The Assassin and the Desert by Sarah J. Maas Page A

bed. Ansel twisted her hands. She was wearing her father’s armor again. At the sight of it, Celaena winced as she recalled what she’d said about her friend’s homeland.
    Ansel tucked her red hair behind her ears. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I don’t think you’re spoiled or selfish.”
    â€œOh, don’t worry. I am—very much so.” Celaena sat up. Ansel gave her a weak smile. “But,” she went on, “I’m sorry for what I said, too. I didn’t mean it.”
    Ansel nodded, glancing toward the shut door, as if she expected someone to be there. “I have lots of friends here, but you’re the first
true
friend I’ve had. I’ll be sorry to see you go.”
    â€œI still have five days,” Celaena said. Given how popular Ansel was, it was surprising—and somewhat relieving—to hear that she’d also felt slightly alone.
    Ansel flicked her eyes to the door again. What was she nervous about? “Try to remember me fondly, will you?”
    â€œI’ll try. But it might be hard.”
    Ansel let out a quiet laugh and took two goblets from the table beneath the window. “I brought us some wine.” She handed one to Celaena. Ansel lifted her copper goblet. “To making amends—and fond memories.”
    â€œTo being the most fearsome and imposing girls the world has ever seen.” Celaena raised her goblet high before she drank.
    As she swallowed a large mouthful of wine, she had two thoughts.
    The first was that Ansel’s eyes were now filled with unmasked sorrow.
    And the second—which explained the first—was that the wine tasted strange.
    But Celaena didn’t have time to consider what poison it was before she heard her own goblet clatter to the floor, and the world spun and went black.

Chapter Ten
    Someone was hammering against an anvil somewhere very, very close to her head. So close that she felt each beat in her body, the sound shattering through her mind, stirring her from sleep.
    With a jolt, Celaena sat up. There was no hammer and no anvil—just a pounding headache. And there was no assassin’s fortress, only endless miles of red dunes, and Kasida standing watch over her. Well, at least she wasn’t dead.
    Cursing, she got to her feet. What had Ansel done?
    The moon illuminated enough of the desert for her to see that the assassin’s fortress was nowhere in sight, and that Kasida’s saddlebags were full of her belongings. Except for her sword. She searched and searched, but it wasn’t there. Celaena reached for one of her two long daggers, but stiffened when she felt a scroll of paper tucked into her belt.
    Someone had also left a lantern beside her, and it took only a few moments for Celaena to get it lit and nestled into the dune. Kneeling before the dim light, she unrolled the paper with shaking hands.
    It was in Ansel’s nearly illegible handwriting, and wasn’t long.
    I’m sorry it had to end this way. The Master said it would be easier to let you go like this, rather than shame you by publicly asking you to leave early. Kasida is yours—as is the Master’s letter of approval, which is in the saddlebag. Go home.
    I will miss you,
    Ansel
    Celaena read the letter three times to make sure she hadn’t missed something. She was being let go—but why? She had the letter of approval, at least, but . . . but what had she done that made it so urgent to get rid of her that he’d drug her and then dump her in the middle of the desert? She had five days left; he couldn’t have waited for her to leave?
    Her eyes burned as she sorted through the events of the past few days for ways she might have offended the Master. She got to her feet and rifled through the saddlebags until she pulled out the letter of approval. It was a folded square of paper, sealed with sea-green wax—the color of the Master’s eyes. A little vain,