The Assassin and the Empire by Sarah J. Maas Read Free Book Online Page A

been in the way. “Why do you think I got so mad about you fighting there? If you ever got into any trouble with the people at the Vaults, ever pissed them off, you’re significant enough that Farran himself would come to punish you.”
    Sam snorted. “I can handle Farran.”
    She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t expect him actually to make a visit, though. Seems too dirty here, even for him.”
    “Should we take a look?” The street was quiet. The Vaults came alive at night, but during the day, there wasn’t anyone in the alley except for a few stumbling drunks and the half-dozen guards always posted outside.
    It was a risk, she supposed—going into the Vaults after Farran—but … If Farran truly rivaled her for notoriety, it would be interesting to get a sense of what he was really like before Sam ended his life tomorrow night. “Let’s go,” she said.
    They flashed silver at the guards outside, then tossed it to the guards inside, and they were in. The thugs asked no questions, and didn’t demand they remove their weapons or their hoods. Their usual clientele wanted discretion while partaking in the twisted delights of the Vaults.
    From the top of the stairs just inside the front door, Celaena instantly spotted Farran sitting at one of the scarred and burned wooden tables in the center of the room, talking to a man she recognized as Helmson, the master of ceremonies during the fights. A small lunchtime crowd had gathered at the other tables, though they’d all cleared a ring around Farran. At the back of thechamber, the pits were dark and quiet, slaves working to scrape off the blood and gore before the night’s revelries.
    Celaena tried not to look too long at the shackles and broken posture of the slaves. It was impossible to tell where they’d come from—if they’d begun as prisoners of war or had just been stolen from their kingdoms. She wondered if it was better to wind up as a slave here, or a prisoner in a brutal labor camp like Endovier. Both seemed like similar versions of a living hell.
    Compared to the teeming crowds the other night, the Vaults were practically deserted today. Even the prostitutes in the exposed chambers flanking the sides of the cavernous space were resting while they could. Many of the girls slept in tangled heaps on the narrow cots, barely hidden from view by the shabby curtains designed to give the illusion of privacy.
    She wanted to burn this place into nothing but ashes. And then let everyone know that this wasn’t the sort of thing Adarlan’s Assassin stood for. Perhaps after they’d taken out Farran and Jayne, she’d do just that. One final bit of glory and retribution from Celaena Sardothien—one last chance to make them remember her forever before she left.
    Sam kept close to her as they reached the bottom of the stairs and strode to the bar tucked into the shadows beneath. A wisp of a man stood behind it, pretending to wipe down the wooden surface while his watery blue eyes stayed fixed on Farran.
    “Two ales,” Sam growled. Celaena thumped a silver coin down on the bar, and the barkeep’s attention snapped to them. She was grossly overpaying, but the barkeep’s slender, scabbed hands vanished the silver in the blink of an eye.
    There were enough people still inside the Vaults that Celaena and Sam could blend in— mostly drunks who never left the premises and people who seemed to enjoy this sort of wretched environment while eating their lunch. Celaena and Sam pretended to drink their ales—sloshing the alcohol on the ground when no one was looking—and watched Farran.
    There was a locked wooden chest resting on the table beside Farran and the squat master of ceremonies—a chest that Celaena had no doubt was full of the Vaults’ earnings from the night before. Farran’s attention was fixed with feline intensity on Helmson, the chest seemingly forgotten. It was practically an invitation.
    “How mad do you think he’d be if I stole that chest?” Celaena