He let go of her and stalked around the clearing, a predator assessing its prey. “If you don’t shift again, you’re pulling double duty in the kitchens for the next week.”

   “Fine.” At least working in the kitchens had some quantifiable results. At least in the kitchens, she could tell up from down and knew what she was doing. But this—­this promise she’d made, the bargain she’d struck with Maeve . . . She’d been a fool.

   Rowan paused his stalking. “You’re worthless.”

   “Tell me something I don’t know.”

   He went on, “You would probably have been more useful to the world if you’d actually died ten years ago.”

   She just looked him in the eye and said, “I’m leaving.”

   •

   Rowan didn’t stop her as she returned to the fortress and packed. It took all of a minute, as she hadn’t even unloaded her satchel and had no weapons left. She supposed she could have ripped the fortress apart to find where Rowan had stashed them, or stolen them from the demi-­Fae, but both would require time and bring more attention than she wanted. She didn’t talk to anyone as she walked out.

   She’d find another way to learn about the Wyrdkeys and destroy the King of Adarlan and free Eyllwe. If she kept going like this, she’d have nothing left inside to fight with.

   She’d marked the paths they’d taken on the way in, but as she entered the tree-­covered slopes, she mostly relied on the position of the cloud-­veiled sun to navigate. She’d make the trip back, find food along the way, and figure out something ­else. This had been a fool’s errand from the start. At least she hadn’t been too long delayed—­though she might now have to be quicker about finding the answers she needed, and—

   “Is this what you do? Run away when things get hard?” Rowan was standing between two trees directly in her path, ­having undoubtedly flown ­here.

   She brushed past him, her legs burning with the downhill walk. “You’re free of your obligation to train me, so I have nothing more to say to you, and you have nothing more to say to me. Do us both a favor and go to hell.”

   A growl. “Have you ever had to fight for anything in your life?”

   She let out a low, bitter laugh and walked faster, veering westward, not caring about the direction as much as getting away from him. But he kept up easily, his long, heavily muscled legs devouring the mossy ground. “You’re proving me right with every step you take.”

   “I don’t care.”

   “I don’t know what you want from Maeve—­what answers you’re looking for, but you—”

   “You don’t know what I want from her?” It was more of a shout than a question. “How about saving the world from the King of Adarlan?”

   “Why bother? Maybe the world’s not worth saving.” She knew he meant it, too. Those lifeless eyes spoke volumes.

   “Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed.” She shoved her scarred palm into his face. “I made an unbreakable vow. And you and Maeve—­all you gods-­damned bastards—­are getting in the way of that.” She went off down the hillside again. He followed.

   “And what of your own people? What of your own kingdom?”

   “They are better off without me, just as you said.”

   His tattoo scrunched as he snarled. “So you’d save another land, but not yours. Why ­can’t your friend save her own kingdom?”

   “Because she is dead!” She screamed the last word so loudly it burned in her throat. “Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!”

   He merely stared at her with that animal stillness. When she walked away, he didn’t come after her.

   •

   She lost track of how far she walked and in what direction she traveled. She didn’t really care. She hadn’t spoken the words—she is dead—­since the day after Nehemia had been taken from her. But she was dead. And Celaena missed her.

   Night swept in earlier due to the cloud cover, the temperature plummeting as thunder grumbled in the distance. She made weapons as she went, finding a sharp stone to whittle down branches into rudimentary spears: the longer one she used as a walking stick, and though they ­were little more than stakes, she told herself the two short ones ­were daggers. Better than nothing.

   Each step was heavier than the last, and she had enough of a sense of self-­preservation left to start looking for a place to spend the night. It was almost dark when she found a decent spot: a shallow cave in the side of a granite ledge.

   She swiftly gathered enough wood for a fire. The irony of it ­wasn’t wasted on her. If she had any control over her magic—­she shut down that thought before it finished. She hadn’t made a fire in years, so it took a few tries, but it worked. Just as thunder cracked above her little cave and the skies opened up.

   She was hungry, and thankfully found some apples at the bottom of her satchel, along with old teggya from Varese that was still edible, if hard to chew. After she ate as much of it as she could stand, she pulled her cloak around herself and nestled into the side of the cave.

   She didn’t fail to notice the small, glowing eyes that gathered, peering through the brambles or over boulders or around trees. None of them had bothered her since that first night, and they didn’t come closer. Her instincts, warped as they had felt these last few weeks, didn’t raise any alarms, either. So she didn’t tell them off, and didn’t really mind them at all.

   With the fire and the pounding rain, it was almost cozy—­not like her freezing room. Though she was exhausted, she felt somewhat clearheaded. Almost like herself again, with her makeshift weapons. She’d made a smart choice to leave. Do what needs to be done, Elena had told her. Well, she’d needed to leave before Rowan shredded her into so many pieces that she would never stand a chance of putting herself back together.

   Tomorrow, she’d start over. She’d spotted what looked like a crumbling, forgotten road that she could follow downhill. As long as she kept going toward the plains, she could find her way back to the coast. And come up with a new plan as she went.

   It was good she had left.

   Exhaustion hit her so thoroughly that she was asleep moments after she sprawled beside the fire, one hand clasped around her spear. She probably would have dozed until dawn had a sudden silence not jerked her awake.

   22

   Celaena’s fire was still crackling, the rain still pounding beyond the cave mouth. But the forest had gone quiet. Those little watching eyes had vanished.

   She uncoiled to her feet, spear in one hand and a stake in the other, and crept to the narrow cave entrance. With the rain and the fire, she ­couldn’t make out anything. But every hair on her body was standing, and a growing reek was slithering in from the forest beyond. Like leather and carrion. Different from what she’d whiffed at the barrows. Older and earthier and . . . hungrier.