To the Stars | Throne of Glass

64

She was thrown into a cell, cold and small and empty. Arobynn didn't bother telling her when he'd let her out. She couldn't hear anything that was said. And couldn't see either, for a heartbeat later, a dagger slammed into her, and everything went black.

~

Sam used her weakness to his full advantage, just as Arobynn had taught them to. Her blade felt heavier in her non-dominant hand; as she swiped to parry Sam's blow, she kept her toes light, kept shifting to ease off the unbalanced weight through her body. She didn't waste strength trying to hold her right arm in place behind her back, rather, she slipped it into her pocket. A better brace than nothing.

Sam suddenly cut downwards, and she cursed as she twisted, and the pants' fabric pulled against the broken bones in her hand. Celaena danced to the side, refusing to yield backwards as Sam thrust the blade towards her. She dealt a return blow - a long sweep from his navel to his chin, letting the blow fall short instead of slice him in two. Sam hissed, darting in for her exposed right half. A stream of profanities flowed from her lips like a rushing river as she felt the blade slice into her bicep.

She slammed the sword upwards as Sam brought his down. The shriek of metal on metal was a terrible noise that had the whole hall going silent, but still they danced across the mat, blades flying. Mullin hissed as Sam began to retreat, moving onto his mat without as much as a blink.

And then she saw it, clear as day. A narrow opening by his collarbone. Sam didn't seem to notice, and continued to reverse, forcing assassins to part for the whirlwind of flesh and steel. He struck low, and then Celaena moved. Moved faster than the asp, so fast, too fast, that Sam couldn't bring his blade up in time to deflect the strike.

'Damn you!' Sam barked, curse ringing through the hall. Blood welled, blooming across the fabric of his beige tunic. A matching cut, shallow like hers. Sam almost seemed to allow her to hold the blade to him throat. I always win, she'd said to him. Always.

Grumbling, Mullin waved them off his mat, and Celaena finally relaxed her posture as she returned to where Arobynn stood. She studied the cut on her arm which was already beginning to clot. It would scar, but not as horribly as her hand would.

She lifted the hand from her pocket. The strips of bandage were soaked with crimson already. The wound must have re-opened. Ben had cleaned it to ensure no infection was to occur, as well as somehow re-aligned the bones, but she would have to get stitches. And a lot of them.

Arobynn didn't seem to care as he said, 'It was a careless mistake, both of you, to allow your bodies to become in contact with the blade at all. Again, tomorrow. Sam, I need to speak to you about something. Celaena, get that hand cleaned. I don't want your blood all over my floor.'

A long silence passed, then she deliberately shook her arm, and flecks splattered onto the floor. Arobynn glared at her. 'Clean that up.' She swiped her boot over the blood, smearing the stain over the wooden planks further.

'Celaena.' He spat out her name with venom, and it was laced with warning and simmering anger.

'I'm getting my hand cleaned first.'

Arobynn took a step forwards. 'You are an impertinent, disobedient little girl.'

Celaena didn't let the words affect her, and let them slide over her ears like water. And she took the blow that Arobynn dealt her.

Hissing through her teeth, she returned his scowl. 'You will clean that up.' He struck her again, and those around them fell silent as she staggered, only to right herself a heartbeat later.

She unbuttoned her tunic- men be damned- spat on the floor, and threw the cloth over it. With a leg, she scrubbed at the floor till only the wooden planks gleamed from underneath. Celaena didn't bend; didn't bow.

'Happy now?' she barked. Celaena and Arobynn didn't have the best of tempers. Clean the floor, he'd ordered her. Maybe she'd overreacted, but gods above- she wasn't to be treated like a servant! The assassins around them recoiled at the fire that seemed to fill the air.

She flicked her boot, and chucked the filthy tunic at Sam, who caught it and eyed it as if it were about to bite him. Celaena certainly felt like biting someone. The men cleared a wide path for her as she stalked out of the room, left hand itching to pull out her blades.

~

The string of profanities leaving her mouth were even longer and more vile than the ones from that morning. She bit down on her scream and barked out a harsh curse as Ben threaded the needle through her hand again. 'Almost done,' he said.

'Good,' she snarled.

A final tug, and spark of pain, then Ben lowered the needle. 'I think we'll have to keep an eye on how well these hold out. Be careful now. Don't tear them.'

She sighed. 'I'll try not to.'

Lifting her hand, she could see the distinctive lines of the thread that bound her hand together. Disgusting. She winced, dropping it back down to her side.

'Thank you,' she grit out through the sting. 

Ben said nothing - didn't need to, anyway. He smiled, and she grimaced back.