Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas Page A

chin. “Turns out Archer wasn’t as dashing as I remembered. Funny how a year in Endovier can change the way you see people.”
    His lips tugged upward, but his face remained solemn. “Did you get the information you wanted?”
    “Yes, and then some,” she said. She explained what Archer had told her (pretending that he’d accidentally given her the information, of course). She explained the rumors surrounding the lost heir of Terrasen, but left out the bits about Aelin Galathynius seeking to reestablish her court and raise an army. And about Archer not really being in the movement. Oh, and about wanting to uncover the king’s true plans.
    When she finished telling Chaol about the upcoming ball, he walked up to the mantel and braced his hands against it, staring at the tapestry hanging on the wall above. Though it was faded and worn, she instantly recognized the ancient city nestled into the side of a mountain above a silver lake: Anielle, Chaol’s home.
    “When are you going to tell the king?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.
    “Not until I know if this is actually real—or until I use Archer to get as much information as I can before I kill him.”
    He nodded, pushing off the mantel. “Just be careful.”
    “You keep saying that.”
    “Is there something wrong with saying it?”
    “Yes, there is! I’m not some silly fool who can’t protect herself or use her head!”
    “Did I ever imply that?”
    “No, but you keep saying ‘be careful’ and telling me how you worry, and insisting you help me with things, and—”
    “Because I
do
worry!”
    “Well, you shouldn’t! I’m just as capable of looking after myself as you are!”
    He took a step toward her, but she held her ground. “Believe me, Celaena,” he snarled, his eyes flashing, “I know you can look after yourself. But I worry because I
care
. Gods help me, I know I shouldn’t, but I do. So I will
always
tell you to be careful, because I will
always
care what happens.”
    She blinked. “Oh,” was all she managed.
    He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, then took a long, deep breath.
    Celaena gave him a sheepish smile.

Chapter 12
    The masque was held in a riverfront estate along the Avery, and was so packed that Celaena had no trouble slipping in with Archer. Philippa had managed to find her a delicate white gown, made up of layers of chiffon and silk patterned like overlapping feathers. A matching mask obscured the upper half of her face, and ivory feathers and pearls had been woven into her hair.
    It was fortunate it was a masquerade and not a normal party, since she certainly recognized a few faces in the crowd. They were mostly other courtesans she’d once known, along with Madame Clarisse. During the carriage ride here, Archer had promised that Arobynn Hamel wasn’t attending, and neither was Lysandra—a courtesan with whom Celaena had a long, violent history, and someone she was fairly certain she’d kill if she ever saw again. As it was, just seeing Clarisse floating through the party, arranging liaisons between her courtesans and the guests, was enough to set Celaena on edge.
    While she had come as a swan, Archer had dressed as a wolf—histunic pewter, his slender pants dove gray, and his boots shining black. His wolf mask covered all but his sensual lips, which were currently parted in a rather wolfish smile as he squeezed the hand she had on his arm.
    “Not the grandest party we’ve ever been to,” he said, “but Davis has the best pastry chef in Rifthold.”
    Indeed, throughout the room, tables were overflowing with the most beautiful, decadent-looking pastries she’d ever seen. Pastries stuffed with cream, cookies dusted with sugar, and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate beckoning to her everywhere. Perhaps she’d swipe a few before she left. It was an effort to return her gaze to Archer. “How long has he been your client?”
    That wolfish smile flickered. “A few years now. Which is