Still, even as they corrected her posture and showed her new ways to control her breathing, she tried her best not to snarl at them. She knew plenty—she wasn’t Adarlan’s Assassin for nothing. But she needed that letter of good behavior as proof of her training. These people might all be called upon by the Mute Master to give an opinion of her. Perhaps if she demonstrated that she was skilled enough in these practices, the Master might take notice of her.

She’d get that letter. Even if she had to hold a dagger to his throat while he wrote it.

The attack by Lord Berick happened on her fifth night. There was no moon, and Celaena had no idea how the Silent Assassins spotted the thirty or so soldiers creeping across the dark dunes. Mikhail had burst into their room and whispered to come to the fortress battlements. Hopefully, this would turn out to be another opportunity to prove herself. With just over three weeks left, she was running out of options. But the Master wasn’t at the battlements. And neither were many of the assassins. She heard a woman question another, asking how Berick’s men had known that a good number of the assassins would be away that night, busy escorting some foreign dignitaries back to the nearest port. It was too convenient to be coincidental.

Crouched atop the parapet, an arrow nocked into her bow, Celaena peered through one of the crenels in the wall. Ansel, squatting beside her, also twisted to look. Up and down the battlements, assassins hid in the shadow of the wall, clothed in black and with bows in hand. At the center of the wall, Ilias knelt, his hands moving quickly as he conveyed orders down the line. It seemed more like the silent language of soldiers than the basic gestures used to represent the common tongue.

“Get your arrow ready,” Ansel murmured, dipping her cloth-covered arrow tip into the small bowl of oil between them. “When Ilias gives the signal, light it on the torch as fast as you can and fire. Aim for the ridge in the sand just below the soldiers.”

Celaena glanced into the darkness beyond the wall. Rather than give themselves away by extinguishing the lights of the fortress, the defenders had kept them on—which made focusing in the dark nearly impossible. But she could still make out the shapes against the starlit sky—thirty men on their stomachs, poised to do whatever they had planned. Attack the assassins outright, murder them in their sleep, burn the place to the ground …

“We’re not going to kill them?” Celaena whispered back. She weighed the weapon in her hands. The bow of the Silent Assassins was different—shorter, thicker, harder to bend.

Ansel shook her head, watching Ilias down the line. “No, though I wish we could.” Celaena didn’t particularly care for the casual way she said it, but Ansel went on. “We don’t want to start an all-out battle with Lord Berick. We just need to scare them off. Mikhail and Ilias rigged that ridge last week; the line in the sand is a rope soaking in a trough of oil.”

Celaena was beginning to see where this was going. She dipped her arrow into the dish of oil, drenching the cloth around it thoroughly. “That’s going to be a long wall of fire,” she said, following the course of the ridge.

“You have no idea. It stretches around the whole fortress.” Ansel straightened, and Celaena glanced over her shoulder to see Ilias’s arm make a neat, slicing motion.

Instantly, they were on their feet. Ansel reached the torch in the nearby bracket before Celaena did, and was at the battlements a heartbeat later. Swift as lightning.

Celaena nearly dropped her bow as she swiped her arrow through the flame and heat bit at her fingers. Lord Berick’s men started shouting, and over the crackle of the ignited arrows, Celaena heard twangs as the soldiers fired their own ammunition.

But Celaena was already at the wall, wincing as she drew the burning arrow back far enough for it to singe her fingers. She fired.

Like a wave of shooting stars, their flaming arrows went up, up, up, then dropped. But Celaena didn’t have time to see the ring of fire erupt between the soldiers and the fortress. She ducked against the wall, throwing her hands over her head. Beside her, Ansel did the same.

Light burst all around them, and the roar of the wall of flame drowned out the hollering of Lord Berick’s men. Black arrows rained from the sky, ricocheting off the stones of the battlements. Two or three assassins grunted, swallowing their screams, but Celaena kept her head low, holding her breath until the last of the enemy’s arrows had fallen.

When there was nothing but the muffled moaning of the injured assassins and the crackling of the wall of fire, Celaena dared to look at Ansel. The girl’s eyes were bright. “Well,” Ansel breathed, “wasn’t that fun?”

Celaena grinned, her heart racing. “Yes.” Pivoting, she spied Lord Berick’s men fleeing back across the dunes. “Yes, it was.”

Near dawn, when Celaena and Ansel were back in their room, a soft knock sounded. Ansel was instantly on her feet, and opened the door only wide enough for Celaena to spy Mikhail on the other side. He handed Ansel a sealed scroll. “You’re to go to Xandria today and give him this.” Celaena saw Ansel’s shoulders tense. “Master’s orders,” he added.

She couldn’t see Ansel’s face as she nodded, but Celaena could have sworn Mikhail brushed her cheek before he turned away. Ansel let out a long breath and shut the door. In the growing light of predawn, Celaena saw Ansel wipe the sleep from her eyes. “Care to join me?”

Celaena hoisted herself up onto her elbows. “Isn’t that two days from here?”

“Yes. Two days through the desert, with only yours truly to keep you company. Unless you’d rather stay here, running every day and waiting like a dog for the Master to notice you. In fact, coming with me might help get him to consider training you. He’d certainly see your dedication to keeping us safe.” Ansel wriggled her eyebrows at Celaena, who rolled her eyes.

It was actually sound reasoning. What better way to prove her dedication than to sacrifice four days of her precious time in order to help the Silent Assassins? It was risky, yes, but … it might be bold enough to catch his attention. “And what will we be doing in Xandria?”

“That’s for you to find out.”

From the mischief twinkling in Ansel’s red-brown eyes, Celaena could only wonder what might await them.

CHAPTER

5

Celaena lay on her cloak, trying to imagine that the sand was her down mattress in Rifthold, and that she wasn’t completely exposed to the elements in the middle of the desert. The last thing she needed was to wake up with a scorpion in her hair. Or worse.

She flipped onto her side, cradling her head in the nook of her arm.

“Can’t sleep?” Ansel asked from a few feet away. Celaena tried not to growl. They’d spent the entire day trudging across the sand, stopping only at midday to sleep under their cloaks and avoid the mind-crisping glare of the sun.

And a dinner of dates and bread hadn’t been exactly filling, either. But Ansel had wanted to travel light, and said that they could pick up more food once they got to Xandria tomorrow afternoon. When Celaena complained about that, Ansel just told her that she should be grateful it wasn’t sandstorm season.

“I’ve got sand in every crevice of my body,” Celaena muttered, squirming as she felt it grind against her skin. How in hell had sand gotten inside her clothes? Her white tunic and pants were layered enough that she couldn’t even find her skin beneath.