She nodded. What difference did it make if he knew? She had more important things to worry about now. Like how she’d survive until the duels. Or stop Cain.

“But who are you?” Nox said. She bit her lip. “You said your father moved you to Endovier, that much is true. The prince went there to retrieve you—there’s evidence of that journey.” Even as he said it, his eyes slid toward her back. She could practically see the revelations as they bloomed in his mind. “And—you weren’t in the town of Endovier. You were in Endovier. The Salt Mines. That explains why you were so painfully thin when I first saw you.”

Brullo clapped his hands. “Come on, you lot! Drills!”

Nox and Celaena remained by the table. His eyes were wide. “You were a slave in Endovier?” She couldn’t form the words to confirm it. Nox was too smart for his own good. “But you’re barely a woman—what did you do to . . .” His gaze fell on Chaol, and the guards who stood near him. “Would I have heard your name before? Would I have heard that you were shipped to Endovier?”

“Yes. Everyone heard when I went,” she breathed, and watched as he sorted through every name he’d ever heard associated with the place, then put the pieces together. He took a step back.

“You’re a girl?”

“Surprising, I know. Everyone thinks I’m older.”

Nox ran a hand through his black hair. “And you can either be the King’s Champion, or go back to Endovier?”

“That’s why I can’t leave.” Brullo shouted at them to start their drills. “And why I’m telling you to get out of the castle while you can.” She took her hand from her pocket and showed it to him. “I received this from a creature I can’t even begin to describe to you, nor would you believe me if I tried. But there are five of us now, and because the Test is tomorrow, that means one more night we’re at risk.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Nox said, still keeping back a step.

“You don’t have to. But you’re not going back to prison if you fail, and you’re not going to be the Champion, even if you make it to the duels. So you need to leave.”

“Do I want to know what’s killing the Champions?”

She fought her shudder as she recalled the fangs and stench of the creature. “No,” she said, unable to keep the fear from her voice. “You don’t. You just have to trust me—and trust that I’m not trying to eliminate my competition by tricking you.”

Whatever he read in her expression made his shoulders sag. “All of this time, I thought you were just some pretty girl from Bellhaven who stole jewels to get her father’s attention. Little did I know that the blond-haired girl was Queen of the Underworld.” He smiled ruefully. “Thank you for warning me. You could have opted to say nothing.”

“You were the only one who bothered to take me seriously,” she said, smiling with warmth that she meant. “I’m surprised you even believe me.”

Brullo shouted at them, and they began walking back to the group. Chaol’s eyes were hard upon them. She knew he’d question her about their conversation later.

“Do me a favor, Celaena,” Nox said. The sound of her name startled her. He brought his mouth close to her ear. “Rip Cain’s head off,” he whispered with a wicked grin. Celaena only smiled back at him and nodded.

Nox left early that night, slipping out of the castle without a word to anyone.

•

The clock chimed five, and Kaltain fought the urge to rub her eyes as the opium oozed through every pore of her body. In the light of the setting sun, the castle hallways were awash with red and orange and gold, the colors bleeding together. Perrington had asked her to join his dinner table in the Great Hall, and she normally wouldn’t have dared to smoke before a public meal, but the headache that had plagued her all afternoon hadn’t gotten any better.

The hall seemed to stretch on forever. She ignored the passing courtiers and servants, focusing instead on the fading day. Someone approached from the other end, a smear of black against the gold and orange light. Shadows seemed to leak from him, flowing onto the stones and the windows and the walls like spilled ink.

She tried to swallow as she neared him, but found her tongue to be leaden and paper-dry.

Each step brought him closer—made him bigger and taller—and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Perhaps the opium had gone bad—perhaps she’d smoked too much this time. Amid the pounding in her ears and her head, the whisper of wings filled the air.

In the space between blinks, she could have sworn she saw things swooping past him in swift, vicious circles, hovering above him, waiting, waiting, waiting . . .

“Milady,” Cain said, bowing his head as he strode by.

Kaltain said nothing. She clenched her sweaty palms and continued toward the Great Hall. It took a while for the sound of flapping wings to fade, but by the time she reached the duke’s table, she’d forgotten all about it.

•

After dinner that night, Celaena sat across the chessboard from Dorian. The kiss following the ball two days ago hadn’t been so bad. Nice, actually, if she was being honest. Of course, he’d returned tonight, and so far there had been no mention of the fresh scars on her hand, or the kiss. And she’d never, not in a million years, tell him about the ridderak. She might feel something for him, but if he told his father about the power of the Wyrdmarks and Wyrdgates . . . Her blood chilled at the thought.

But looking at him, with his face illuminated by firelight, she couldn’t see any resemblance to his father. No, she could only see his kindness, and intelligence, and maybe he was a tad arrogant, but . . . Celaena’s toes scratched Fleetfoot’s ears. She’d expected him to stay away, to move on to another woman now that he’d tasted her.

Well, did he even want to taste you in the first place?

He moved his High Priestess, and Celaena laughed. “Do you really wish to do that?” she asked. His face contorted with confusion, and she picked up her pawn, moving it diagonally, and easily knocked over the piece.

“Damn!” he cried, and she cackled.

“Here.” She handed him the piece. “Take it and try another move.”

“No. I’ll play like a man and accept my losses!”

They laughed, but silence soon crept over them. A smile still played about her lips, and he reached for her hand. She wanted to pull it away, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. He held her hand over the board and smoothly flattened their palms against each other, interlocking his fingers with hers. His hand was calloused but sturdy. Their entwined hands rested on the side of the table.

“One needs both hands to play chess,” she said, wondering if it were possible for her heart to explode. Fleetfoot huffed and trotted away, probably to disappear under the bed.

“I think you only need one.” He moved a piece all over the board. “See?”

She chewed her lip. Still, she didn’t pull her hand from his. “Are you going to kiss me again?”

“I’d like to.” She couldn’t move as he leaned toward her, closer and closer, the table groaning beneath him, until he stopped, his lips just a hair’s breadth from hers.