This time, she wouldn’t fail.

The men weren’t even looking at the window when she hurtled through. And by the time she landed on the mezzanine and rolled into a crouch, two of her daggers were already flying.

Chaol caught the glint of moonlight on steel in the heartbeat before she leapt through the second-level window, landing atop the mezzanine and hurling two daggers at the archers nearest to her. They went down, and she went up—two more daggers thrown at two more archers. He didn’t know if he should watch them or watch her as she gripped the mezzanine railing and flipped over it, landing on the ground below just as several arrows struck where her hands had held the rail.

The men in the room were shouting, some fleeing for the safety of pillars and the exit while others rushed at her, weapons drawn. And he could only watch in horror and awe as she drew two swords—one of them his—and unleashed herself upon them.

They didn’t stand a chance.

In the fray of bodies, the remaining two archers didn’t dare loose arrows that might hit one of their own—another intentional move on her part, he knew. Chaol yanked on his chains again and again, his wrists aching; if he could just get to her, the two of them could—

She was a whirlwind of steel and blood. As he watched her cut through the men as though they were stalks of wheat in a field, he understood how she had gotten so close to touching Endovier’s wall that day. And at last—after all these months—he saw the lethal predator he’d expected to find in the mines. There was nothing human in her eyes, nothing remotely merciful. It froze his heart.

The guard who had been taunting him all day remained nearby, twin swords drawn, waiting for her.

One of the hooded men had gotten far enough away from her to start shouting: “Enough! Enough!”

But Celaena didn’t listen, and as Chaol hurled himself forward, still trying to dislodge the chains from the wall, she cleared a path through the men, leaving moaning bodies in her wake. To his credit, his tormentor stood his ground as she stalked toward him.

“Don’t shoot!” the hooded man was ordering the archers. “Don’t shoot!”

Celaena paused in front of the guard, pointing a blood-drenched sword at him. “Get out of my way, or I’ll cut you into pieces.”

His guard, the fool, snorted, lifting his swords a little higher. “Come and get him.”

Celaena smiled. But then the hooded man with the ancient voice was rushing to them, arms spread to show he wasn’t armed. “Enough! Put down your weapons,” he told the guard. The guard faltered, but Celaena’s swords remained at the ready. The old man took one step toward Celaena. “Enough! We have enough enemies as it is! There are worse things out there to face!”

Celaena slowly turned to him, her face splattered with blood and eyes blazing bright. “No, there aren’t,” she said. “Because I’m here now.”

Blood that was not her own drenched her clothes, her hands, her neck, but all she could see were the archers ready on the mezzanine above her, and the foe still standing between her and Chaol. Her Chaol.

“Please,” the hooded man said, pulling off his hood and mask to reveal a face that matched his ancient voice. Short-cropped white hair, laugh lines around his mouth, and crystal-clear gray eyes that were wide with pleading. “Perhaps our methods were wrong, but—”

She pointed a sword at him, and the masked guard between her and Chaol straightened. “I don’t care who you are and what you want. I’m taking him now.”

“Please listen,” the old man said softly.

She could feel the ire and aggression rolling off the hooded guard in front of her, see how tightly, eagerly, he clutched the hilts of his twin swords. She wasn’t ready for the bloodletting to end, either. She wasn’t ready to give in at all.

So she knew exactly what would happen when she turned to the guard and gave him a lazy grin.

He charged. As she met his swords, the men who were outside burst in, steel flashing. And then there was nothing but metal ringing and the shouts of the injured going down around her, and she was soaring through them, delighting in the feral song that sang through her blood and bones.

Someone was shouting her name, though—a familiar voice that wasn’t Chaol’s, and as she turned, she saw the flash of a steel-tipped arrow shooting for her, then a glint of golden-brown hair, and then—

Archer hit the ground, the arrow that was meant for her in his shoulder. It took all of two movements to drop one sword and draw the dagger from her boot, hurling it at the guard who had fired. By the time she looked at Archer, he was getting to his feet, putting himself between her and the wall of men, one arm splayed in front of her—facing her. Protecting the men.

“This is a misunderstanding,” he said to her, panting. Blood from the wound in his shoulder leaked down his black robes. Robes. The same robes that these men wore.

Archer was a part of this group; Archer had set her up.

And then that rage, the rage that blurred the events of the night she’d been captured with the events of this night, that made Chaol’s and Sam’s faces bleed together, seized her so fiercely that she reached for another dagger strapped to her waist.

“Please,” Archer said, taking a step toward her, wincing as the movement made the arrow shift. “Let me explain.” As she saw the blood trickle down his robes, saw the agony and fear and desperation in his eyes, her rage flickered.

“Unchain him,” she said, her voice filled with deadly calm. “Now.”

Archer refused to break her stare. “Hear me out first.”

“Unchain him now.”

Archer jerked his chin to the guard who had foolishly launched the last attack against her. Limping, but surprisingly still in one piece, and, still possessing his twin blades, the guard slowly unshackled the Captain of the Guard.

Chaol was on his feet in an instant, but she noted the way he swayed, the wince he tried to hide. Still, he managed to stare down the hooded guard who stood before him, eyes gleaming with the promise of violence. The guard just stepped back, reaching for his swords again.

“You have one sentence to convince me not to kill you all,” she said to Archer as Chaol came to her side. “One sentence.”

Archer began shaking his head, looking between her and Chaol, his eyes filled not with fear or anger or pleading, but sorrow.

“I have been working with Nehemia to lead these people for the past six months.”

Chaol stiffened, but Celaena blinked. It was enough for Archer to know he’d passed the test. He jerked his head to the men around him. “Leave us,” he said, his voice thundering with an authority she hadn’t heard him use before. The men listened, those still on their feet dragging their injured companions away. She didn’t let herself consider how many were dead.

The old man who had exposed his face to her was staring with a mixture of awe and disbelief, and she wondered what sort of monster she looked at that moment. But when he noticed her attention, he bowed his head to her and left with the others, taking that impulsive, brash guard with him.

Alone, she pointed her sword at Archer again, taking a step closer, keeping Chaol behind her. Of course, the Captain of the Guard stepped right up to her side.

Archer said, “Nehemia and I have been leading this movement together. She came here to organize us—to assemble a group that could go into Terrasen and start gathering forces against the king. And to uncover what the king truly plans to do to Erilea.”

Chaol tensed, and Celaena clamped down on her surprise. “That’s impossible.”

Archer snorted. “Is it? Why is it that the princess is so busy all the time? Do you know where she goes at night?”

The frozen rage flickered again, slowing, slowing, slowing the world down.

And then she remembered: remembered how Nehemia convinced her not to look into the riddle she’d found in Davis’s office and had been so slow and forgetful about her promise to research the riddle; remembered the night Dorian had come to her rooms because Nehemia had been out, and he hadn’t been able to find her anywhere in the castle; remembered Nehemia’s words to her before their fight, about how she had important matters in Rifthold to look after, things as important as Eyllwe …