Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas Read Free Book Online Page B

“I’m attached to this door. I cannot harm you.”
    “But you’re”—she swallowed hard—“magic.”
    It was impossible—it
should
be impossible. Magic was gone, vanished from the land ten years ago, before it had even been outlawed by the king.
    “Everything in this world is magic. Thank you ever so kindly for stating the obvious.”
    She calmed her reeling mind long enough to say, “But magic doesn’t work anymore.”
    “New magic doesn’t. But the king cannot erase old spells made with older powers—like the Wyrdmarks. Those ancient spells still hold; especially ones that imbue life.”
    “You’re … alive?”
    The knocker chuckled. “Alive? I’m made of bronze. I do not breathe, nor do I eat or drink. So, no, I am not alive. Nor am I dead, for that matter. I simply exist.”
    She stared at the small knocker. It was no larger than her fist.
    “You should apologize,” it said. “You have no idea how loud and tiresome you’ve been these past few months, with all your running down here and slaying foul beasties. I kept quiet until I thought you’d witnessed enough strange things that you could
accept
my existence. But apparently, I am to be disappointed.”
    Hands trembling, she sheathed her dagger and set down her candle. “I’m
so
glad you finally found me worth speaking to.”
    The bronze skull closed its eyes. The skull had eyelids. How had she not noticed it before? “Why should I speak to someone who doesn’t have the courtesy to greet me, or even to knock?”
    Celaena took a calming breath and looked at the door. The stones of the threshold still bore gouges from where the ridderak had passed through. “Is she in there?”
    “Is
who
in there?” the skull said coyly.
    “Elena—the queen.”
    “Of course she is. She’s been in there for a thousand years.” The skull’s eyes seemed to glow.
    “Don’t mock me, or I’ll peel you off this door and melt you down.”
    “Not even the strongest man in the world could peel me from this door. King Brannon himself put me here to watch over her tomb.”
    “You’re that old?”
    The skull huffed. “How insensitive of you to insult me about my age.”
    Celaena crossed her arms. Nonsense—magic always led to nonsense like this. “What’s your name?”
    “What is
your
name?”
    “Celaena Sardothien,” she ground out.
    The skull barked a laugh. “Oh, that is too funny! The funniest thing I’ve heard in centuries!”
    “Be quiet.”
    “My name is Mort, if you must know.”
    She picked up the candle. “Can I expect all of our encounters to be this pleasant?” She reached for the door handle.
    “Aren’t you even going to knock, after all that? You truly have no manners.”
    She used all of her self-control to avoid banging on his little face as she made three unnecessarily loud knocks on the wooden door.
    Mort smirked as the door silently swung open. “Celaena Sardothien,” he said to himself, and began laughing again. Celaena hissed in his direction and kicked the door shut.
    The tomb was dim with foggy light, and Celaena approached the grate through which it poured, carried down from the surface by a silver-coated shaft. It was normally brighter in here, but the eclipse made the tomb increasingly murky.
    She paused not too far from the threshold, set the candle on the floor, and found herself staring at—nothing.
    Elena wasn’t there.
    “Hello?”
    Mort chuckled from the other side of the door.
    Celaena rolled her eyes and yanked the door back open. Of course Elena wouldn’t actually
be
here when she had an important question. Of course she’d only have something like Mort to talk to. Of course, of course, of course.
    “Is she coming tonight?” Celaena demanded.
    “No,” Mort said simply, as if she should have known already. “She nearly burnt herself out helping you these past few months.”
    “What? So she’s … gone?”
    “For the time being—until she regains her strength.”
    Celaena crossed her arms, taking