purchase. But Celaena didn't feel the pain of the marble steps, nor the pathetic swipes of manicured nails that struck her face.

And Lysandra was still screaming and sobbing as Celaena slashed the fan across her cheek. 'Bitch!' Celaena growled. 'Whore!' she roared. 'Wonton - Trollop - Quean - Ho - Trull -' Each insult was reinforced with a crack across Lysandra's bruised, tear-streaked face with the fan. (A/N: *cough* writegbm07 *sees wonton* *chokes*)

When they finally rolled to a heap at the bottom of the stairs, Celaena was atop Lysandra. They were both screaming at one another. Celaena beat Lysandra again and again, and she revelled in the pain it caused. Slash. Crack. Thump. Again and again it went.

Until strong hands, not bothering to be gentle, yanked her off Lysandra. The sobs and shrieks quietened till there was only a small snivel from the body on the ground, gown in tatters and hair ruffled all over. Celaena didn't care that it was Arobynn. She twisted and snarled, drawing back her wrist to strike her master.

But he gripped her tighter, and Celaena howled as molten lava raced up her arm. Lysandra, that bitch, was laughing as Celaena thrashed in Arobynn's steel grip. 'No!' Celaena gasped, clawing at the hands that held her. Arobynn clouted her head. Hard. Harder than ever before.

Then a hand grabbed her flailing wrists, and nails dug into her arm so hard that, for a moment, the world went black.

~

I think you need to practice more with your left hand, Is what Celaena hoped Arobynn would say. But Arobynn, being Arobynn, didn't. After placing her against an acolyte, then Sam, then Harding, she was thoroughly worn and battered. It wasn't even midday yet. 'Now. I know it's your birthday soon, Celaena,' Arobynn said. 'And I think what would be beneficial for you would be more training.' Before she could protest, he said with a snake's smile, 'Your swordplay with your left hand does not meet my standards. I give you a choice. Break your right arm yourself, or I do it for you.'

She let loose a stream of vulgar words, but Arobynn only smiled. 'Your choice.'

Celaena hissed through gritted teeth. Truly, truly the worst present of a lifetime. Arobynn just patted her shoulder and said, 'Happy birthday, my dear.'

~

Sixteen minutes past two in the morning, Celaena lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. 'Shit,' she said to nothing in particular. 'Shit, shit, shit.' Twelve years old. Hallelujah.