Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas Read Free Book Online

staggered back to camp, fi nding it by the gleam of Rowan’s silver hair. He wordlessly handed her some bread and cheese, then returned to rubbing down the ­horses. She muttered a thank-­you, but didn’t bother o ff ering to help as she plunked down against a towering oak.
    When her belly had stopped hurting so much and she realized just how loudly she’d been munching on the apple he’d also tossed her while feeding the ­horses, she mustered enough energy to say, “Are there so many threats in Wendlyn that we ­can’t risk a fi re?”
    He sat against a tree and stretched his legs, crossing his ankles. “Not from mortals.”
    His fi rst words to her since they’d le ft the city. It could have been an attempt to spook her, but she still did a mental inventory of all the weapons she carried. She ­wouldn’t ask. Didn’t want to know what manner of thing might crawl toward a fi re.
    Th e tangle of wood and moss and stone loomed, full of the rustling of heavy leaves, the gurgling of the swollen brook, the fl apping of feathered wings. And there, lurking over the rim of a nearby boulder, ­were three sets of small, glowing eyes.
    Th e hilt of her dagger was in her palm a heartbeat later. But they just stared at her. Rowan didn’t seem to notice. He only leaned his head against the oak trunk.
    Th ey had always known her, the Little Folk. Even when Adarlan’s shadow had covered the continent, they still recognized what she was. Small gi ft s le ft at campsites—­a fresh fi sh, a leaf full of blackberries, a crown of fl owers. She’d ignored them, and stayed out of Oakwald Forest as much as she could.
    Th e faeries kept their unblinking vigil. Wishing she hadn’t downed the food so quickly, Celaena watched them back, ready to spring to a defensive position. Rowan hadn’t moved.
    What ancient oaths the faeries honored in Terrasen might be disregarded ­here. Even as she thought it, more eyes glowed between the trees. More silent witnesses to her arrival. Because Celaena was Fae, or something like a mongrel. Her great-­grandmother had been Maeve’s sister, proclaimed a goddess when she died. Ridiculous, really. Mab had been very much mortal when she tied her life to the human prince who loved her so fi ercely.
    She wondered how much these creatures knew about the wars that had destroyed her land, about the Fae and faeries that had been hunted down, about the burning of the ancient forests and the butchering of the sacred stags of Terrasen. She wondered if they had ever learned what became of their brethren in the West.
    She didn’t know how she found it in herself to care. But they seemed so . . . curious. Surprising even herself, Celaena whispered into the humming night, “ Th ey still live.”
    All those eyes vanished. When she glanced at Rowan, he hadn’t opened his eyes. But she had the sense that the warrior had been aware the entire time.
    6
    Dorian Havilliard stood before his father’s breakfast table, his hands held behind his back. Th e king had arrived moments ago but hadn’t told him to sit. Once Dorian might have already said something about it. But having magic, getting drawn into what­ever mess Celaena was in, seeing that other world in the secret tunnels . . . all of that had changed everything. Th e best he could do these days was maintain a low pro fi le—to keep his father or anyone ­else from looking too long in his direction. So Dorian stood before the table and waited.
    Th e King of Adarlan fi nished o ff the roast chicken and sipped from what­ever was in his bloodred glass. “You’re quiet this morning, Prince.” Th e conqueror of Erilea reached for a platter of smoked fi sh.
    â€œI was waiting for you to speak, Father.”
    Night-­black eyes shi ft ed toward him. “Unusual, indeed.”
    Dorian tensed. Only Celaena and Chaol knew the truth about his