Chapter Text
The screen lit up as it usually did. It appeared the first test had finally arrived. Celaena and Chaol entered a large sparring room. A towering black curtain had been swept across half of the room, blocking the other half from sight which held their fate. Dorian stood with the other sponsors atop the mezzanine and grinned down at Celaena. She gave a tight smile back and looked away.
Feyre giggled quietly, drawing the looks of those sitting around her. She shrugged at them.
“They has a flair for the dramatics almost as much as you guys do.”
Azriel snorted but Cassian pinched her shoulder. He pouted at Feyre.
“The betrayal!” he whined causing Mor to release her own snort.
She snapped her head to the side, crossing her legs dramatically and folding her arms over her chest. “How rude of you Feyre.” However she couldn't hide the smile on her face.
Rhysand just rolled his eyes at their dramatics. “You're the worst of us, Mrs. Water Wolves.”
Feyre snickered at them then grinned at Azriel In her best growly voice she could she replied “Don’t touch my High Lady.” Causing the entire group including Amern to burst out in laughter and a pink blush rose up on Azriel’s neck and face.
“Touche.” Rhysand replied still in stitches.
Nox stepped up to Celaena’s side. “It’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“After five days of mindless training,” she replied quietly, “I’m glad for a bit of excitement.”
Nox laughed under his breath. “What do you think it is?”
She shrugged, keeping her attention on the curtain. More and more competitors were arriving, and soon the clock would strike nine—the time when the Test would begin. “Hopefully it’s a pack of man-eating wolves that we have to take on with our bare hands.” She looked at him fully now, a half smile on her lips. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Chaol subtly cleared his throat. Now was not the time for talking. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black pants. “Best of luck,” she said to Nox before she strode toward the curtain, Chaol following her. When they were far enough away, she asked under her breath, “No idea what’s behind that curtain?” Chaol shook his head.
She adjusted the thick leather belt slung low across her hips. It was the kind of belt intended to bear the weight of multiple weapons though it held none.
Brullo cleared his throat. “Attention now!” he called to them. All of the competitors tried to look calm as he strode to the center of the curtain. “Your first Test has arrived.” He grinned broadly, as if whatever the curtain concealed was going to torment the hell out of them. “As His Majesty has ordered, one of you will be eliminated today—one of you will be deemed unworthy.”
Just get on with it!
“I agree,” Cassian grumbled.
Brullo snapped his fingers, and a guard standing by the wall pulled the curtain back. It revealed an archery range.
Celaena bit down her laugh. Archery? It was an archery contest?
“I think she’ll be fine.” Rhysand smirked.
Feyre silently agreed. Celaena proved to be worthy with a knife and she had no doubt that the bow didn’t exceed her expertise.
“She certainly seems to think so.” Amern called from the other couch.
“Rules are simple,” Brullo said. Behind him, five targets were staggered at various distances through the hall. “You get five shots—one per target. The one with the worst aim goes home.”
“You’ll go one at a time,” Brullo said, and behind them a pair of soldiers rolled out a cart of bows and quivers loaded with arrows. “Form a line at the table to determine your order. The Test begins now.”
She expected them to rush to the long table stacked with identical bows and arrows, but apparently none of the twenty-one other competitors were in much of a hurry to go home. Celaena made to join the forming line, but Chaol grasped her shoulder. “Don’t show off,” he warned.
She smiled sweetly and pried his fingers off her. “I’ll try not to,” she purred, and joined the line.
It was an enormous leap of faith to give them arrows, even if the tips were blunted. A dull head wouldn’t stop it from going through Perrington’s throat—or Dorian’s, if she wanted.
“That’s certainly morbid.” Mor whispered to Feyre.
“It’s true though.”
Each target got progressively farther away with the farthest one being 70 yards or so. With a small black dot in the bullseye to signify the center.
The test took a while but there were only a few notable people for the group to keep an eye on. Pelor barely hit any shots and it wasn’t looking good for him. Nox did surprisingly well. Better than most, but Cain swaggered up when it was his turn and began shooting the arrows. He hit all five bullseyes within the span of a few seconds. Luckily he didn’t hit the black dot on any of the targets though.
“You’d hit every dot, Feyre darling.” Rhysand tilted his head back and gave her a grin from where it laid on her lap. Feyre felt her cheeks burn bright red when the group began agreeing.
“I have no doubt.” Azriel agreed. But Cassian was never one to let an opportunity of a challenge go to waist.
“When we get out of here, we’ll put it to the test. You can go against me.”
“You’re on Cass.”
Finally Celaena was up. But she appeared nervous as she swallowed drily.
“You’ve got this.” Mor murmured to herself despite Celaena not being able to here anything. Everyone began to sit up slightly in anticipation and nerves.
Feyre reached down and grabbed Rhysand's shoulder and he placed his hand over hers in comfort. Cassian pulled her into his side even more if it were possible as he reached behind her to hold Mor’s hand and Azriel leaned on the edge of his seat. Even Amern had straightened up from where she was lounging across the chair arms.
She’d killed men from longer shots than the farthest target. Clean shots, too. Right through the throat. She told herself. I am Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan’s Assassin. If these men knew who I was, they’d stop laughing. I am Celaena Sardothien. I am going to win. I will not be afraid.
With the last bit of confidence she drew her bow back and let the arrow fly.
Bull’s-eye.
Cheering began around as the room seemed to release some of the tension. Feyre admired Celaena’s correct stance and had no doubt she was just as good as she claimed.
Some men stopped laughing, but she paid them no heed as she nocked another arrow and fired at the second target. She aimed for the edge of the innermost ring, which she hit with deadly precision.
She got another bull’s-eye on the third target—aiming for the edge, but landing within the border. She did the same for the fourth target, but aimed for the opposite side of the bull’s-eye. Where she aimed, the arrow met its mark.
As she reached for her last arrow, she heard one of the competitors, a red-haired mercenary, snigger. She clenched her bow tightly enough for the wood to groan, and pulled back her final shot.
The target was little more than a blur of color, so far back that its bull’s-eye was a grain of sand in the vastness of the room. She couldn’t see the little dot in its center—the dot that no one had yet to touch, even Cain. Celaena’s arm trembled with effort as she pulled the string back a bit farther and fired.
The arrow hit the absolute center, obliterating the black dot. They stopped laughing.
“Cauldron.” Feyre breathed. Celaena was on par with her in terms of archery.
It was an impressive feat even if they had planned on remaining on the down low and it gave the group great satisfaction to see these miserable men who looked down upon her completely silent.
Wide grins spread across the group's face. Whatever this was had just gotten even more interesting.
No one said anything to her when she stalked away from the line and tossed her bow back onto the cart. Chaol only scowled at her—obviously, she hadn’t been that inconspicuous—but Dorian smiled. She sighed and joined the competitors waiting for the competition to finish, keeping well away from all of them.
When their marks were compared by Brullo himself, one of the army soldiers, not young Pelor, wound up being eliminated.
Then the screen faded to black.