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

seemed like Doneval knew very well just how coveted and delicate his list of slave sympathizers was. She’d seldom seen this kind of security.
    They’d already surveyed the house and grounds, noting everything from the stones of the building to what sort of latches sealed the windows to the distance between the nearby rooftops and the roof of the house itself. Even with the rain, she could see well enough into the second-story window to make out a long hallway. Some servants came out of rooms bearing sheets and blankets—bedrooms, then. Four of them. There was a supply closet near the stairwell at the center of the hall. From the light that spilled into the hallway, she knew that the main stairwell had to be open and grand, just like the one in the Assassins’ Keep. Not a chance of hiding, unless they found the servants’ passages.
    They got lucky, though, when she spied a servant going into the one of the second-floor rooms, carrying a pile of the afternoon papers. A few minutes later, a maid lugged in a bucket and tools for sweeping out a fireplace, and then a manservant brought in what looked like a bottle of wine. She hadn’t seen anyone changing the linens in that room, and so they took special notice of the servants who entered and exited.
    It had to be the private study that Arobynn had mentioned. Doneval probably maintained a formal study on the first floor, but if he were doing dark dealings, then moving his real business to a more hidden quarter of the house would make sense. But they still needed to figure out what time the meeting would take place. Right now, it could be at any point on the arranged day.
    â€œThere he is,” Sam hissed. Doneval’s carriage pulled up, and the hulking bodyguard got out, scouring the street for a moment before he motioned for the businessman to emerge. Celaena had a feeling that Doneval’s rush to get into the house wasn’t just about the downpour.
    They ducked back into the shadows again. “Where do you suppose he went?” Sam asked.
    She shrugged. His former wife’s Harvest Moon party was tonight; perhaps that had something to do with it, or the street festival that Melisande was hosting in the center of the city today. She and Sam were now crouching so close together that a toasty warmth was spreading up one side of her. “Nowhere good, I’m sure.”
    Sam let out a breathy laugh, his eyes still on the house. They were silent for a few minutes. At last, he said, “So, the Mute Master’s son …”
    She almost groaned.
    â€œHow close were you, exactly?” He focused on the house, though she noticed that he’d fisted his hands.
    Just tell him the truth, idiot!
    â€œNothing happened with Ilias. It was just a bit of flirtation, but … nothing happened,” she said again.
    â€œWell,” he said after a moment, “nothing happened with Lysandra. And nothing is going to. Ever.”
    â€œAnd
why
, exactly, do you think I care?” It was her turn to keep her eyes fixed on the house.
    He nudged her with his shoulder. “Since we’re
friends
now, I assumed you’d want to know.”
    She was grateful that her hood concealed most of her burning-hot face. “I think I preferred it when you wanted to kill me.”
    â€œSometimes I think so, too. Certainly made my life more interesting. I wonder, though—if I’m helping you, does it mean I get to be your Second when you run the Assassin’s Guild? Or does it just mean that I can boast that the famed Celaena Sardothien finally finds me worthy?”
    She jabbed him with an elbow. “It means you should shut up and pay attention.” They grinned at each other, and then they waited. Around sunset—which felt especially early that day, given the heavy cloud cover—the bodyguard emerged. Doneval was nowhere in sight, and the bodyguard motioned to the guards, speaking quietly to them before he strode down