Page 148 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
Her hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed, but I say nothing, just pull the cloak tighter, the fabric a silent bond between us.
“You will walk swiftly toward the royal tent,” I instruct. “Enter, say nothing, and bed my husband.”
Her eyes widen, clearly shocked, and there’s an uncertainty in her face. But I don’t soften. I lock my gaze with hers, forcing my words to sink in.
“I told you before,” I add, my voice low, “he’s yours.”
Celaena doesn’t respond, but I see the weight of my order in herposture. She hesitates, then steps closer, preparing to leave. Before she can take another step, I reach out and grip her elbow tightly, forcing her to face me once more.
“Try not to be too quiet,” I whisper.
Her confusion deepens, but she doesn’t argue. She simply nods and steps away from me, exiting the tent with hurried steps.
I watch her go, a bitter smile curving on my lips. Never did I imagine that I’d be sending another woman to sleep with my husband. But the guards must believe that Jason and I are doing exactly what we should be—under the moon, as husband and wife, possibly to conceive. And with Celaena in the mix, no one will question Jason’s competence in satisfying a woman. They’ll hear the sounds they expect, and all will remain as it should.
I look down at the ground, finding the fur blanket Celaena had used for warmth. Without thinking, I pull it over my shoulders, the thick, soft fabric settling against me like a shield. I hadn’t planned for what came after she left. I wasn’t sure where I would sleep, where I would stay, but something inside me told me it wouldn’t matter. Sleep should be taking me by now—after almost a day and a half without rest—but I know I won’t sleep. Not today. Not when everything is so unsettled, so fragile. It feels like the entire plan, born from sleep-deprived motives, is on the edge of falling apart.
I step outside the tent, the air cool against my skin. My magic cloaks me in shadow as I move silently, my thoughts tangled in the murky web of today’s events. I make my way toward the outer edge of the campsite. As I round the corner, I spot Malachi sitting alone at a fire pit. The fire crackles, sending up small bursts of flame that illuminate his rugged face, his eyes unfocused as he stares into the embers.
Relief washes over me at the sight of him. There’s something familiar in his solitude, as though he, too, understands the comfort of being unseen, of remaining in the shadows. I pause, scanning the area around us to make sure we’re truly alone before I move closer.
I try to make my steps purposeful, hoping he’ll hear me coming, but as always, Malachi doesn’t flinch. He sits perfectly still, as if he knew I would approach. I sit beside him, close enough to feel thewarmth from the fire, yet he remains as still as a statue. My eyes lift to the sky, and for the first time, I feel a sense of calm. Then, I feel his gaze shift to me. I look down, catching his eyes as they study me intently. A small smile curves my lips, warm and genuine, before he looks back at the fire.
"You said something to me earlier," I start, my voice quiet. "Something that’s been on my mind."
He doesn’t respond at first, but picks up a drink, something warm, and takes a sip. I watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, a deep, meditative motion that only deepens the smile on my face.
"You said I sounded like her," I continue, the words hanging in the air. Malachi holds the drink in front of him, his expression still neutral. "Did you mean the witch?" I ask.
The way he had talked about her, so casually, but with such reverence, made me think there was more to this story than I understood.
Malachi’s eyes flicker to me for a second, and I see the slightest surprise in his gaze, as though I’ve caught him off guard. He doesn’t answer right away, but then a soft smile touches his lips, the scruff on his jaw catching the light of the fire.
A sense of quiet confirmation lingers between us, as though his gaze is telling me without words that he knew this witch intimately—that she had left some mark on him, a lasting imprint. And now, in some strange twist, I remind him of her. My smile falters for a second as the thought sinks in, a strange feeling rising in my chest.
“Did Casper know her, too?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Malachi lowers his gaze and nods his head slowly.
“He knew her before I did.”
My mind spins with questions—about her, about Casper, about their past.Had she been someone every man wanted? Did Casper love her?My stomach coils at the thought. I can see it—his hands on her waist, that quiet look he wears when he thinks no one’s watching.Did she know his secrets before I ever got the chance to ask?The image of Casper looking at someone else the way he sometimes looks at me—soft and serene—burns like a splinter I can’t dig out. My thoughts spiral untilMalachi’s voice cuts through, rough and steady, grounding me before I unravel.
“You’re a lot like her,” he says. His words hit me like a strange revelation. “Sharp as a dagger. Your eyes... they’re not like hers. Hers were icy, like the coldest winter. Yours... yours are more like a storm, dark and unpredictable. But your tongue? Your wit? Almost the same.”
I smile, a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“She must have been some woman,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Malachi chuckles softly under his breath, a sound that sends a shiver through me. I can’t help but watch him in awe, brought to life by this ghost from the past.
"You loved her," I say, more a statement than a question.
He nods softly, quietly, as if the admission is a small weight he carries but no longer bears with sorrow.
I had once been consumed by curiosity about the witch who came before me. As a child, I clung to any rumor, any whispered mention of her name, desperate for something to explain what I was—what I might become. I used to ask Clyde about her constantly, hoping he would give me some small piece of truth to hold on to. But he would never speak of her. Not her name, not her magic, not her fate. Only silence. Cold, unrelenting silence. Over time, I stopped asking. I buried the questions beneath obedience and silence, but the need to know never truly faded.
“What happened to her?” The question leaves me quieter than I intend
