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removed her mask.
    “By them, or by me?” Sam was sitting on the floor, his back against the bed.
    Celaena sniffed all her food. “Do I detect … belladonna?”
    Sam gave her a flat stare, and Celaena smirked as she tore a bite from the bread. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the scrape of her utensils against the chipped plates, the drumming of the rain on the roof, and the occasional groan of a thunderhead breaking.
    “So,” Sam said. “Are you going to tell me what you’re planning, or should I warn Rolfe to expect the worst?”
    She sipped daintily at her tea. “I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Sam Cortland.”
    “What sort of ‘questions’ did you ask him?”
    She set down her teacup. Rain lashed the shutters, muffling the clink of her cup against the saucer. “Polite ones.”
    “Oh? I didn’t think you knew what polite meant.”
    “I can be polite when it pleases me.”
    “When it gets you what you want, you mean. So what is it you want from Rolfe?”
    She studied her companion. He certainly didn’t seem to have any qualms about the deal. While he might not trust Rolfe, it didn’t bother him that a hundred innocent souls were about to be traded like cattle. “I wanted to ask him more about the map on his hands.”
    “Damn it, Celaena!” Sam slammed his fist onto the wooden floor. “Tell me the truth!”
    “Why?” she asked, giving him a pout. “And how do you know I’m not telling the truth?”
    Sam got to his feet and began pacing the length of their small room. He undid the top button of his black tunic, revealing the skin beneath. Something about it felt strangely intimate, and Celaena found herself quickly looking away from him.
    “We’ve grown up together.” Sam stopped at the foot of her bed. “You think I don’t know how to tell when you’re cooking up some scheme? What do you want from Rolfe?”
    If she told him, he’d do everything in his power to prevent her from ruining the deal. And having one enemy was enough. With her plan still unformed, she had to keep Sam out of it. Besides, if worse came to worst, Rolfe might very well kill Sam for being involved. Or simply for knowing her.
    “Maybe I’m just unable to resist how handsome he is,” she said.
    Sam went rigid. “He’s twelve years older than you.”
    “So?” He didn’t think she was serious , did he?
    He gave her a look so scathing it could have turned her to ash, and he stalked to the window, ripping his cloak down.
    “What are you doing?”
    He flung open the wooden shutters to reveal a sky full of rain and forked lightning. “I’m sick of suffocating. And if you’re interested in Rolfe, he’s bound to find out what you look like at some point, isn’t he? So why bother slowly roasting to death?”
    “Shut the window.” He only crossed his arms. “ Shut it ,” she growled.
    When he made no move to close the window, she jumped to her feet, upsetting the tray of food on her mattress, and shoved him aside hard enough for him to take a step back. Keeping her head down, she shut the window and shutters and threw his cape over the whole thing.
    “Idiot,” she seethed. “What’s gotten into you?”
    Sam stepped closer, his breath hot on her face. “I’m tired of all the melodrama and nonsense that happens whenever you wear that ridiculous mask and cloak. And I’m even more tired of you ordering me around.”
    So that’s what this was about. “Get used to it.”
    She made to turn to her bed, but he grabbed her wrist. “Whatever plan you’re concocting, whatever bit of intrigue you’re about to drag me into, just remember that you’re not head of the Assassins’ Guild yet . You still answer to Arobynn.”
    She rolled her eyes, yanking her wrist out of his grasp. “Touch me again,” she said, striding to her bed and picking up the spilled food, “and you’ll lose that hand.”
    Sam didn’t speak to her after that.

CHAPTER
5
    Dinner with Sam