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Chapter Text

The smoke in The Blind Tiger was always a bother, but Celaena had become accustomed to it. As long as she had a glass of gin to soothe her throat, she didn’t mind it so much. As a singer she had to protect her voice, but this wasn’t supposed to be a long-term gig. Plus, the cigar smoke was convenient for avoiding the lecherous looks directed her way from just beyond the stage.

Singing at a speakeasy was supposed to be a stepping-stone. She had a real talent, had been told so by her mother and father before they passed. And Celaena’s music lessons as a child certainly helped put her on the path to being one of the best.

But being a singer at Arobynn Hamel’s club wasn’t what Celaena Sardothien had planned for her life, and so finding a way out of that trap was only a matter of time. Well, time, and saving enough money to rent a room at one of those miserable homes for single girls. Actually, what she needed was time, money, and to work off her debt to Arobynn.

The situation may have been complicated, but Celaena told herself it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Then again, she’d been telling herself that since he found her on the streets at 8 years old. Now, at 21-going-on-40, Celaena heard that niggling voice of doubt in the back of her mind more frequently than she was comfortable with.

There were regretfully few choices for a girl in her situation in 1929. Without a family and seriously lacking in marriage prospects, Celaena was reliant on the good graces of her benefactor and guardian of her pristine reputation. It didn’t matter that he was a crook and a lowlife. He was a man, and she was a young woman, and so his word would always be taken as ten times worth her own.

Celaena blinked through the smoke, finished her first set, and stepped offstage to take a break. The silver beading of her dress clicked and swished around her legs as she walked, and she blew an errant curl from her forehead. Damn the fashion for short, boyish hair; she was determined to keep hers long, even if it meant twisting and curling it up in ropes of pearls and beads every night.

Lysandra was backstage, in an alcove where she could still see the stage and the crowd. Her long white gown sparkled in the dim light, covered in crystals and beads, and it probably cost more than either of them made in a month. The fabric covered more skin than one would have expected, given Lysandra’s profession, but her charms didn’t come for free.

“Butt me?” Celaena asked. Lysandra handed her a cigarette without a word then held out her own cigarette on the end of an impossibly long holder so that she could light it.

Celaena took a deep drag before speaking. “Shouldn’t you be out there plying your wares, Lys?” Celaena was far from the only working girl that Arobynn allowed to make a living in his space.

Lysandra shrugged, and her faux fur stole slipped down her shoulder. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve got plans.” She pushed the curtain aside and glanced at the crowd. Another entertainer had taken the stage, some sort of juggling clown act. The crowd wasn’t having any of it and various liquids and detritus made its way onstage. Sam would have to clean that up before Celaena went back onstage.

“You seem to have a new admirer this evening,” Lysandra added.

Celaena frowned. “Is that supposed to be news, doll? You know how these men are.”

“Oh, I know,” Lysandra answered. “Trust me.” Her eyes narrowed. “But this one is a bit different. He’s only had one drink. And he looks, you know. Not quite as sloppy as the rest of them.” Lysandra tilted her head, still watching the crowd. “I think he’s got an agenda.”

“Find me one who doesn’t, darling, and I’ll find you a pig who can fly.” Celaena sighed and stepped forward, looking in the direction of Lysandra’s gaze.

Off to the side, near the stage but hugging the shadows, a man with shocking white hair was seated alone. He thrummed his fingers on the table, ignoring the noise from the performer and the other patrons. There were tattoos snaking up his neck all the way to his temple, and Celaena shuddered.

“That one?” she asked. But she already knew. She’d felt his gaze earlier. It was distinct from the others, not nearly so haphazard and fleeting, not quite so quick to undress her with his eyes.

“Yes. I wonder what he wants.” Lysandra adjusted her stole, pulled out a tube of crimson lipstick.

“I don’t know,” Celaena said, “Maybe you could go distract him for me. He might have confused our roles, Lys.” It wouldn’t have been the first time that a man at The Blind Tiger had assumed Celaena was for sale, given that she sang for them all. For some reason, offering them one service meant that they felt entitled to all of them. But that’s what Sam and Wesley were for.

“Very funny, dearest.” Lysandra applied her lipstick without looking, and Celaena grinned to see it was done perfectly. “I can go out there and distract him for you, if you’d like.”

“No,” Celaena said, a bit too quickly. “No, thanks. I think I’ll see what happens. Maybe he’ll leave.” She was rather bored, and hoped he might provide her with some entertainment for the night, even if it was only the challenge of picking his pocket.

Lysandra pinched her own cheeks, bringing some pink into them, and adjusted the neckline of her dress to show her wares off to even better advantage. “Just let me know, Celaena. Us girls gotta stick together, right?”

Celaena nodded, and ground her cigarette on the cement floor with the toe of her shoe. “Sure thing. Now get yourself out of here and go make some money.”

Lysandra blew Celaena a kiss as she left, her heels clicking down the steps that led to the crowd of tables between the stage and the bar, and Celaena chuckled.

Turning back to the crowd, she pulled the curtains back to watch the man with white hair. He hadn’t moved from his table, and kept waving away the waiter when he tried to refill his drinks. Celaena was certain she had never seen the man there before. There was an empty space around him, as if the other patrons had made some tacit agreement that he seemed to be more trouble than he was worth. That someone no one knew could carry around his reputation in his bearing was a real sight indeed, considering the types who came to this joint.

Hands came from behind Celaena, resting on her shoulders, at the same time that she felt a warm breath on her neck. “You’ve put on quite a show tonight, doll face.”

Celaena jumped and turned, smacking Sam’s arm. “Don’t do that. You know better.”

Sam put his hands in his pockets, feigning innocence. “I’m not worried.”

“You should be,” Celaena answered. “I could have decided to turn you into a mark and left you with little besides your balls and your life. But I might have taken your balls, too.”

“Arobynn wouldn’t like that. Who else would hang around this place to protect his girls?”

“I’m not his girl,” she snapped. “And you don’t need your balls to keep order around here. In fact, I think in a fight they might be a handicap.” She glanced down and smiled.

Sam crossed his hands in front of his crotch. “Low blow, Celaena, even for you.”

“Don’t you have a job to do, anyway?” Celaena reached up and tousled Sam’s dark brown curls.

Sam smiled. “I’ll go clean up the stage. Meet me later?”

“Not tonight, Sam.” He frowned. “I’m just tired,” she added, “I think I might need some extra beauty sleep.”

Sam reached into a nearby closet, grabbing a broom and dustpan. “Tomorrow, then. Knock ‘em dead, Celaena.”

“I always do.”

Sam trotted off to the stage, the customers yelling lewd comments at him. Sam certainly was beautiful, though he wasn’t the kind of entertainment they were there to see.

Celaena sighed. She’d known Sam forever, and lately he had begun to take liberties with her. Who knew what Arobynn would think if he’d caught them like that, Sam’s arms around her, his lips so close to her skin.

It was a delicate balance, trying to convince Arobynn that she belonged to no one, when every day men were making various claims on her time and attention. And why did it matter what he thought, anyway? It wasn’t as if he were going to make her an honest woman any time soon. He just didn’t like the idea of her being with anyone else, even if he didn’t want her himself. Though lately, he had made comments… Celaena shook her head, clearing it.

Celaena allowed herself a moment to frown, feeling the furrow in her brow, clenching her teeth, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, before she walked back onstage. She started her rendition of “Me and My Gin”, keeping the white-haired man in the corner of her vision.

This speakeasy, The Blind Tiger, was crowded, but nothing if not elegant. Arobynn would never let his protégée perform in some of his other establishments, where the clientele was prone to breaking more than just the liquor laws. And Lysandra was not the sort of woman that any of those men could buy, anyway.

So the way that this man watched her, sizing her up as if her were trying to determine her worth in gold, it set Celaena’s teeth on edge. She could take care of herself, and frequently did, but it wouldn’t do for her to make a show of herself in that way when she was playing the role of demure ingénue at the club. Celaena considered setting Sam on the man, but stopped herself from looking over and giving him the signal.

It had been a while since Celaena had had any fun to herself. And even though she had feigned fatigue with Sam, she wanted to see where this man and this night might take her.

Celaena finished her second set to raucous applause, bowing graciously. A man yelled from the crowd for her to bend over further, and she gave Sam the signal. Two birds, one stone. With Sam gone, he wouldn’t see what she was about to do.

Instead of taking her usual path backstage to grab her fur and leave, Celaena took the steps leading into the crowd. As she made her way to the table where the white-haired man sat, a hand reached out from the dark to grasp underneath the hem of Celaena’s dress. “How’s it goin’, biscuit?” the man slurred. With a twirl that set the beaded trim of her skirt flying, she sidestepped him and kept walking.

When Celaena reached the blond’s table, she placed a palm on its surface and leaned in front of him. “What’s up, Johnny?”

“Name’s not Johnny.”

Celaena tilted her head. “Don’t care, darling. You’ve been watching me all night, and I’d like to know why.”

“Isn’t that what one does here? You are, after all, part of the entertainment.” The man finished his drink - the only one she’d seen him order all night - and set his glass down. He crossed his hands in front of his lap, utterly relaxed.

“You know what I mean. Don’t play the fool with me, I’m young and so is the night, so let’s have it.”

The man lifted his glass and a waiter came to take it away on a tray. “First, my name is Rowan Whitethorn. You can call me Rowan. What’s your name?”

“Don’t you already know?”

He nodded once. “I suppose I do. Celaena Sardothien. Prettiest songbird this side of the Mississippi, to hear it told.”

Celaena sat in the empty seat across from Rowan. “So you know your club singers. Or at least the important ones.” She grinned. Catching the eye of a waiter, she signaled him over.

“French 75, sweetheart. And can you make it one of those lovely bottles, and bring us a couple of glasses? The gentleman here and I will share. Put it on his tab.” Celaena turned back to Rowan and smiled sweetly. “Taking in the sights of our fair city, then?”

“In a manner of speaking. How do you know I’m not from around here?”

“If you were, you’d know not to play with Arobynn Hamel’s things.” Celaena’s expression darkened. “But since you’ve taken notice of me, I’m assuming that you don’t know who he is, or what he’ll do to you if you get me dirty.”

Rowan’s features softened, as much as they could given their sharp lines and angles. “I have to say, dollface, that anyone who claims to own a lady in the manner you suggest, isn’t a gentleman in any sense of the word.”

Celaena sat back in her chair. “Well, you’d know nothing about it. So, are you going to tell me what attracted you to this establishment?”

Rowan shrugged. The waiter returned with their bottle of liquor and two cut crystal glasses. Rowan took the stopper off the bottle and poured them both drinks, using tongs to provide them each with a piece of lemon rind.

They lifted their drinks without saying a word, and sipped.

“So, my question,” Celaena said. “How did you find this place?”

“My employer has connections,” he said. “That’s all I’ll say until you answer a question for me.”

“Shoot.” Celaena doubted he’d have anything interesting or even vaguely insightful to ask her. Perhaps the price of her friend Lysandra, who was playing the coquette at a nearby table. Or perhaps he would ask the next night she was supposed to sing, like a lovestruck little boy.

“So,” Rowan said, “What kind of watch was that man wearing?”

“Which one?” Celaena sounded bored. She knew precisely what he was referring to, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that.

“The one who tried to grab you. He was wearing a watch. Then you walked by, and he wasn’t.”

Celaena refused to let surprise cross her face. Few people ever caught her at work. “Oh it was something cheap, I think. It won’t keep me in drink for the week.” She pulled it from her small velvet purse, looking at it in the light. “Hardly worth the trouble. But I think he deserved it. Don’t you?” She leveled her gaze at Rowan.

“Certainly did. Just for underestimating you, if nothing else.” Rowan raised his glass to her again and took a sip.

“Are you going to tell me who your employer is, then?” Aelin finished her glass, and waited for Rowan to pour her another. She felt the corner of her mouth lift in a slight smile when he did so, without being asked to.

“No.”

“No? I thought we had a deal,” Celaena said.

“We surely did. But I didn’t say when I would answer the question. Only that I would.”

Celaena let a sigh of annoyance out through her nose. Perhaps she’d underestimated him.

Rowan stood and Celaena started, then followed suit. “You’re leaving?”

“Going to pay my tab, then yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

Celaena scowled.

“You can take the rest of that bottle to share with your friend. She looks like she’s struck out tonight.”

Celaena looked over at Lysandra’s table. Two of the three men who had been with her were gone, and the third had a glazed look in his eye that meant he would be nowhere near capable of enjoying what she had to offer that night.

Celaena turned to look back at Rowan and say something scathing and rude, but he was gone.

Chapter Text

By the following weekend, Celaena had given up on seeing Rowan again. It was a one-off, a circumstance in which a man thought her delicate dress meant an equally delicate constitution and bullshit meter. It wouldn’t be the first time a man realized he was biting off more than he could chew, when it came to her. So why was she so disappointed?

A few days went by. Celaena sold the pilfered watch for drink, sang at The Blind Tiger, ran errands for Arobynn. She couldn’t keep from checking his table every evening, telling herself it was so she could be prepared for those eyes that didn’t seem to trust her. And she, who was so darling and innocent and trustworthy!

Celaena grinned to herself as she waited in her dressing room. Maybe she was just a bit taken in by the idea of someone who had seen through her pretty smile and smooth tricks. It wasn’t as if she’d chosen the most reputable place to work, after all.

Lysandra had been busier the following evenings, but Aelin wasn’t sure if she wanted to share the conversation yet. And what was there to share, other than a name that was likely fake and a story she had heard a hundred times? Rowan was probably just another mook who came to the city looking to make a fortune, but had ended up finding himself in its underbelly instead. Of course, those two stories weren’t mutually exclusive. Plenty of people, her employer included, made money under the table and hopefully beneath the notice of the cops.

Celaena sighed, stood to find the curtain from behind which she could examine the crowd. There was tension in the air that night, even amongst such clientele. Word was that someone new had been making space for themselves in an industry where people had to claw and kill their way to the top. And Celaena would have bet her eyeteeth that Rowan Whitethorn knew something about it.

Looking out into the crowd, Celaena swiped on a coat of blood red lipstick then dropped the tube into her purse.

“Ahem.”

Celaena smiled to herself. “You learned from last time, did you?” She turned to find Sam standing several paces back.

“A lady only has to warn me once.” Sam held out a compact. “Here.”

Celaena took it, looking down at her bare arms. “Damnit.” Bruises from her last job - and then a subsequent conversation with Arobynn - still peppered her skin.

“I’m going to kill him.” Sam looked her in the eye, but she avoided his gaze.

“I know, babydoll.” Celaena reached up to caress his face, then let her hand fall. “But for now, I’ve gotta get out there and sing, and you’ve gotta help me clean up all his messes.”

Sam frowned, and Celaena wondered when he would say it. Run away with me, perhaps, or maybe something more romantic. Let’s elope and I’ll name a star after you. It was all a dream, but she couldn’t be the one to crush it for him. If anything, she’d make sure it came true. Somehow. Sam was better than anyone in the building, and some days, Celaena even allowed herself to believe that deserving better meant he would get it.

After powdering the fading green and blue spots on her arms, she handed the makeup back to Sam. Celaena tried to count the items she owned that Arobynn hadn’t given her, under the premise that she pay him back. Her rent, her clothes, the dresses and stockings and jewels for her stage job, the weapons and black clothing for the other tasks he set her to. The cigarettes, the gin, even the kohl around her eyes had been purchased and gifted with a benevolent smile.

Oh, what a tangled web she had woven indeed. The only item Celaena owned truly free and clear was the locket her mother had given her on her 8th birthday, and it was a miracle Arobynn hadn’t demanded it as collateral.

Sam grabbed the broom he carried around like a weapon. “One day we won’t have to clean up his messes.”

Celaena held her breath, waiting for further declarations.

“Knock ‘em dead, Celaena.” Sam turned and went to work.

Celaena let out a sigh of relief. Now all she had to do was get onstage, act like she wanted to be there, and then try to make it to bed before 3am. Glancing one last time at Rowan’s table, she let the heavy curtain fabric go.

“Hey gorgeous.”

Celaena started, hand at her hip. Smoothing her dress, Celaena smiled. “Hey, Lys. How’s the crowd tonight?”

Lysandra crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Shifty. Shiftier than usual. Something has them riled up.”

Celaena nodded. “I’ve noticed. Any word on who’s new in town?”

“No. Whoever it is, even my regulars don’t trust me enough.” Lysandra’s brow furrowed. “If I had the means, I’d suggest we get out of Dodge, quick-like. Then again, you might have people you’d be sad to leave behind.”

“Sure thing. Wait, what? Who do you mean? I don’t think I feel that way about Sam. I’ve known him forever and it’s just… complicated. I care about him, I really do.” Celaena pulled her fur stole tighter around her shoulders. “But look at where we live, who we work for. It can’t end well, no matter how much I want it.”

“I wasn’t asking for your diary, babydoll. And that’s not who I meant, anyway. But if there’s something there, do tell.”

Lysandra’s tilted eyebrows let her know that Celaena’s furtive glances towards the audience hadn’t gone unnoticed. Celaena reminded herself to keep herself from checking every table in the place when she got onstage.

“There’s nothing.” She glanced at Lysandra, then back to the stage. “Nothing that matters, anyway. I’ll find out who he is, see if he knows anything about who’s new in town. Besides himself, that is.”

Celaena didn’t want to think that she’d been fraternizing with the competition, at least not in public, where Arobynn might have been watching. Perhaps that’s why he had been so angry, the night before…

“I’ll keep learning what I can,” Lysandra said, her face darkening.

Celaena was reminded that they both had to wash the stain of the day off their clothing every night. She was tempted to say something reassuring, make promises or something equally foolish. Celaena reached up and settled her hand on Lysandra’s shoulder. Patting her bare skin, Celaena turned towards the stage and the restless, hungering crowd.

As soon as she stepped out onto stage, Celaena’s eyes locked with Rowan’s. He was there. He had come back. He sat straight-backed in his chair, his glass hardly touched, and though he had eyes for nothing but the stage, Celaena was sure that he knew every movement that happened around him.

Celaena reached up, holding the microphone close to her chest in an attempt to calm the pounding she was sure he would be able to see. But no, that would be ridiculous. She took in the rest of the crowd, and began to sing. She started when she heard the trill of the piano, but she should have remembered. Arobynn had decided to accompany her that night, and she could feel his eyes taking in the crowd every bit as much as she was. He rarely showed his face in front of the patrons, so there must have been a reason. Celaena felt a chill down her spine at the idea that he might notice Rowan noticing her.

Celaena felt herself to be in a nest of vipers and garden snakes, and she wasn’t sure which variety Rowan was yet. She knew exactly what Arobynn was, and so she turned her attention to him, crooning and stretching herself across the black varnished piano as if they were the only people in the smoky, crowded speakeasy. She’d been crafted by Arobynn and whichever god had some hand in her making to be every bit as crafty and sharp as the best and worst of them. So she would play this game. Celaeana Sardothien would not be afraid of whatever calamity came her way next.

Their set over, Celaena thanked the crowd, bending to gather some of the flowers strewn across the stage. Before she could reach them, Arobynn grabbed her arm and pinched the soft flesh at the crook of her elbow.

“That’s for others to do, Celaena,” he said, his lips barely moving. As she stood straight, he placed one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand. Leaning in close, he whispered in her ear. “Find out what he wants.”

There could be no question that Arobynn meant Rowan. Playing dumb wouldn’t get her anywhere. She nodded. “I’ll learn what I can.”

Moments later, Celaena stole a breath in a dark corner. She reminded herself of who she was, where she came from, and imagined what her parents would have told her. Just one more night. Just one more job. Just one more manipulation.

“Evening, Mr. Whitethorn.” Celaena set the bottle of gin on the table and took a seat without being asked.

“Miss Sardothien,” he answered. “Lovely singing tonight. Though perhaps you could have used a piano partner more in tune with your particular talent.”

Celaena waved away the compliment, and the snub at Arobynn. “You owe me.”

“Do I?” Rowan asked, the attempt at innocence looking ridiculous in contrast to his stark tattoos. “What could I possibly owe you?”

“Your boss. Who is it?”

“Who’s asking?”

Celaena frowned. “I am.”

“And how do I know,” Rowan asked, pouring them both drinks from the bottle, “I’m not being conned?”

Celaena waited.

“A pretty face, a nice figure, many gents have given up their mothers for less,” Rowan explained.

“Ah, so you think I’m pretty?” Celaena asked.

“You don’t need me to answer that.” Rowan took a gulp. “But you can tell me whether this information is going to get back to your boss or not.”

“Of course not.” Celaena sat back in her chair, ignoring the way the beads of her dress dug into her skin. “I put this bottle on your tab, by the way. I hope you’re good for it.”

“Don’t worry. I have a per diem.”

Celaena raised an eyebrow. “Which your boss is covering, I suppose. And that would be…?”

“I’ll answer your question, Miss Sardothien. But first, let’s talk.”

Celaena leaned forward, placed her hand on Rowan’s knee. “What would you like to discuss?”

Rowan shifted in his chair, enough so that her hand fell away. “No funny business. How did a girl like you…”

“End up in a place like this?” Celaena finished his sentence. “I’ve heard that line before. I expected better from you, though.” She sat back in her chair, sipping demurely from her glass.

“You keep putting your drinks on my tab. Why doesn’t your boss buy your drink?” It was Rowan’s turn to lean forward, test the boundaries between what she would and wouldn’t let him do.

Celaena smirked. “I don’t suppose you know what it’s like to owe your boss something, do you?”

Rowan tapped on the tabletop, waiting for a response to his question.

“Well,” Celaena continued, “Let’s just say that Arobynn knows about every penny that leaves and enters this place, and the fact he calls me family doesn’t matter a whole lot when he’s the one paying for the clothes on my back and food on my plate.”

Rowan grunted. “Sounds familiar.”

“Thought so.”

“You’re not going to ask me about why I understand?” Rowan said. “What debts I owe?”

“That would imply I care.” Out of the corner of her eye, Celaena saw Sam sweeping the stage. He was watching them, she knew. Whether it was for Arobynn or his own good, it didn’t matter.

“And you definitely don’t care about anyone other than yourself, is that right?” Rowan asked.

“Indeed.” Celaena was being led down a path she was uncertain of. Perhaps Rowan wasn’t someone she be toying with. But Arobynn had wanted her to find out who he was, what he knew.

“So why do you care if that boy over there keeps an eye on you?”

And there it was. The trap, the question, the topic that Celaena didn’t even like to think about in the lonely comfort of her own mind.

“It’s complicated.”

“Of course it is,” Rowan responded, “How could it be otherwise? So from what I gather, that boy over there, you both work for this club owner. Only that boy has a thing for you that the owner might be none to happy about. Am I close?”

Celaena froze. If he had noticed the tension between Sam and Arobynn, then Rowan was far deadlier then she’d given him credit for.

“So why don’t you just have a go for it? Take that boy uptown and see what happens?”

He was better than she assumed. Most patrons at The Blind Tiger were content watching the place where the hem of her skirt met her thigh, but Rowan was clearly taking in more information than that. After considering, Celaena glanced the tip of her finger over the rim of her glass. “How many people from your past are still around?”

Rowan lost his grin. “Meaning?”

Celaena sat forward. “You know what I mean. If you can tell me how many people you can count on, who have your back and then will still be there when times get tough, then I’ll know I’ve got you all wrong. But that’s not really how the world works, is it?” Aelin slumped back into her chair. “Nothing’s permanent, Mr. Whitethorn, and I don’t appreciate you asking questions that imply otherwise. You know exactly why I don’t take chances on anyone but myself.”

The band began to play and Celaena held her hand out to Rowan. “Dance?”

“Alright.” Rowan stood, guiding her to the full dance floor. He didn’t seem to know what to say next, which she counted as something of a victory.

Celaena rested her arms on Rowan’s broad shoulders and they began to take a turn around the floor, ignoring the beat that the music set for them. “So, who is your boss?”

“Maeve,” Rowan said absently. He looked down into Celaena’s face, watching her reaction. “I think she knows your boss.”

Celaena glanced around the room, on the alert. “It’s likely, if she wants to do any business here. But I have to tell you. I doubt Arobynn will be willing to part with any of his territory.”

She talked near his ear as he pulled her closer, looking at the other couples on the dance floor. They were young and carefree, the most risk they took in their lives amounting to a quick visit on the weekends to The Blind Tiger. They would drink, and dance, kiss, maybe let fingers drift beneath skirts and unbuckle belts. Then they would walk home laughing at how they had broken the law and how easily it had given way under their will.

Celaena moved her feet, wondering how it would feel to hold Rowan the way she was and know that she could go home with him at the end of the night. She wondered what it would be like to walk into that club knowing she could leave any time she wanted, that there was a family waiting for her at home. They would take care of whatever hangover she might end up with, frowning at her in disapproving concern as she stumbled home in the middle of the night.

“It’s probably a good idea to walk away now.” She sighed and pulled away slightly, ready to lead him back to his table and make her way to her room.

“I’m already in too deep, Aelin.” He breathed the words into her hair and let the tips of his fingers glance over her hair, careful not to disturb the deliberately-placed curls.

Celaena stopped in her tracks, heedless of the other couples on the dance floor who might run into her. “What did you call me?”

A masculine voice came from behind her, and Celaena spun around.

“Celaena,” Arobynn said. “It looks like you are having a good time.” He glanced at Rowan, then dismissed him. “You have work early tomorrow. You should get some rest.”

Celaena look from Arobynn to Rowan, torn between answers and fear.

Arobynn grabbed the flesh of Celaena’s waist and pinched. “We’ll see you around, Mr. Whitethorn.”

*****

Celaena wiped her heavy make-up from her face, preparing for bed. No one had spoken the name Aelin out loud in ages, and she kept replaying it in her head. How had he known? What else did he know about her? It filled her with a fear that Celaena thought herself long past.

A gentle knock came at the door, and Celaena waited. A moment later the door opened, without invitation. She shook her curls out from the elaborate twists she had styled them into and turned on the bench before her mirror.

“Arobynn. What can I do for you this evening?”

Arobynn surveyed the room as if it were the first time he had been inside. “We have a job. Tomorrow night.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, as if he had never thought to threaten her in his life. As if hiding his hands would make her forget what his fists were capable of.

“The usual?” Celaena stood and grabbed a silk robe from the back of her chair, wrapping it around herself.

“Somewhat. We’re going to work with some new company,” Arobynn said. Celaena’s eyebrows narrowed. “And you need to play nice,” he added.

“Is that why you’re delivering the news yourself?”

“Not just that.” Arobynn stepped into the room, running his finger across her dresser. Celaena shivered as if he had run his fingers across her skin. “I wanted to make sure that everything went well tonight. Did you get what I asked for?”

“Yes.” Celaena walked to the foot of her bed, putting space between herself and Arobynn. “His boss is Maeve. He’s new in town, he’s a lackey, though he’s… observant. He seems to understand, have some sort of training.” She clamped her mouth shut to keep from saying he knew her name.

Arobynn nodded, contemplating what she’d said. The air bristled with anticipation, and Celaena wondered for a moment if she’d have new bruises to cover the next day.

“Get some sleep,” he said at last. “I expect you to be in top form tomorrow, working with Maeve’s people.”

Chapter Text

Celaena stood straight-backed against the brick of a warehouse, dressed head to toe in black with a gun tucked into a coat pocket. The gun was a small thing, nothing like those big machines that the boys liked to carry around, compensating for whatever it was they were insecure of. She only used the pistol as a last resort anyway. Celaena preferred to work with her fists. It wouldn’t do to have the cops alerted to their work in the early morning hours, and she would always trust her own body before she would trust something so loud and brutish.

Two dozen men worked before her, half of them old friends and half of them men who were new to town. They didn’t speak, so the only sound came from waves hitting the dock, grunts and shuffling as they lifted and hauled wooden crates filled with glass bottles.

Celaena’s job - her real job, which the singing was a mere cover for - was to make sure it all went smoothly. She wasn’t the muscle in the strictest sense, being worth far more than that, but Arobynn trusted her to run the show. Celaena was there to make sure that the fuzz, or competitors, or whichever unlucky soul stumbled upon their not-quite-legal activity, didn’t stick around for long.

She’d done this a hundred times. More, maybe. Show up, watch over Arobynn’s boys as they moved his bathtub gin from the warehouse where his chemist worked to the clubs he had a stake in. All of it his, all of it protected by her. And all of it provided Celaena a comfortable life where no one asked questions, lest those questions be directed towards themselves.

But tonight, Celaena had company.

At her side, Rowan’s hulk blocked the breeze coming off the dock waters, so he was useful for that, at least. He had barely acknowledged her as he settled into place, giving orders to his men with a mere tilt of his head.

It had been two hours, and they hadn’t said a word to one another.

Celaena refused to move first. Refused to show that she was tired, or stiff, or bored. She didn’t know why Arobynn had suddenly decided to share his product with a client who owned at least as many gin joints as he did, but she was determined not to care. She’d detected a hint of interest in him when they were at The Blind Tiger, his eyes fixed on her so determinedly while the other patrons mostly wanted a look up her skirt. Turned out, he wanted something entirely different from her.

From where they worked loading the crates onto a van, Wesley and Sam laughed quietly at some joke that had passed wordlessly between them, and Celaena clenched her fists. Sam glanced over to her, giving her a small smile before his eyes flitted to Rowan and then away, turning back to his work.

He took it far too lightly, this job. Sam never thought about what could go wrong, or what might happen if Celaena were to be caught unaware. It wasn’t the crooks and thieves that she worried about; it was what Arobynn would do if one time, they failed. If they let a footstep go wrong and a crate of product came crashing down, taking his profits with it. Arobynn wasn’t the type to take money in payment, no. He’d make a lesson out of it, punishing whomever he needed to make his point that a toe out of line was one that’d get cut off.

Turning her thoughts away from Sam, Celaena surveyed the men Rowan had brought with him. There was a dark-haired man, taller than the rest, who seemed as surly and taciturn as any of them. Another was a golden-haired man with deep bronze skin who seemed more likely to give her the time of day if she asked. He looked like the type she could have some fun with. Maybe when they were done, she’d have Rowan make introductions.

Then there was the older one, a bit more worn around the edges but not so much that he wouldn’t crack a smile or throw a scathing look to anyone who looked ready to roughhouse. He was a fatherly type, that one, and seemed to be looking out for others as much as he was for the product, someone who cared too much about his friends to let a job go south. Celaena had a suspicion that he’d found himself here by accident, and would have been more at home in a 9 to 5 with a hot meal and a wife waiting for him at the end of it.

Then again, no one who ended up in this world felt like the type who belonged. No one but Arobynn. In a world of misfits and rejects, the lawless and the unwanted, he was the king. And he never let any of them forget it.

Wordlessly, Rowan offered Celaena a cigarette. She shook her head. Pulling one from the thin silver case she carried with her, she held it to her lips and turned to him, expectantly.

Sighing, Rowan offered her his lit match. “No more questions this evening? Celaena.”

Celaena leaned forward, lighting her cigarette and then putting her back against the building. “Not for you. Rowan.”

Rowan grunted, short and noncommittal.

Their detente continued, Celaena’s senses attuned to any unusual noises. All she caught was the usual briny scent of the sea, the sweat of dockworker, bird shit and the indefinable scent of refuse that had made its way there instead of the landfill. There was no slow grind of rubber tires on gravel, no quiet clicking of the safety of a gun. Celaena was familiar with every sound that might signal the cops were hip to their work, but she crossed her fingers that Arobynn’s usual men had been bribed to their satisfaction.

Of course Celaena wanted to talk, wanted to ask how Rowan had known that name - Aelin - but she kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t sure if even Arobynn knew where she was from, and being on unsure footing wasn’t a comfortable, or familiar, feeling.

Cigarette smoke burned in her lungs. Arobynn’s chemist chatted with another new employee, looking over lists of figures that would surely bore her. Yawning, Celaena reconsidered Rowan’s offer.

“I do have one question, actually.” Celaena breathed a puff of smoke into the frigid air. “How long are you going to be around?”

“Want to ask me out on the town? Show me the sights?” Smoke escaped Rowan’s mouth, and she looked at his lips before turning away.

Celaena snorted. “I want to know when to throw you a going away party.”

Rowan threw his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the toe of his shoe. “When Maeve says we leave, we leave.”

“So you let some broad tell you what to do?”

“So you let some thug like Arobynn tell you what to do?” Rowan countered. “Besides,” he added, “I’m willing to bet Arobynn keeps you on just as short a leash as the ones Maeve favors.”

Celaena turned to snap at him, but she couldn’t argue. Maybe his choice of wording was what rankled her, or maybe it was the idea that anyone held the end of the leash that should have been in her hands. Either way, he knew far, far too much.

“Or perhaps,” Rowan continued, “Arobynn knows things about you that you’d rather keep hidden.”

Celaena’s toes curled in her shoes in an effort to keep her discomfort from showing. Her name, he knew her name, and there was no telling what else besides, and if anyone else knew they would be after her.

She remembered the blood and then the screams, her parents, oh god her parents. Then the maid who’d told her to hide in the laundry chute, the shots that rang out in the room shortly after and the thump of the body on the floor. Then the final, dreaded realization that if anyone learned of her identity and what she’d seen, she was as good as dead.

Cold washed over her as she thought of the night her parents had died and her life had changed. Celaena became someone else then, just another orphan in a city full of sob stories. Being down on her luck didn’t make her worthy of charity. It just made her another girl who had to scrape using whatever talents she’d been born with. And she needed to keep it that way, to be another face in the sea, not raising any alarms or prompting any questions.

The idea that some brute like Rowan could come in, know everything, and ruin it all… Celaena didn’t have the patience to mess around.

“Pound sand,” she said quietly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She nodded to the crew working quietly, and hoped their job would be complete within the hour. “Let’s just do our jobs.”

A few quiet moments passed when Rowan spoke again. “I have a question for you, sweetheart.”

“What’s that?”

Rowan made a sweeping gesture to the scene before them. “What’s your deal, here? Are you just a spy or do ever actually get your hands dirty?”

“I can kill if I need to.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow.

Celaena sighed and turned to him. “I don’t give a hoot if you believe me, sweetheart. All that matters is that we finish this job. Product where it needs to go, no interference from the fuzz, everyone’s happy.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” Celaena answered. She faced the men hauling crates again, steadying herself with her back against the wall and a foot propped behind her.

More silence as they watched over the men hauling crates of clattering bottles.

They were nearly done, the van almost full when Rowan opened his mouth to speak. The sound of tires on gravel interrupted him, and they exchanged a look. It was close enough to be heard, but not so near that they knew exactly where the car was coming from.

Rowan tilted his head. Cops?

Celaena pursed her lips. Let’s hope not.

“Do you want to split up?” Rowan asked. He moved to stand in front of her, and the full gust of cold ocean air hit Celaena across the face. “I can take the south side of the building. We can just do a quick sweep.”

Celaena pushed off the side of the building with a grin. “Don’t need me to watch your back?”

“Just want to work smart, doll face.”

Celaena scowled. “I’ll take the south.”

Rowan shrugged. “Scream if you see the cops.”

“I don’t scream,” Celaena said. “Not for the likes of you, that is.”

“Hm.” Rowan strode away, hands clasped behind his back. “We’ll see.”

Celaena made a rude gesture behind Rowan’s back, and then turned to Sam in the distance. He looked at her with inquiring eyes. She pointed her finger to the sky, made a circle, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Hopefully he’d stay alert for her while she and Rowan surveyed the area. They were almost done, so soon she could go home and collapse into bed. Begin the routine again tomorrow.

Stepping silently from one shadow to another, Celaena fumed, came back with a dozen snappy retorts to everything Rowan had ever said to her. She’d thought that the way he looked at her that first night at The Blind Tiger, it might have meant… but no, he just knew more than he was letting on. The electricity she’d felt in his gaze was nothing more than his satisfaction that he had the advantage before they’d even said hello.

Reaching the other side of the building, Celaena turned to double back before she ran into Rowan. There was no sign of a car, or cops, or whoever had happened to wander across that particular warehouse, on that particular evening. Her steps grew slower as she made her way, in no hurry to renew her working relationship with the out-of-towner.

A quiet rat-a-tat came from the distance. Celaena knew that sound. Gunfire was as common in that part of town as the cry of seagulls, and she took off, sprinting back to Sam and the others.

Rounding the final corner, a low grunt had Celaena changing direction to the warehouse entrance where Sam had been working. The truck the product had been loaded onto came screeching out of the loading zone, and Celaena barely managed to jump out of its way. She rolled to the side, crashed into the brick wall of the building and ignored the knock she received to the back of her head. After getting her bearings, Celaena pushed herself to her feet and ran to where she had last seen Sam and Wesley.

Celaena’s heart pounded in her throat, her footsteps beating out a steady rhythm of not him, not Sam. The quiet sounds had shifted, no longer the rub of wood on wood and rattling glass and quiet jokes, but moans and hushed questions. Rowan was shouting unfamiliar names, but Celaena kept her eyes locked on where she had last seen Sam.

Bodies. There were bodies everywhere, most of them shifting on the ground and trying to make their way to standing. Celaena paused and then pivoted towards a quiet groan she recognized as Sam’s. She fell to her knees and grabbed his shoulder, turning him onto his back.

“What the hell, Sam!” Other men were pushing themselves up, some holding their palms to bloodied body parts. “Sam, talk to me, what the hell happened!”

Sam coughed and pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Some men came, minute you and Rowan were gone. They had guns, fired warning shots. Roughed up some of us, and they forced us away from the truck and then…” He looked up, searching in vain for Arobynn’s product. “Oh, shit.”

Realization hit her. The truck that had nearly run her down hadn’t been driven by Arobynn’s men, or Maeve’s. Celaena slammed her palms on the concrete. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” She looked up at the sky, trying to steady herself on stars obscured by the city light, and took a deep breath. “It’s ok,” she said to herself. “It will be ok.”

Standing, Celaena offered a hand to Sam. “At least you’re ok.” She glanced around. “Where is Wesley?”

“Here.” He came from behind, hand to his jaw.

“You,” she said, pointing to Wesley. “Later, we are going to talk.”

Celaena turned to Rowan, who was talking in a low voice to his own men. “And you.” She threw up an accusatory finger and stalked towards him. “What good are your men that they let this happen?” She pressed her finger into Rowan’s chest, but he refused to step back.

Rowan swatted her hand away. “I think you’ll find, babydoll, that your men should be used to this area, know the drill, have their sources to tip them off about this sort of thing.”

Celaena sputtered. They shouldn’t have walked away, let their guard down. But they’d heard the car approaching, and the job was almost done. But then, that’s what they had waited for, hadn’t they? Let Arobynn and Maeve’s men do the work of hauling the product, make enough noise to draw the real threats away, then swoop in just in time to reroute it.

Celaena cursed under her breath. “This has never happened before.”

“Really?” Rowan countered, “Because I’ve never had a problem with my boys either.”

“Well,” Celaena said. “Now we have to tell our bosses that you’ve lost them a month’s worth of profits.” She brushed her hands off on her pants. “Good luck with Maeve. And Arobynn.”

“I’ve lost them profits?” Rowan stepped back, hands in the air. “This was a 50/50 job, sweetheart. And if anything, you were the uh, what’s the word? The ‘expert’ here,” Rowan said, using air quotes around the word, “This is your territory.”

Fear made its home in the pit of Celaena’s stomach. As much as she’d love to pin the whole botched job on Rowan and his men, Arobynn wouldn’t care. He’d burn her bed with her in it and ask if she was thirsty.

She glanced at Sam. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

He rubbed the back of his head, then raised his chin when he noticed Rowan watching them. “I’m fine. Let’s clean this up, move what’s left.”

“Fine.”

Rowan was speaking to his men in a hushed voice, and Celaena cleared her throat to interrupt them. “If you’re done with social hour, we have work to do.”

Raising his hands, Rowan stepped forward. “Tell us where you want us. Dollface.” Despite the banter, his face was grim, and Celaena wondered what Maeve would do to him when she found out her men hadn’t held up their end of the bargain.

“Just… let’s move the rest of this, and figure it out in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Celaena strode into the club, furs hanging from her shoulders and just the right amount of leg showing through the slit in her skirt.

Despite the smoke and perfume in the air, the club still smelled too new. Like someone had come into a sudden fortune and didn’t quite know how to wear their wealth as if they had been born to it. It was a bit déclassé, though Celaena knew she couldn’t fault a lady for wanting to make a statement.

And make a statement it did. The Puncheon Club had opened one evening without much fanfare, though the thinning crowds at Arobynn’s clubs quickly made it clear that word of mouth was more than enough to get the locals curious enough to be disloyal. The new club’s owner was one Celaena had only heard of by name. Word spread quickly underground, and when she was already embroiled with this particular dame’s business, well… it only made sense that Celaena pay Maeve a visit.

After the botched job by the docks the week before, Arobynn had ordered Celaena to find out if it was an inside job. No one dared cross him but perhaps, he reasoned, Maeve wasn’t yet aware of just how effective his methods could be. The order was to go, drink, flirt, act as if she might entertain the idea of taking that stage. And then find out if Rowan or another of her lackeys had decided to sell them down the river.

So her first night off, Celaena went from the belly of the beast she knew, to the one she didn’t. With any luck, Rowan wouldn’t be there and she could ingratiate herself to the other patrons, find out what they knew, how they’d found the club, what kind of product was being sold there.

Celaena took in the room, the sunken dance floor and the balconies that overlooked it. Around the dance floor was a circle of tables, separated from the spectacle by only a few steps. And at the far end, a small stage, almost an afterthought. At least, Celaena thought, Arobynn appreciated his talent enough to give them space to breathe. She doubted her mother’s baby grand would have fit in the space Maeve left her performers.

There were plenty of dark corners for people to get lost in, dark, heavy curtains that could reveal as much dirty business as they hid. Stepping forward, she knew exactly where she would sit - a table near the front, currently occupied by pot-bellied men and laughing women, but soon they wouldn’t be a problem. The table was a prime location, at the epicenter of the bar, the stage, and the dance floor, and it was likely where Maeve herself sat when she made her presence known.

Where The Tiger, as its usual patrons dubbed it, was all dark wood and smoky mirrors, The Puncheon Club was all shining chrome and Art Deco decor. Prints advertising exotic French liqueurs covered one wall, and Celaena had to admit that though the stage was small, the equipment looked state-of-the-art. She briefly wondered what it would be like, to have that spotlight on her and to hear nothing but her own voice resonating through the dark, cavernous space.

But that wasn’t why she was there.

Celaena spied a waiter walking by with a tray and took a glass from it without looking at him. Tilting her head, she looked from table to table as she made her way to the one she had claimed for her own. The groups of out-of-towners she could ignore. There was a certain sort of tourist who came to these places, just looking to get loose on the weekend. Celaena was looking for a different type of customer entirely. One who made themselves at home, who was looking to conduct a bit of business, make some quick cash, or even better to set up a steady income for themselves by running into the right person.

Scanning the crowd, Celaena dismissed the familiar faces she knew weren’t a threat, mentally registered a few she knew Arobynn wouldn’t be pleased to see at a place other than his own.

But there, amongst the faces she knew and those she could dismiss, Celaena spied a familiar head of braided chestnut hair framing a delicate face. Frowning, she pushed away from the pillar she had installed herself against. The woman she approached was talking to the bartender, leaning over the counter just enough to get a free drink out of it - from him, another patron, anyone willing to bite.

“Taking in the new sights?” Celaena asked without turning her head towards the woman. Her deep brown skin was radiant in the dim light, the point of her chin and the pout of her lips just the type to make men and women crazy. Doubly so when she danced up on that stage wearing naught but a few strategically-placed bananas.

“Mm-hm,” the woman answered. “Thought I’d see who would show up. Which kind of scum would move from Arobynn’s place on to greener pastures.” She threw back her shot, winked at the bartender who, heaven help him, blushed, and turned to Celaena. “Imagine my surprise at finding you here.”

Celaena faced the woman with a raised eyebrow. “Are you implying that I am unsavory company?”

Taking a shot and winking at the bartender, the woman turned to Celaena. “Only in the best sense of the word.”

Celaena’s eyes sparkled as she threw back the shot the bartender had placed before her, and then held it up in a silent cheers.

Nehemia Ytger was one of Celaena’s best friends, one of the most renowned singers and dancers in Adarlan, and she could have taken on the world if she’d chosen. If Adarlan didn’t house the exact type of criminals she liked to mark and eliminate, she might have moved on to livelier shores. But luckily for Celaena, Nehemia’s interest in serving justice to flesh peddlers kept her confidante around.

“So,” Nehemia said, “What are you doing in these parts? Anything to do with the docks? Last week?”

“Yes,” Celaena said shortly. If word had gotten to Nehemia, surely others knew that Arobynn had been robbed. That theft was a potential weak spot, and anyone who was waiting for their moment might seize it now.

Celaena drew a breath. “I’m just looking for anyone new.”

“Lots of those folk around, lately.”

“Someone who knows more than they should,” Celaena added. “I know you have no interest in helping me where he’s concerned,” she said, holding up a hand at the eyebrow she knew Nehemia would raise in her direction, “But I need to know who might have had details. Who might have had the means to take from him.”

“And the nerve?” Nehemia asked.

“And the nerve,” Celaena echoed. “Look.” She leaned against the bar, making a show of examining the bottles lined up behind it, as if she were talking to the bartender. “If there is a new player in town, you’re likely going to want to know, too. You know these people don’t tend to stick to one sort of illegal trade.”

Nehemia swiveled on her stool, adjusted the few bits of fabric that comprised her costume, and nodded. “It’s better if we don’t know each other, I assume?”

“Just getting the lay of the land,” Celaena suggested. “But you know where to find me.”

Nehemia sashayed away without another word, and Celaena turned back to her original target. The men and women at her table were getting sloppier by the second, and it would only take a few words to get them to scram. But it was best not to make waves. Not this early in the game.

Turning her attention away from the drinkers and the dancers, Celaena looked for security. They wouldn’t need to be flashy, the well-placed gun holster being enough to deter violence. Besides, no one wanted the fuzz down there. They were all criminals in one way or another, and most nights, in a place like this, that was enough to keep people honest. At least on the outside.

A few lone figures wandered the outskirts of the dance floor, men with hands close to their jackets. Occasionally they would glance across the space at one another, giving slight nods or shakes of the head. And then there, a few women who hadn’t taken off their furs, despite the heat in the dark, cramped space. Celaena could have taught them a few pointers about how to carry a weapon when clothing was more revealing than they might have preferred.

Stretching her legs, letting the silk of her skirt fall to the side and ignoring the glances she drew, Celaena wondered when her night would get interesting.

If Arobynn kept an eye on the activities at The Blind Tiger with the attention of a cat toying with its prey, Maeve kept The Puncheon Club restrained with the finesse of a boxer wearing silk gloves. Both were at eternally at the ready, and had years of practice at making it seem easy.

Celaena stood to make her way to her table, now that they guests had cleared it, but she ran into a wall of muscle. Rebounding, she looked up and frowned at Rowan.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was as gruff and grumpy as she remembered, and he didn’t even have a reason to be annoyed at her yet.

Celaena made a show of brushing herself off and adjusting her clothing. “Can’t a gal have fun on her night off?”

“A gal can,” Rowan answered. “But you can’t. Not here.” He leaned in closer. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Celaena?

“It’s ‘Celaena’ again?” She looked disinterested as she made her way to the table that had been her aim all night, not looking back to see if Rowan followed.

Slinking into the cushioned leather seats, Celaena sat back and waited to be served before saying anything else. A waiter came to take their orders, looked nervously from Rowan to her, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

“So, what’s the deal, dollface? And why’d you pick this table?”

Celaena shrugged. “The view.” She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the tabletop and batting her eyelashes. “Plus, there’s plenty of room for me and all my friends.” She gestured to the empty seats and laughed.

“Maeve won’t like this.”

“What in particular won’t she like?”

“That you’re here. In her seat. Without an invitation.”

“I’ll call ahead next time.”

“This isn’t a joke, Celaena. I asked why you’re here. You haven’t answered me yet.”

Thrumming her fingers on the liquor-sticky tabletop, Celaena contemplated her response. She could assume that he had been as surprised as she had been that night. That the suggestion they split up right at the moment they’d been thieved had been an accident, and not a calculated move on his part to get her out of the way. Or, she could go her usual route and not trust a word he said. Yet that sweat on Rowan’s upper lip, the way he stayed on guard despite being on his home turf - it all told Celaena that he had at least as much to lose as she did, and that he wouldn’t put it in jeopardy.

The waiter came back with their drinks and Celaena made a show of sniffing hers before taking a sip. “Who’s your supplier?” She grimaced and set the glass down. Those days, getting quality alcohol was a trial when it required a chemist just to make sure you weren’t downing the stuff the government created that could kill you. Beggars they were, and choosers they couldn’t be.

“Made in house.”

“My compliments to the chef.” She swallowed the drink in one go, biting the inside of her cheek to keep the strength of it from souring her expression. Apparently, beggars couldn’t ask for their alcohol to please the palate.

Rowan grunted in the affirmative. “Maeve is a bit picky about what she serves her clientele.”

“Clientele? Are we talking about the same back alley basement gin joints where the drink likely just came from my Uncle Sal’s bathroom?” Celaena scoffed. “I don’t know if I’d call them ‘clientele.’”

The sudden roar of cheers and applause told Celaena that Nehemia had made her way on to the stage. At least she would have a successful night. No one ever expected the Enchantress of Eyllwe to be involved in dirty dealings, which made her all the more lethal when she gutted unsuspecting slavers and left their former property more loyal to her country than they’d ever thought possible.

Rowan tilted his head towards the stage as the music began. “Do you know her?”

Celaena made a show of looking to the stage to verify who he was talking about. “By reputation.”

“You seemed chummy at the bar.”

“I make friends everywhere I go,” Celaena answered. “Don’t you have some real questions for me, Rowan?” She sighed, already tired of their repartee.

“Look, Celaena,” Rowan said, leaning forward. “Maeve wants to meet with you. If she wants to talk to you, you’re already in more trouble than you know.”

Celaena sat up straighter. “I want to meet with her.” Rowan began to protest, but she cut him off. “No, I need to meet with her, Rowan.” The gears in her head were clicking, pondering, wondering how she might be able to play Arobynn and Maeve off of one another, and perhaps make it so that Sam’s dream of leaving the city altogether might come true.

“Did Arobynn send you here tonight?” Rowan’s voice was a distant murmur, background noise to the plans that Celaena was hatching. Get away from Adarlan. The city didn’t belong to her anymore. Not since that bloody morning.

“Celaena?” Rowan snapped his fingers in front of her face, and as she focused she realized that there was a commotion at the entrance to the club. Not a raid, but someone who didn’t belong was trying to get in.

“What the blazes is he doing here,” she murmured to herself. She sat up straighter and Rowan looked back to see what had drawn her eye.

“So, do you know him? Or is he another friend you made along with way?”

The words roared in Celaena’s ears as she watched Chaol try to talk his way into the club, gesturing wildly. He’d worn his work uniform, here of all places! It wasn’t as if law men weren’t in on the trade that Arobynn and Maeve made their livelihood on, but they didn’t waltz into an illegal gin joint dressed like it was Halloween and drinks were free for people who dressed up like cops.

“Dry agent?” Rowan asked.

Celaena snorted, tried to play off her concern. “Yeah. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing here, though.” Even as she spoke, the sinking feeling in her stomach, the one made of fear and anxiety and regret, was making its home.

Chaol caught her eye and strode across the club, brushing off the arms that tried to restrain him.

“Celaena!”

She cursed under her breath, reminding herself that subtlety had never been his strong suit, even when they had been dating and it could have cost him his job.

Standing from the table, Celaena gestured from Rowan to Chaol. “Rowan, Chaol, and Chaol, this is Rowan. Would you like a drink?” Celaena smirked at her own joke.

“Celaena, it’s Sam. You need to come with me.” He held his hand out for her, keeping his eyes trained on Celaena as she glanced from him to Rowan. “Now.”

Chapter Text

Celaena slammed her fist against the wooden doorway that separated Arobynn’s office from the long, well-lit hallway that led to the rest of his house.

House was a word used loosely when it came to where Arobynn Hamel resided. His tendency to rearrange the world as he saw fit made it difficult to classify anything in his orbit, but Celaena didn’t know what else to call it. The mansion was where she had tried to create a space of her own after her parents’ murder, where she slept and came for meals, where she knew the door would always be open. It was a house in the sense that it held spaces serving as bedrooms, a kitchen, a library with a cozy fireplace where Celaena was known to sling her legs over the arm of a chair, chin propped up by her fist as she read.

But beneath all the rooms that hinted at domestic life, down a series of stairwells that no one wanted to be dragged through unwillingly, Arobynn had created a different world entirely. His pristine office on the ground floor was the face that he presented to the world, but if visitors listened closely enough, they’d swear someone nearby was whimpering and pleading for help. Anyone smart enough would pretend it was just the wind.

Because Arobynn rarely deigned to go down those stairs himself, Celaena was forced to wait in the doorway of his office. He didn’t trust anyone in there without him, and an old fear in the pit of her stomach kept her from disobeying that rule. Even now, desperate as she was for news about Sam, she didn’t dare cross that threshold before Arobynn showed up and invited her in.

When she caught the hint of his cologne - salt and sea and something metallic - Celaena turned and began her barrage of questions.

“Where did you send him? What was Sam after? I thought I was in control of this thing with Maeve, don’t put him in the middle.”

Celaena pressed herself against the doorway to let Arobynn pass but he barely glanced at her, barely acknowledged the small space she made available for him to make his way through to the large carved desk from which he saw to the formalities of his business.

Arobynn walked to his desk as she spoke, infuriatingly calm. Leaning back in the deep leather chair, he threaded his fingers and cocked his head. “Take a seat, Celaena.”

With a huff, she sat in the hard wooden seat he provided for his guests. Celaena placed her elbows on her knees, leaned forward, and clasped her hands together to keep from hitting something.

“Where. Is. He.”

Arobynn dismissed her question. “He’s fine. Did your dry agent tell you they found him?”

“He’s not my dry agent,” Celaena spat out. “Chaol is… was… a friend, and he was trying to keep me informed. Unlike you.”

Arobynn raised an eyebrow but let her protests die. “And do I answer to you, Miss Sardothien?” He laced her family name with enough venom for her to know that this, like the screams coming from somewhere underneath the room, was something she needed to let go unnoticed.

Celaena unclenched her fists and slumped back against her chair. “No. Sir.”

Arobynn smiled benevolently. “Sam is being cared for. He had a scare, a close call while you were supposed to be distracting Maeve with your presence at The Puncheon Club.”

“Supposed to be?” Celaena sputtered. “You were using me? I can’t do my job if you hide things from me, Arobynn.”

Arobynn strummed his fingers on the surface of his desk, contemplating her before he stood. As he walked around the desk to stand in front of her, Celaena’s posture straightened. Her breath came quicker, and she counted to five.

In five strides, she could be out of the room. In five seconds, he could have her on the floor, spitting blood onto his precious imported carpet. Maybe in five minutes, she could be done with this conversation and going to Sam, finally making plans to leave the city together.

Or at the end of those five breaths, Celaena would realize that she would do none of those things, that was as ineffectual against Arobynn as she had ever been.

Arobynn perched on the edge of the desk, his knee inches from her face, foot propped up on the seat beside her. “Do you trust me, Celaena?” He spoke softly, asking for something he had no right to.

“Yes.” She blinked once, then forced herself to look him in the eye. “I do.”

Truth told, Celaena had little choice but to trust him. He was the only person in the city who knew who she was and who her parents had been. Working for Arobynn had given Celaena a modicum of protection that even the cops couldn’t have provided, given the enemies her family had made.

Arobynn sat up straighter, looking past her to the door just before a soft knock. “Yes?”

“He’s awake, sir.”

Arobynn stood, running his hands over his slacks to press out the wrinkles. “Well, Celaena. Your friend awaits.” He held his hand towards the door, dismissing her.

As she turned the doorknob, he spoke again. “And Celaena. Don’t question my methods again.”

Without turning, Celaena nodded once. Then she opened the door, ran down the hall and took the steps two at a time to the basement room that served as a private infirmary.

Sam was fussing with the doctor as she entered.

Celaena held her hands at her fists again. If she didn’t raise them, she wouldn’t hit him. If she didn’t raise them, she wouldn’t be tempted to cry. “What did you do?”

“What I was ordered,” Sam answered. “Much the same as you.”

She strode into the room, trying to stay out of the way of the doctor as he moved around Sam’s bed.

“Are you hurt?” The question was redundant, given the attention he was receiving from the physician that Arobynn hired more for his discretion than his talent at healing the injured.

“Enough so I’m allowed to take laudanum,” Sam joked. “I won’t be needing the aid of the green fairy any time soon.”

Celaena looked him over from head to toe, then reached up and jabbed Sam’s ribs, quick and sharp.

He groaned and pulled away from her. “Don’t manhandle me, I’m injured.”

She sat on the edge of his bed. “Tell me. What happened?” Celaena knew her voice toed the line between shrill wife and concerned parent, but there were few underneath that roof whom she would consider to have anything resembling a heart. Not the way Sam did.

Sam sighed through his nose. “I was supposed to see where Maeve lives. Simple reconnaissance, go and look, see what kind of guard she has, entrances, exists. The usual.”

“And? Clearly it didn’t turn out like usual.”

“And, someone saw me.”

“Sam…” Celaena’s voice was hushed with worry.

“They didn’t see my face. I wore the usual apparel, stuck to the shadows. They won’t have known it was me. Don’t concern yourself with that, dollface.” He reached up and stroked her cheek. “Plus, no one knows my face. I’m neither Adarlan’s Assassin nor the Songbird of The Blind Tiger. No one knows who I am.”

Celaena ignored the bitterness lacing his last statement and caught Sam’s hand between hers. She ran her fingers over the lines on his palm. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

She glanced at the doctor, staring at him until he hurriedly threw his tools into the black leather bag he carried. After setting a deep green glass bottle at Sam’s beside, the man left.

“What wise statement of mine have you been pondering?”

“About leaving.” Celaena took in a deep breath and glanced around the room as if someone might be lurking in a shadow. “Leaving Adarlan. Finding somewhere else where we can live, just the two of us.”

A grin pulled at the corner of Sam’s mouth, and Celaena’s heart ached to see it. He had so much faith in her, though she’d never given him reason to.

Pulling her close, Sam kissed her. It wasn’t the first time, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. His optimism was catching, but Celaena worried about what Arobynn would say.

“Don’t,” Sam said, his lips still pressed against hers. Pulling away, he continued. “Don’t think about Arobynn. Don’t think about how we’ll make money, or any of it.”

Celaena stood and cleared her throat. “Sure thing. I need to sleep, if I’m going to work later.” Glancing at the watch she kept on a thin gold chain, she sighed. It was nearly daylight, and the weekend meant longer shifts, and customers hungrier for what she had to offer. Not to mention the extra work Arobynn would have her on when the club closed down in the small hours of the morning.

“Laena.”

She turned at the door and looked at Sam. He was engulfed by pillows and blankets, and she wondered if she could convince him to stay there a bit longer. To not jump up the moment he felt mobile. If she could ask Arobynn to not give Sam commands until he was truly well, or to at least tell her what his plans were.

“Take care of yourself.”

Celaena smiled, though her eyes failed to reflect the same hope. “I will if you do.”

*****

Sweating glinting off her brow, Celaena stepped offstage and was handed a glass of water by Wesley. While there was a pang that it wasn’t Sam there helping her keep an eye on the situation, she was also glad to know that he had taken her advice and given himself another day to heal.

Lysandra worked the crowd, keeping a worried eye out for Wesley, and Celaena had even seen Nehemia stop by. A quick nod was exchanged between them, the only acknowledgement that one of their own had been hurt and that they might care beyond the completion of their jobs.

A kind look was rare in a town like Adarlan; even rarer was someone who cared beyond benefit to themselves.

Celaena slid into a leather booth, her singing shift over, but her night far from done. The chatter of the patrons was soon drowned out by a jazz band, a group that Arobynn had paid dearly to visit from Antica. She relaxed into her seat and let the rhythm take her, momentarily forgetting that soon, she’d have to find a means of making her living without the protection, guidance, and considerable connections that Arobynn provided her.

It wasn’t the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed, but the secret that Arobynn guarded for her that had Celaena worried. How long would it take for him to try to use it as leverage to bring her back into the fold?

Looking into the crowd, Celaena’s eyes narrowed to see Rowan at his usual table, front and center as if they’d never had any dirty dealings under the table. As if neither of their puppet strings were pulled by forces beyond their control.

She strode across the room and pulled out a seat, the legs scrapping across the hard floor. Celaena threw herself into a seat at Rowan’s table and made a quick gesture to the bartender to bring her a drink.

“You seem angry,” Rowan said. He tipped back the last of his own glass.

“Says the man with the scowl he might as well tattoo on his face along with the rest of that ink,” Celaena replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Seeing how everything is going on this side of the street.”

“Hm.” Celaena tapped her fingers on the tabletop and shifted in her seat. The jazz band was going improvisational that night, loosing sound on the crowd that echoed what Celaena felt inside. Untethered, howling, but not without a sense of purpose.

Rowan sat back in his seat, eyes only for Celaena even as she pretended she was alone at the table. After letting the silence between them grow, he spoke. “And who was that man, the other night? Is everything ok?”

Another round of drinks made its way to their table, and Celaena grabbed on to her glass like a lifeline.

Celaena blinked. “Sam?”

“No, the other one, who came to tell you about Sam. The one who looked too much like an upright citizen to be caught dead in a place like this. Must have been desperate, for an agent to come here to look for you.”

She looked away, looking at the crowd as she waved her hand in a way that attempted to distract Rowan from the deep cuts that the mention of Chaol’s presence tore open. “No one.”

Looking back at Rowan, Celaena saw that he had his eyes on her, that he had never taken them off her and that she likely hadn’t fooled him at all. “Look, he’s no one, ok? No one Maeve needs to worry about, so he’s no one you need to worry about.”

The music swelled and the brass instruments took on a life of their own. Celaena’s heart beat faster, fear and anger and some foreign desire taking root in her chest. Chaol could take care of himself, and surely Sam could, too. If only they wouldn’t underestimate Arobynn. Or her.

Rowan stood and offered Celaena a hand. “Dance?”

Celaena looked at his hand as if she’d never seen one before. “Dance?”

Rowan cocked his head towards the dance floor, crowded with sweating bodies, dress shirts unbuttoned at the top in a display of nonchalance and strings of beads and glitter that swung around women’s hips and legs as if they weren’t wearing dresses at all.

Taking Rowan’s hand, Celaena stood. “Buy me another drink after.”

The next minutes passed in a haze. Celaena danced with abandon, allowed Rowan to guide her one-handed into a series of kicks and twirls that turned the room into a blur. She shimmied her hips against him in a display that was as much about aggression as it was any sort of attraction she may have felt.

If she had been a different girl, and he a different man, maybe she would have thought he was handsome in addition to annoying, and not merely annoying. But she couldn’t afford to flirt with even the idea of Rowan, and so Celaena thought of nothing but her heart pumping in her chest and the feel of muscles honed from years of various sorts of lessons.

The music slowed and Celaena stopped dancing abruptly, her chest heaving to catch her breath. Before she could step away Rowan had an arm around her waist and had captured her hand in his own. Blinking, Celaena brushed a strand of hair from her face and wiped sweat from her brow. She placed her free hand on Rowan’s shoulder before looking over it as he moved them around the dance floor.

Celaena never had a day off. She never let her guard down. Even now, with the envious glances of women and men directed towards them, Celaena knew she was being paid to do a job, and that Rowan was undoubtedly working for some ulterior motive.

“So, why did you show up again,” she asked.

“I just wanted to check on your friend.”

“Sure thing,” Celaena said. She kept her alert gaze over his shoulder.

“Why aren’t you arguing with me more?” His breath whispered over her bare shoulder and Celaena swallowed to keep from shivering.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem distracted. I assumed that arguing is like flirting for you.”

Celaena looked up and scowled. “Yeah, well,” she answered. “I go where the money goes. And it’s not heading toward Maeve’s door at the moment.”

“Touché,” Rowan admitted.

Rowan loosed his arms and separated himself from Celaena, but before she could walk away he gripped her hand tighter and twirled her close to his body, dipping her backwards until his arm around her waist was the only thing keeping her from crashing to the ground.

“You need to be careful,” he said softly, his lips barely moving. “The people you trust, you shouldn’t trust them.”

Celaena looked up at Rowan, perhaps seeing him for the first time that evening. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, no doubt wrinkling the expensive material. A quick move from him and she would fall. A moment could pass, and he could decide he didn’t want to be so close to her and he could remove the arm around her waist.

Celaena’s hands relaxed and she let the entirety of her weight rest on the arm that held her. Rowan remained steady, gazing at her until he knew she trusted what he said.

“What do you know?” He either had information or he was screwing with her, but either way she had to take the bait.

Rowan pulled Celaena upright as he stood and the band took their bows, the applause of the crowd drowning out anything they might say to each other.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell you exactly. I’m not sure, they don’t tell me.”

“What do you know, Rowan?”

“Meet me tomorrow. Outside town, at Mistward.”

Rowan walked away, leaving Celaena in a sea of applause and mirth, blinking and wondering if she hadn’t been so busy looking for danger elsewhere that she had missed the most obvious signs in front of herself.