The Assassin and the Pirate Lord Read Online Free Page A

take a bath, or can I go first?”
    She hurled her cloak at him. He caught it with a single hand and tossed it to the ground. She said, “I’m going first.”
    â€œOf course you are.”
    She shot him a dirty look and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
    Of all the dinners she’d ever attended, this was by far the worst. Not because of the company—which was, she grudgingly admitted, somewhat interesting—and not because of the food, which looked and smelled wonderful, but simply because she couldn’t
eat
anything, thanks to that confounded mask.
    Sam, of course, seemed to take second helpings of everything solely to mock her. Celaena, seated at Rolfe’s left, half hoped the food was poisoned. Sam had only served himself from the arrayof meats and stews after watching Rolfe eat some himself, so the likelihood of that wish coming true was rather low.
    â€œMistress Sardothien,” Rolfe said, his dark brows rising high on his forehead. “You must be famished. Or is my food not pleasing enough for your refined palate?”
    Beneath the cape and the cloak and the dark tunic, Celaena was not just famished, but also hot and tired. And thirsty. Which, combined with her temper, usually turned out to be a lethal combination. Of course, they couldn’t see any of that.
    â€œI’m quite fine,” she lied, swirling the water in her goblet. It lapped against the sides, taunting her with each rotation. Celaena stopped.
    â€œMaybe if you took off your mask, you might have an easier time eating,” Rolfe said, taking a bite of roast boar. “Unless what lies beneath it will make us lose our appetites.”
    The five other pirates—all captains in Rolfe’s fleet—sniggered, and she straightened.
    â€œKeep talking like that”—Celaena gripped the stem of her goblet—“and I might give
you
a reason to wear a mask.” Sam kicked her under the table, and she kicked him back, a deft blow to his shins—hard enough that he choked on his water.
    Some of the assembled captains stopped laughing, but Rolfe chuckled. She rested her gloved hand atop the stained dining table. The table was freckled with burns and deep gouges; it had clearly seen its fair share of brawls. Didn’t Rolfe have
any
taste for luxury? Perhaps he wasn’t so well off, if he was resorting to the slave trade. But Arobynn … Arobynn was as rich as the King of Adarlan himself. Why did he need to stoop so low?
    Rolfe flicked his sea-green eyes to Sam, who was frowning yet again. “Have you seen her without the mask?”
    Sam, to her surprise, grimaced. “Once.” He gave her an all too believably wary look. “And that was enough.”
    Rolfe studied Sam for a heartbeat, then took another bite of his meat. “Well, if you won’t show me your face, then perhaps you’ll indulge us with the tale of how, exactly, you became protégée to Arobynn Hamel?”
    â€œI trained,” she said dully. “For years. We aren’t all lucky enough to have a magic map inked on our hands. Some of us had to climb to the top.”
    Rolfe stiffened, and the other pirates halted their eating. He stared at her long enough for Celaena to want to squirm, and then set down his fork.
    Sam leaned a bit closer to her, but, she realized, only to see better as Rolfe laid both of his hands palm-up on the table for her to observe.
    Together, his hands formed a map of their continent—and only that.
    â€œThis map hasn’t moved for eight years.” His voice was a low growl. A chill went down her spine. Eight years. Exactly the time that had passed since the Fae had been banished and executed, when Adarlan had conquered and enslaved the rest of the continent and magic had disappeared. “Don’t think,” Rolfe continued, withdrawing his hands, “that I haven’t had to claw and kill my way as much as you.”
    If