To the Stars | Throne of Glass

86

Once again hidden behind the ebony mask, Celaena resisted the urge to snarl at the man to hurry up. Half an hour of tittering about his target - and she already knew all the details. Honestly, it would have been so much easier if Arobynn told her, rather send her here.

The Vaults was a wild thing at night - all the more reason for her to get out as quickly as possible. '-he has lots of guards,' the client was saying.

She stood abruptly, cutting him off. 'You can start transferring the money now - I'll be done by the end of the week.'

The man's gulp was audible. 'Of course. But I need- can you give a set time?'

'I will have it done,' she repeated, slow and clear.

'Brilliant,' he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. But being barely a metre away from a professional killer would be rather daunting - wouldn't it?

~

Two hunting knives were strapped to her waist, one on each side, and twin swords were slung in a cross over her back. Having this many weapons could possibly jeopardise the mission if she wasn't careful; jumps and manoeuvres had to be well-planned and calculated as she'd have to allow extra space for the tips of the swords to not scrape anything and sound an alarm.

Swift and smooth, Celaena slipped across the rooftops, no more than a wraith; a shadow of the night. Her stomach was strangely taut - with anticipation.

Tumbling was something that couldn't really be practiced at the Guild; training for the impact from the leaps could be done from the shingle surrounding the courtyard - but they would only get the full experience during the mission.

She'd seen Harding come back from a successful mission - with fresh slices across his face and arms, peppered with shards of glass - tumbling was as dangerous as it was fun.

Lord Bravkenn lived near the Glass Castle (in her opinion: an ugly, horrible work of a monster) - which meant there would be Royal Guards patrolling. Five days of monitoring the shifts, and there shouldn't be anyone sniffing here for a while.

Ten minutes. She had ten minutes in this shift, no more, no less. Well, obviously the quicker she did it, the better. Steeling her nerves, Celaena quickly checked all her weapon straps, making sure none were loose.

Then the Bravkenn manor loomed before her. Third floor... fourth window across.

The maid had left it open, as she had done all these past nights, to let fresh air breeze in. Crouched behind a chimney on the neighbouring roof, Celaena could hear the girl's humming as the window creaked wide, followed by her retreating footsteps. The girl wouldn't have been as stupid as to leave the window to the study open - but she had.

All clear. Celaena stood, and drew in a deep breath.

Then she ran.

Straight and swift like an arrow, she willed her legs to push harder, faster, eating up the emerald shingle beneath her with each step.

The gap and the window loomed before her, closer and closer.

Ten paces.

Six.

Two.

One.

And then she leapt, tucking in her legs, and the panes of the window hurtled past. Heart thrashing wildly, she unfurled, landing short of the desk by a few inches.

No guards were stationed inside - but there would be four outside, and Bravkenn himself would soon enter.

So she deliberately knocked over a stack of books, and they fell to the round with a thud. Muffled curses, stomping, and-

The door flew open.

And she moved, blades flashing.

Two throats sprayed blood.

She caught the two men by the collars of their tunics, gently lowering them to the ground.

The other two guards charged in, wielding swords. And beheld the open window, the ruffled desk, and the dead men. Celaena gave them all of one second before she sprang from the shadows and hurled a particularly thick volume at one's head. The book struck home, and the man dropped to the ground.

She plunged a dagger into the fourth guards' throat before he could utter a sound, and yanked it out, blood gushing.

With exaggerated movements, Celaena swaggered to the desk, peering through the drawers. I want the documents which are stamped like this, the client had said.

There. Drawing out a small stack of yellow paper, Celaena quickly scanned the contents. And looked away, disgust threatening to churn her guts. Slave trade, again.

Money. It's sick, Ben had said.

It was true.

More scuffling from down the corridor had her head snapping up and stuffing the papers into her cloak. She'd wasted a minute - she'd given herself two minutes to kill Bravkenn; now she only had one.

Celaena slipped from the room and peered left. The man's chambers should be further down that direction.

Easing open a large beech door, she knew this was the right one.

Bravkenn was dead a heartbeat later as she hurled the dagger.

She didn't try to soften the thud as he crumpled to the ground, blood streaming onto the pale floor.

Running footsteps.

She was late.

Celaena threw open the windows, and vaulted out - just as the door slammed open a second time. 'Shit,' she heard someone say.

'Window's open,' another said.

She fought the urge to bark a curse.

And finally, she looked down.

She was three storeys up, the neighbouring roof too high to reach - and the ground too far away. As quietly as she could, Celaena began to slither down the wall, finding footholds and grips on the drainpipe and jags.

She was two floors away from the cobblestone streets when a head poked out from the window.

And their eyes met.