To the Stars | Throne of Glass

70

Arobynn carried her upstairs, round and round the spiraling staircase. Celaena didn't utter a single word, as if she couldn't speak.

Bright daylight blinded her momentarily. When the stars disappeared from her vision, Arobynn was walking down the main hallway. He walked with a smooth swiftness so Celaena was neither jostled nor jolted in his uncannily tender hold.

Servants hurried by, heads bowed. But the assassins they passed stared. At first, it was Celaena who would lift her head weakly to growl at them. But the further Arobynn went, she seemed to deflate, tiredness filling every pore of her.

She heard the first snarl rumble from Arobynn's chest when they passed the drawing room.

Peering over his shoulder, she saw Mordecai staring after them, eyes like a vulture. She'd never liked him, he never her. Piss off, she mouthed. Mordecai blinked slowly like a predator assessing prey. But Celaena wasn't prey. And Arobynn, the King of the Assassins, most certainly wasn't.

Mordecai hissed, hastily bowing and retreating into the shadows as Arobynn turned, fixing him with a sharp glare.

The second time, Celaena saw Archer standing in the doorway of his room, concerned and shell-shocked gaze quickly flitting over her body before meeting her eyes. Celaena didn't acknowledge it. But Arobynn shifted, throwing a snarl in his direction. Like Mordecai, Archer rapidly turned, shutting his door behind him.

'Let them stare,' she murmured to Arobynn. He didn't break stride as he looked down at her to reply, 'We're almost there.'

Thirty-one steps later, a door creaked as Arobynn pushed open a door, wooden and large as all the rest were. He set her down slowly on the edge of a bathtub. 'Do you need help to wash?'

Strange. It was so strange to hear Arobynn say these caring words. Celaena smiled at her mentor faintly. She felt happy. Again, it was a strange feeling. It was a soft, caressing happiness, one that radiated warmth. 'Yes.' Celaena was exhausted too, possibly too tired to even lift a finger.

But when it was Arobynn himself to turn on the taps and run the hot water, Celaena may as well have had a heart attack there and then. No, not a servant. But Arobynn. He chuckled at her startled expression, unfastening his cloak as he did so, and reached for a bottle of hair tonic. 'You-' Celaena started, quietly protesting. She would've never thought he'd bend so low as to help someone beneath him. 'Your tunic,' she finished rather feebly.

'Wet sleeves aren't a problem.' He scooped water into her hair, and Celaena tipped her head back, involuntarily letting out a small moan of pleasure as Arobynn began to rub small circles into her scalp. He was surprisingly good, and gentle, with it, massaging her head with his slender fingers. He worked quietly, and the splashes of water were the only sound heard for a long while. Carefully, he pushed her down, and the soap suds bobbed into the foamy bubbles as her hair met the water.

After rubbing the bar of soap across her dirt-crusted back, he scrubbed her shoulders, covered with blood that was not her own, methodically working lower and lower with the sponge. When he reached the base of her spine, he stopped, and began cleaning her chest. Neither Celaena nor Arobynn cared in the slightest when he began to rub the sponge beneath her breasts. A body was a body.

But when Arobynn finished cleaning her navel, he stepped back and faced the other way to give her some privacy. Limbs loosened and relaxed; soothed and no longer aching, Celaena stepped from the bath, wrapping the white towel once, twice round her body. She wrung her hair, and a small stream of water trickled from the end of the golden strands into the bath, the water now dyed a light scarlet. 'You'll find clothes on the bed,' Arobynn said, finally turning, the soft afternoon light from the high window catching his auburn hair, turning it into a writhing flame. Red and gold shined, bright, like embers and fire.

Why Arobynn didn't take her back to her room, she didn't know, but couldn't be bothered to ask. She slipped on the loose-fitting tunic and pants. These weren't her clothes, and obviously designed for men, though who had lent these clothes, she didn't want to know. It was only the early afternoon, but Celaena was still tired. Mentally, and physically. Arobynn appeared from the bathroom, his sleeves still wet and dripping, and jerked his chin towards the bed. 'Sleep. No one is to disturb you. No one is allowed up here, anyway,' he added with a small smile.

'I'll wake you tomorrow.' He paused by the door, and sighed, 'I'm still sorry. Sleep tight.'

She didn't know if it was genuine. But for now, she believed him.

Then he walked out of the bedroom.

After tugging the curtains closed, after drying her hair, now slipped under the covers of the large bed, two things were running round her mind.

One - Ben.

Two - Arobynn.

Those worries were still echoing in her mind as she fell into a deep sleep.