Because aside from her, Cain’s favorite Champion to torment was Pelor. And because when she’d been in Endovier, the allies she’d made hadn’t been the darlings of the overseers, but the ones the overseers had hated most. The outsiders looked out for each other. None of the other Champions had bothered to pay attention to Pelor—even Brullo, it seemed, had forgotten Pelor’s claim that first day. If he’d known, he never would have allowed them to do the Test so publicly.

“Time’s up. Make your final order,” Brullo said, and Celaena stared at her line of goblets for a moment longer. On the side of the room, Dorian and Chaol watched with crossed arms. Had they noticed Pelor’s help?

Nox cursed colorfully and shoved his remaining glasses into the line, many of the competitors doing the same. Antidotes were on hand in case mistakes were made—and as Brullo began going through the tables, telling the Champions to drink, he handed them out frequently. Most of them had assumed the wine with nothing in it was a trap and placed it toward the end of the spectrum. Even Nox wound up chugging a vial of antidote; he’d put monkshood first.

And Cain, to her delight, wound up going purple in the face after consuming belladonna. As he guzzled down the antidote, she wished Brullo had somehow run out. So far, no one had won the Test. One Champion drank the water and was on the ground before Brullo could hand him the antidote. Bloodbane—a horrible, painful poison. Even consuming just a little could cause vivid hallucinations and disorientation. Thankfully, the Weapons Master forced him to swallow the antidote, though the Champion still had to be rushed to the castle infirmary.

At last, Brullo stopped at her table to survey her line of goblets. His face revealed nothing as he said, “On with it, then.”

Celaena glanced at Pelor, whose hazel eyes shone as she lifted the glass of wine to her lips and drank a sip.

Nothing. No strange taste, no immediate sensation. Some poisons could take longer to affect you, but . . .

Brullo extended a fist to her, and her stomach clenched. Was the antidote inside?

But his fingers splayed, and he only clapped her on the back. “The right one—just wine,” he said, and the Champions murmured behind him.

He moved on to Pelor—the last Champion—and the youth drank the glass of wine. Brullo grinned at him, grasping his shoulder. “Another winner.”

Applause rippled through the sponsors and trainers, and Celaena flashed an appreciative grin in the assassin’s direction. He grinned back, going red from his neck to his copper hair.

So she’d cheated a little, but she’d won. She could handle sharing the victory with an ally. And, yes, Elena was looking out for her—but that didn’t change anything. Even if her path and Elena’s demands were now tied closely together, she wouldn’t become the King’s Champion just to serve some ghost’s agenda—an agenda that Elena had twice now failed to reveal.

Even if Elena had told her how to win the Test.

Chapter 32

After cutting short their lesson in favor of a stroll, Celaena and Nehemia walked through the spacious halls of the castle, guards trailing behind them. Whatever Nehemia thought of the flock of guards that followed Celaena everywhere, she didn’t say anything. Despite the fact that Yulemas was a month away—and the final duel five days after that—every evening, for an hour before dinner, Celaena and the princess divided their time equally between Eyllwe and the common tongue. Celaena had Nehemia read from her library books, and then forced her to copy letter after letter until they looked flawless.

Since they’d begun their lessons, the princess had greatly improved her fluency in the common tongue, though the girls still spoke Eyllwe. Perhaps it was for ease and comfort, perhaps it was to see the raised eyebrows and gaping mouths when others overheard them, perhaps it was to keep their conversations private—whichever reason, the assassin found the language preferable. At least Endovier had taught her something.

“You’re quiet today,” Nehemia said. “Is something the matter?”

Celaena smiled weakly. Something was the matter. She’d slept so poorly the previous night that she’d wished for dawn to arrive early. Another Champion was dead. Not to mention, there was still the matter of Elena’s commands. “I was up late reading, is all.”

They entered a part of the castle that Celaena had never seen before. “I sense much worry in you,” Nehemia said suddenly, “and I hear much that you do not say. You never voice any of your troubles, though your eyes betray them.” Was she so transparent? “We’re friends,” Nehemia said softly. “When you need me, I’ll be there.”

Celaena’s throat tightened, and she put a hand on Nehemia’s shoulder. “No one has called me friend in a long time,” the assassin said. “I—” An inky black crept into the corner of her memory, and she struggled against it. “There are parts of me that I . . .” She heard it then, the sound that haunted her dreams. Hooves pounding, thunderous hooves. Celaena shook her head and the sound stopped. “Thank you, Nehemia,” she said with sincerity. “You’re a true friend.”

Her heart was raw and trembling, and the darkness faded.

Nehemia suddenly groaned. “The queen asked me to watch some acting troupe perform one of her favorite plays tonight. Will you go with me? I could use a translator.”

Celaena frowned. “I’m afraid that—”

“You cannot go.” Nehemia’s voice was tinted with annoyance, and Celaena gave her friend an apologetic look.

“There are certain things that—” Celaena began, but the princess shook her head.

“We all have our secrets—though I’m curious why you’re so closely watched by that captain and locked in your rooms at night. If I were a fool, I’d say they’re afraid of you.”

The assassin smiled. “Men will always be silly about such things.” She thought about what the princess had said, and worry slipped into her stomach. “So are you actually on good terms with the Queen of Adarlan? You didn’t really . . . make an effort to start off that way.”

The princess nodded, lifting her chin. “You know that the situation between our countries isn’t pleasant right now. While I might have been a little distant with Georgina at first, I realized that it might be in Eyllwe’s best interest if I make more of an effort. So, I’ve been speaking with her for some weeks now, hoping to make her aware of how we might improve our relations. I think inviting me tonight is a sign that I might be making some progress.” And, Celaena realized, through Georgina, Nehemia would also get the King of Adarlan’s ear.

Celaena bit her lip, but then quickly smiled. “I’m sure your parents are pleased.” They turned down a hall and the sound of barking dogs filled the air. “Where are we?”

“The kennels.” Nehemia beamed. “The prince showed me the pups yesterday—though I think he was just looking for an excuse to get out of his mother’s court for a while.”

It was bad enough they were walking together without Chaol, but to enter the kennels . . . “Are we allowed to be here?”

Nehemia straightened. “I am Princess of Eyllwe,” she said. “I can go wherever I please.”

Celaena followed the princess through a large wooden door. Wrinkling her nose at the sudden smell, the assassin walked past cages and stalls filled with dogs of many different breeds.

Some were so large that they came up to her hip, while others had legs the length of her hand with bodies as long as her arm. The breeds were all fascinating and beautiful, but the sleek hounds aroused awe within her breast. Their arched undersides and slender, long legs were full of grace and speed; they did not yap as the other dogs did, but sat perfectly still and watched her with dark, wise eyes.

“Are these all hunting dogs?” Celaena asked, but Nehemia had disappeared. She could hear her voice, and the voice of another, and then saw a hand extended from within a stall to beckon Celaena inside. The assassin hurried to the pen and looked down over the gate.

Dorian Havilliard smiled at her as Nehemia took a seat. “Why, hello, Lady Lillian,” he purred, and set aside a brown-and-gold puppy. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Though with Nehemia’s passion for hunting, I can’t say I’m surprised she finally dragged you along.”

Celaena stared at the four dogs. “These are the mutts?”

Dorian picked one up and stroked its head. “Pity, isn’t it? I still can’t resist their charm.”

Carefully, watching Nehemia laugh as two dogs leapt upon her and buried her beneath tongues and wagging tails, the assassin opened the pen door and slipped inside.

Nehemia pointed to the corner. “Is that dog sick?” she asked. There was a fifth pup, a bit larger than the others, and its coat was a silky, silvery gold that shimmered in the shadows. It opened its dark eyes, as if it knew it was being spoken about, and watched them. It was a beautiful animal, and had Celaena not known better, she would have thought it purebred.

“It’s not sick,” Dorian said. “It just has a foul disposition. It won’t come near anyone—human or canine.”

“With good reason,” Celaena said, stepping over the legs of the Crown Prince and nearing the fifth pup. “Why should it touch someone like you?”

“If it won’t respond to humans, then it will have to be killed,” Dorian said offhandedly, and a spark went through Celaena.

“Kill it? Kill it? For what reason? What did it do to you?”

“It won’t make a suitable pet, which is what all of these dogs will become.”

“So you’d kill it because of its temperament? It can’t help being that way!” She looked around. “Where’s its mother? Perhaps it needs her.”

“Its mother only sees them to nurse and for a few hours of socialization. I usually raise these dogs for racing and hunting—not for cuddling.”

“It’s cruel to keep it from its mother!” The assassin reached into the shadow and scooped the puppy into her arms. She held it against her chest. “I won’t let you harm it.”

“If its spirit is strange,” Nehemia offered, “it would be a burden.”

“A burden to whom?”

“It’s nothing to be upset about,” Dorian said. “Plenty of dogs are painlessly laid to rest each day. I don’t see why you would object to that.”

“Well, don’t kill this one!” she said. “Let me keep it—if only so you don’t kill it.”

Dorian observed her. “If it upsets you so much, I won’t have it killed. I’ll arrange for a home, and I’ll even ask for your approval before I make a final decision.”

“You’d do that?”

“What’s the dog’s life to me? If it pleases you, then it shall happen.”

Her face burned as he rose to his feet, standing close. “You—you promise?”

He put a hand on his heart. “I swear on my crown that the pup shall live.”