Crown of Midnight Read Free Novels Online
For Susan—
all-time friends until nosotros're zero only grit.
(Then some.)
Map
Contents
Map
Part I
Chapter one
Affiliate 2
Chapter iii
Affiliate 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Affiliate 7
Chapter 8
Affiliate 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter fifteen
Chapter xvi
Chapter 17
Affiliate eighteen
Chapter 19
Chapter twenty
Affiliate 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Affiliate 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Role Ii
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Affiliate 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter forty
Affiliate 41
Affiliate 42
Affiliate 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Affiliate 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Affiliate 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Acknowledgements
Books by Sarah J. Maas
Part One
The Male monarch'due south Champion
Chapter one
The shutters swinging in the storm winds were the but sign of her entry. No one had noticed her scaling the garden wall of the darkened manor business firm, and with the thunder and the gusting wind off the nearby sea, no one heard her equally she shimmied upwardly the drainpipe, swung onto the windowsill, and slithered into the 2nd-floor hallway.
The King'southward Champion pressed herself into an alcove at the thud of approaching steps. Concealed beneath a black mask and hood, she willed herself to cook into the shadows, to become nothing more than a slip of darkness. A servant daughter trudged past to the open window, grumbling as she latched it shut. Seconds later, she disappeared down the stairwell at the other end of the hall. The girl hadn't noticed the wet footprints on the floorboards.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the hallway. The assassin took a long breath, going over the plans she'd painstakingly memorized in the three days she'd been watching the manor firm on the outskirts of Bellhaven. Five doors on each side. Lord Nirall's chamber was the tertiary on the left.
She listened for the approach of any other servants, merely the firm remained hushed equally the storm raged effectually them.
Silent and smooth equally a wraith, she moved down the hall. Lord Nirall'southward bedchamber door swung open with a slight groan. She waited until the side by side rumble of thunder before easing the door shut behind her.
Another wink of lightning illuminated two figures sleeping in the four-poster bed. Lord Nirall was no older than thirty-five, and his wife, nighttime haired and beautiful, slept soundly in his artillery. What had they done to off end the king and then gravely that he wanted them dead?
She crept to the edge of the bed. It wasn't her identify to ask questions. Her task was to obey. Her freedom depended on it. With each pace toward Lord Nirall, she ran through the plan once more.
Her sword slid out of its sheath with barely a whine. She took a shuddering jiff, bracing herself for what would come up adjacent.
Lord Nirall'due south eyes flew open up just as the Male monarch's Champion raised her sword over his head.
Chapter 2
Celaena Sardothien stalked down the halls of the glass castle of Rifthold. The heavy sack clenched in her hand swung with each step, banging every so often into her knees. Despite the hooded black cloak that concealed much of her face up, the guards didn't stop her every bit she strode toward the King of Adarlan'southward council bedchamber. They knew very well who she was—and what she did for the king. As the King's Champion, she outranked them. Actually, there were few in the castle she didn't outrank now. And fewer however who didn't fearfulness her.
She approached the open up glass doors, her cloak sweeping behind her. The guards posted on either side straightened equally she gave them a nod before inbound the quango chamber. Her blackness boots were nearly silent against the red marble floor.
On the drinking glass throne in the eye of the room saturday the Male monarch of Adarlan, his dark gaze locked on the sack dangling from her fingers. Only equally she had the last three times, Celaena dropped to one knee before his throne and bowed her head.
Dorian Havilliard stood abreast his male parent'due south throne—and she could experience his sapphire optics stock-still on her. At the foot of the belvedere, e'er between her and the royal family, stood Chaol Westfall, Captain of the Guard. She looked up at him from the shadows of her hood, taking in the lines of his face. For all the expression he showed, she might as well have been a stranger. But that was expected, and it was just part of the game they'd get and then skilled at playing these past few months. Chaol might be her friend, might be someone she'd somehow come up to trust, but he was notwithstanding captain—still responsible for the purple lives in this room above all others. The rex spoke.
"Rising."
Celaena kept her chin high as she stood and pulled off her hood.
The male monarch waved a hand at her, the obsidian ring on his finger gleaming in the afternoon light. "Is it done?"
Celaena reached a gloved hand into the sack and tossed the severed caput toward him. No one spoke every bit it bounced, a vulgar thudding of stiff and rotting flesh on marble. It rolled to a stop at the foot of the belvedere, milky eyes turned toward the ornate glass chandelier overhead.
Dorian straightened, glancing away from the head. Chaol merely stared at her.
"He put up a fight," Celaena said.
The king leaned frontward, examining the mauled face and the jagged cuts in the cervix. "I can barely recognize him."
Celaena gave him a crooked smile, though her throat tightened. "I'm afraid severed heads don't travel well." She fished in her sack over again, pulling out a hand. "Here'south his seal ring." She tried not to focus besides much on the decaying mankind she held, the reek that had worsened with each passing solar day. She extended the manus to Chaol, whose bronze eyes were distant equally he took it from her and offered it to the king. The king'south lip curled, but he pried the band off the stiff finger. He tossed the hand at her feet as he examined the band.
Beside his begetter, Dorian shifted. When she'd been dueling in the competition, he hadn't seemed to mind her history. What did he expect would happen when she became the King's Champion? Though she supposed severed limbs and heads would turn the stomachs of most people—even afterwards living for a decade under Adarlan's dominion. And Dorian, who had never seen battle, never witnessed the chained lines shuffling their way to the butchering blocks … Perhaps she should be impressed he hadn't vomited notwithstanding.
"What of his wife?" the king demanded, turning the ring over in his fingers once again and again.
"Chained to what's left of her husband at the bottom of the bounding main," Celaena replied with a wicked grin, and removed the slender, pale hand from her sack. It diameter a golden wedding ring, engraved with the appointment of the marriage. She offered it to the rex, simply he shook his head. She didn't dare look at Dorian or Chaol as she put the adult female'southward manus back in the thick canvas sack.
"Very well, so," the king murmured. She remained yet as his eyes roved over her, the sack, the caput. After a
also-long moment, he spoke again. "There is a growing insubordinate move here in Rifthold, a group of individuals who are willing to do anything to get me off the throne—and who are attempting to interfere with my plans. Your next assignment is to root out and dispatch them all before they go a true threat to my empire."
Celaena clenched the sack then tightly her fingers ached. Chaol and Dorian were staring at the king now, as if this were the commencement they were hearing of this, too.
She'd heard whispers of rebel forces before she'd gone to Endovier—she'd met fallen rebels in the salt mines. Simply to have an bodily movement growing in the heart of the majuscule; to have her be the one to dispatch them one by one … And plans—what plans? What did the rebels know of the king's maneuverings? She shoved the questions downwards, downwardly, down, until there was no possibility of his reading them on her face.
The male monarch drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne, still playing with Nirall's ring in his other mitt. "There are several people on my list of suspected traitors, merely I will merely give you one name at a time. This castle is itch with spies."
Chaol stiffened at that, only the king waved his hand and the captain approached her, his face up still blank as he extended a piece of newspaper to Celaena.
She avoided the urge to stare at Chaol's face every bit he gave her the letter, though his gloved fingers grazed hers before he let go. Keeping her features neutral, she looked at the paper. On it was a single name: Archer Finn.
It took every ounce of will and sense of self-preservation to keep her stupor from showing. She knew Archer—had known him since she was 13 and he'd come for lessons at the Assassins' Go on. He'd been several years older, already a highly sought-subsequently courtesan … who was in demand of some training on how to protect himself from his rather jealous clients. And their husbands.
He'd never minded her ridiculous girlhood crush on him. In fact, he'd allow her test out flirting with him, and had commonly turned her into a consummate giggling mess. Of class, she hadn't seen him for several years—since before she went to Endovier—merely she'd never thought him capable of something like this. He'd been handsome and kind and jovial, non a traitor to the crown then dangerous that the king would desire him dead.
Information technology was cool. Whoever was giving the king his information was a damned idiot.
"Just him, or all his clients, also?" Celaena blurted.
The king gave her a slow smile. "You know Archer? I'thou non surprised." A taunt—a challenge.
She just stared ahead, willing herself to calm, to breathe. "I used to. He'due south an extraordinarily well-guarded man. I'll need fourth dimension to become by his defenses." And then carefully said, so casually phrased. What she really needed time for was to figure out how Archer had gotten tangled up in this mess—and whether the rex was telling the truth. If Archer truly were a traitor and a insubordinate … well, she'd figure that out subsequently.
"And then you accept ane month," the king said. "And if he'south not buried by then, peradventure I shall reconsider your position, girl."
She nodded, submissive, yielding, gracious. "Thanks, Your Majesty."
"When you lot take dispatched Archer, I will give y'all the adjacent name on the list."
She had avoided the politics of the kingdoms—especially their rebel forces—for so many years, and at present she was in the thick of it. Wonderful.
"Exist quick," the king warned. "Exist unimposing. Your payment for Nirall is already in your chambers."
Celaena nodded once more and shoved the piece of newspaper into her pocket.
The king was staring at her. Celaena looked away but forced a corner of her mouth to twitch upward, to brand her eyes glitter with the thrill of the chase. At last, the king lifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Take that head and be gone." He pocketed Nirall'due south seal band, and Celaena swallowed her twinge of disgust. A bays.
She scooped up the head past its night hair and grabbed the severed hand, stuffing them into the sack. With but a glance at Dorian, whose face had gone pale, she turned on her heel and left.
Dorian Havilliard stood in silence equally the servants rearranged the bedchamber, dragging the giant oak tabular array and ornate chairs into the heart of the room. They had a quango meeting in three minutes. He inappreciably heard equally Chaol took his leave, proverb he'd like to debrief Celaena farther. His male parent grunted his blessing.
Celaena had killed a homo and his wife. And his father had ordered it. Dorian had barely been able to look at either of them. He thought he'd been able to convince his male parent to reevaluate his roughshod policies after the massacre of those rebels in Eyllwe before Yulemas, but it seemed like it hadn't made any difference. And Celaena …
Every bit soon as the servants finished arranging the table, Dorian slid into his usual seat at his begetter's correct. The councilmen began trickling in, along with Knuckles Perrington, who went directly to the king and began murmuring to him, likewise soft for Dorian to hear.
Dorian didn't bother saying annihilation to anyone and just stared at the glass pitcher of h2o before him. Celaena hadn't seemed like herself just now.
Actually, for the two months since she'd been named the Rex's Champion, she'd been like this. Her lovely dresses and ornate clothes were gone, replaced by an unforgiving, close-cut black tunic and pants, her hair pulled back in a long braid that fell into the folds of that dark cloak she was always wearing. She was a beautiful wraith—and when she looked at him, it was similar she didn't fifty-fifty know who he was.
Dorian glanced at the open doorway, through which she had vanished moments before.
If she could kill people like this, then manipulating him into believing she felt something for him would have been all also easy. Making an ally of him—making him love her enough to face his male parent on her behalf, to ensure that she was appointed Champion …
Dorian couldn't bring himself to cease the thought. He'd visit her—tomorrow, perhaps. Just to see if there was a run a risk he was wrong.
Just he couldn't help wondering if he'd ever meant annihilation to Celaena at all.
Celaena strode quickly and quietly down hallways and stairwells, taking the at present-familiar route to the castle sewer. Information technology was the same waterway that flowed by her secret tunnel, though here it smelled far worse, thanks to the servants depositing refuse almost hourly.
Her steps, then a 2nd pair—Chaol's—echoed in the long subterranean passage. Just she didn't say anything until she stopped at the border of the water, glancing at the several archways that opened on either side of the river. No ane was here.
"And so," she said without looking behind her, "are you going to say hello, or are yous simply going to follow me everywhere?" She turned to face him, the sack withal dangling from her hand.
"Are yous still acting like the King's Champion, or are you back to being Celaena?" In the torchlight, his statuary optics glittered.
Of form Chaol would notice the departure; he noticed everything. She couldn't tell whether it pleased her or not. Especially when in that location was a slight bite to his words.
When she didn't reply, he asked, "How was Bellhaven?"
"The same as it always is." She knew precisely what he meant; he wanted to know how her mission had gone.
"He fought you?" He jerked his chin toward the sack in her hand.
She shrugged and turned back to the dark river. "Information technology was cypher I couldn't handle." She tossed the sack into the sewer. They watched in silence as it bobbed, and then slowly sank.
Chaol cleared his throat. She knew he hated this. When she'd gone on her first mission—to an estate upward the coast in Meah—he'd paced so much earlier she left that she honestly idea he would ask her not to go. And when she'd returned, severed head in tow and rumors flying well-nigh Sir Carlin'south murder, it had taken a calendar week for him to even look her in the centre. Just what had he expected?
"When will you brainstorm your new mission?" he asked.
"Tomorrow. Or the day after. I need to rest," she added quickly when he frowned. "And besides, it'll simply take me a day or 2
to effigy out how guarded Archer is and sort out my arroyo. Hopefully I won't even need the month the king gave me." And hopefully Archer would accept some answers about how he'd gotten on the rex's list, and what plans, exactly, that the king had alluded to. Then she would figure out what to do with him.
Chaol stepped beside her, still staring at the filthy water, where the sack was undoubtedly now defenseless in the current and drifting out into the Avery River and the sea beyond. "I'd similar to debrief you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you at least going to take me to dinner outset?" His optics narrowed, and she gave him a frown.
"It'southward non a joke. I want the details of what happened with Nirall."
She brushed him bated with a smiling, wiping her gloves on her pants before heading back up the stairs.
Chaol grabbed her arm. "If Nirall fought back, and then there might be witnesses who heard—"
"He didn't brand any noise," Celaena snapped, shaking him off as she stormed up the steps. After two weeks of travel, she only wanted to slumber. Even the walk up to her rooms felt like a trek. "You don't demand to debrief me, Chaol."
He stopped her over again at a shadowy landing with a house paw on her shoulder. "When you go away," he said, the afar torchlight illuminating the rugged planes of his face up, "I accept no idea what's happening to you. I don't know if you're injure or rotting in a gutter somewhere. Yesterday I heard a rumor that they caught the killer responsible for Nirall's death." He brought his face close to hers, his voice hoarse. "Until you lot arrived today, I idea they meant you. I was about to go downwards there myself to find y'all."
Well, that would explain why she'd seen Chaol's equus caballus being saddled at the stables when she arrived. She loosed a breath, her face suddenly warm. "Accept a little more than religion in me than that. I am the Rex's Champion, after all."
She didn't have time to brace herself as he pulled her against him, his arms wrapping tightly effectually her.
She didn't hesitate earlier twining her arms over his shoulders, breathing in the scent of him. He hadn't held her since the 24-hour interval she'd learned she had officially won the contest, though the memory of that embrace ofttimes drifted into her thoughts. And every bit she held him now, the craving for it never to stop roared through her.
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