Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas

eyes. Archer was gaping at her, his face white as death.
    “I have no intention of killing you, Archer,” she said. He sagged against the bench, releasing his grip on the dagger. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can fake your own death right now and flee the city before dawn.
Or
I can give you until the end of the month—four weeks. Four weeks to discreetly get your affairs in order; I assume you have money tied up in Rifthold. But the time comes at a cost: I’ll keep you alive only if you can get me information about whatever this Terrasen rebel movement is—and whatever they know about the king’s plans. At the end of the month, you
will
fake your death, and you
will
leave this city, go someplace far away, and never use the name Archer Finn again.”
    He stared carefully, warily, at her. “I’ll need the rest of the month to untangle my money.” He loosed a breath, then rubbed his face with his hands. After a long moment, he said, “Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. I’ll get to be free of Clarisse and start my life anew elsewhere.” Though he gave her a wobbly smile, his eyes were still haunted. “Why did the king even suspect me?”
    She hated herself for feeling such pity for him. “I don’t know. He just handed me a piece of paper with your name on it, and said you were a part of some movement to upset his plans—whatever those may be.”
    Archer snorted. “I only wish I could be that sort of man.”
    She studied him: the strong jaw, the broad frame, all suggested strength. But what she’d seen just now—that was not strength. Chaol had known right away what sort of man Archer was. Chaol had seen through the illusion of strength—and she hadn’t. Shame heated her cheeks, but she made herself speak again. “You truly think you can uncover information about this—this movement from Terrasen?” Eventhough the heir had to be an imposter, the movement itself was worth looking into. Elena had said to look for clues; she might find some here.
    Archer nodded. “There’s a ball tomorrow night at a client’s house; I’ve heard him and his friends murmuring about the movement. If I sneak you into the party, it might give you a chance to look around his office. Maybe you’ll even find
real
traitors at the party—not just suspects.”
    And some ideas about what the king might be up to. Oh, this information could be
very
useful.
    “Send along the details to the castle tomorrow morning, care of Lillian Gordaina,” she told him. “But if this party turns out to be a load of nonsense, I’ll reconsider my offer. Don’t make me look the fool, Archer.”
    “You’re Arobynn’s protégée,” he said quietly, opening the carriage door and keeping his distance as best he could while he exited. “I wouldn’t dare.”
    “Good,” she said. “And Archer?” He paused, a hand on the carriage door. She leaned forward, letting a bit of that wicked darkness shine through her eyes. “If I find out that you aren’t being discreet—if you draw too much attention to yourself or attempt to flee—I
will
end you. Is that clear?”
    He gave her a low bow. “I am your eternal servant, milady.” And then he gave her a smile that made her wonder whether she’d regret her decision to let him live. Leaning into the carriage bench, she thumped on the ceiling, and the driver headed to the castle. Though she was exhausted, she had one last thing to do before bed.

    She knocked once, then opened the door to Chaol’s bedroom just wide enough to peer in. He was standing frozen before the fireplace, as if he’d been in the middle of pacing.
    “I thought you’d be asleep,” she said, slipping inside. “It’s past twelve.”
    He folded his arms across his chest, his captain’s uniform rumpled and unbuttoned at the collar. “Then why bother stopping by? I thought you weren’t coming home tonight, anyway.”
    She pulled her cloak tighter around her, her fingers digging into the soft fur. She lifted her