By Sarah J. Maas
The Silent Assassins of the pink barren region aren’t a lot for dialog, and Celaena Sardothien wouldn’t have it the other approach. She’s now not there to chatter, she’s there to hone her craft because the world’s such a lot feared killer for rent. while the quiet is shattered by means of forces who are looking to damage the Silent Assassins, Celaena needs to give you the chance to forestall them, or she’ll be fortunate to depart the wilderness alive.
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Extra resources for 0.2 The Assassin and the Desert
Remembering Ansel’s warning about keeping quiet, Celaena stifled a groan as she submerged herself. She stayed under until her lungs ached. While modesty was a trait she’d learned to live without, she still kept herself low in the water, just in case. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that her ribs and arms were still peppered with fading bruises, and that the sight of them made her sick. Sometimes it was sick with anger; other times it was with sadness. Often, it was both. She wanted to go back to Rifthold—to see what had happened to Sam, to resume the life that had splintered in a few agonizing minutes.
Though the Master had an air of holiness, he must not be celibate. “I’m surprised you caught Ilias’s eye,” Ansel teased, keeping her voice low enough for only Celaena and Mikhail to hear. ” Celaena raised her brows, biting back a reply that she didn’t want to know any of this. “I’ve known him for years, and he’s never been anything but aloof with me,” Ansel continued. ” Mikhail snorted. “I’m not here for anything like that,” Celaena said. ” Ansel’s mouth popped open. ” Celaena took a long, long sip of water.
Scars peppered his hand—small, slender scars that suggested years of training with blades. ” She put a hand on her own chest. Then she took his extended hand and shook it. ” His eyes were vivid in the torchlight, his hand firm and warm around hers. She let go of his fingers. The son of the Mute Master and the protégée of the King of the Assassins. If there was anyone here that was at all similar to her, she realized, it was Ilias. Rifthold might be her realm, but this was his. And from the easy way he carried himself, from the way she’d seen his companions gazing at him with admiration and respect, she could tell that he was utterly at home here—as if this place had been made for him, and he never needed to question his spot in it.