Page 108 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

The magic lingers at her throat, a tangible warning.

I don’t need to break her as I did Vanessa.

Celaena isn’t a snake—just a mortal, caught in her own insecurities, desperate for something she will never have.

Her eyes burn with defiance, though her breaths come shallow and labored.

She spits at me, a gesture fueled by desperation more than courage.

“Brave of you to think you could take me,” I say, a soft smile curling at the edges of my lips, though the ice in my tone betrays the warmth of the expression.

My gaze locks onto her, unflinching, steady, like a predator watching its prey. Her defiance flickers, failing to mask the fear creeping behind her words.

“You think you’re untouchable,” she sneers, her voice trembling, a crack in her armor that doesn’t go unnoticed .

My smile doesn’t falter as the air shifts around us, charged with the quiet hum of my magic.

“Untouchable?” I echo, tilting my head as if pondering the word. “No, Celaena. I am touched by everything—the weight of kingdoms, the burden of shame, the scars of war. But what I am not…” My voice drops, low and resolute. “…is afraid of you.”

The magic snakes forward, curling around her wrists and throat with precision.

It doesn’t squeeze—not yet—but hovers, a silent threat.

Celaena stills as the gravity of her situation sinks in, the cracks in her composure widening.

She hisses, defiance flickering in her eyes, but her trembling body betrays her as the magic tightens ever so slightly around her wrists.

“I only took what was owed to me,” she says, her gaze darting toward Jason.

His eyes burn with fury, but I let the magic constrict just enough to remind her of her place before releasing it, the grip easing so she can breathe again.

“I always told you he was yours,” I murmur.

My gaze flicks to Jason for the briefest moment, and in that fleeting exchange, I see it—hurt, betrayal.

He searches my face for any trace of warmth, any lingering connection.

But I offer him none, and the truth settles over him like a heavy cloak.

He turns to Celaena, her treachery now laid bare, and though his feelings for her may never have been love, her betrayal cuts deep.

The pain in his eyes is unmistakable—the kind that comes from realizing how little control he holds in this deadly game.

His eyes dart between me and Celaena, his composure breaking.

Jason takes a tentative step forward, and for a second, it seems he might say something.

His lips part, breath catching in his throat, but the words die before they can form.

Celaena reaches for him, desperation etched on her face like the last light of a dying ember.

Her hand brushes his arm—a plea wrapped in a fragile, tender touch—but Jason recoils.

“Don’t,” he says, the finality in that single word ringing like a death knell .

She stumbles back, her hand falling limply to her side.

Whatever hope she clung to shatters in the space between them, leaving her frozen in stunned silence.

I turn without a word, heading back toward the cave where this began.

Casper lingers, a dark silhouette against the faint glow of moonlight.

His eyes remain locked on Jason, as if expecting him to lash out, to chase after me, to do something.

But Jason stays rooted where he stands, his golden eyes brimming with hurt, confusion, and regret.

“They won’t stop until they have everything.”

I pause mid-step, turning to face him. Jason’s eyes search mine, desperate for something—for understanding, forgiveness, perhaps even hope. But I offer him none. Tilting my head, I let my expression remain apathetic, a mask of calm against the storm raging around us.

“Neither will I.”

Heading back to the cave, my heart races, troubled by unanswered questions. Every step feels heavier, my thoughts circling what’s missing. Thinking about how to make this plan work. I need to go back to the castle, but I will be returning earlier than my father expects. That would draw attention.

I don’t need to look back to know they’re following me—their presence, unspoken questions, and unresolved emotions hanging in the night air.

Callum moves to my side, his calm demeanor grounding me as we press forward.

Behind us, Gwyn, Alias, and Malachi fall into step, their silence a fragile thread holding together the simmering storm beneath.

I move into the cave, each thud of my boots against the rocky ground echoing my anger.

Jason’s blind trust, his naivety—it sets my blood ablaze.

How could he not see he was being manipulated?

The fury surges, and before I can stop myself, my magic erupts, slamming into the stone wall.

The force reverberates through the cave, dark tendrils of energy crackling and dissipating into the shadows.

My breaths come sharp, ragged, as the release only deepens my frustration.

Casper follows, his expression unreadable yet understanding. I can’t look at him as I pace relentlessly, my thoughts spiraling.

“I have to go back to the castle,” I mutter, my voice tight. The cave feels stifling, the walls closing in as the enormity of the situation threatens to overwhelm me. “There has to be something in the underground library—some clue about how to get through that vault.”

Casper crosses his arms, his gaze steady but dark.

“And you think you can just walk in, sift through ancient tomes, and your father won’t notice?”

I whip around to face him, my magic still simmering at my fingertips.

“What other choice do I have, Casper? I can’t just stand here while everyone edges closer to unlocking that vault.

If Lord Striden gets the stone—” I stop, the words lodged in my throat.

The thought of the stone in anyone’s hands—my father’s, Lord Striden’s, even King Sarris’s—is a nightmare I can’t allow to become real.

I take a breath, forcing the rising panic back down. My shoulders square, defiance hardening my resolve.

“My father collected journals, ancient tomes of past witches. You knew the last witch,” I say, my voice cutting through the agitation as I glance between Malachi and Casper.

My eyes linger on Casper, searching his face for a reaction.

“Do you think she had something within the library that could help us get into the vault?”

Casper doesn’t respond. His jaw tightens, his gaze slipping to the floor, the silence stretching as if he’s wrestling with something he refuses to say.

The stillness in the air feels heavy. Malachi clears his throat, stepping in when it becomes clear Casper won’t.

His piercing blue eyes meet mine, steady and unwavering.

“She had a book,” he says, his voice low but resolute.

“It had a symbol on the cover—a tree, but its roots were bleeding.” He hesitates, his gaze flicking to Casper as though asking for silent permission to continue.

When none comes, he exhales and presses on.

“I don’t think there’s a way into the vault by breaking the curse surrounding it.

But maybe we don’t have to break the curse.

Maybe we just need a way inside when they harness the stone. ”

I start pacing, my thoughts a storm of fragments that refuse to settle. The curse, the vault, the stone—it all feels like a tangled web with no clear way through. My boots scuff softly against the ground with each step, the rhythm grounding me as I try to piece it all together.

Could I even get back to the library unnoticed? There has to be a tome that breaks through bloodline curses . Does my father already know of Lord Striden’s plot against him?

I don’t know the answers, but I can’t let myself spiral.

“She needs to go back to find the book,” Alias says, his tone casual but firm, as if it’s the most obvious solution.

Gwyn doesn’t miss a beat.

“We could sneak her in,” she says with a mischievous edge, already planning out the impossible in her mind.

“That’s not happening,” Callum cuts in, his voice firm as he straightens, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You don’t decide what she will and won’t do,” Gwyn snaps.

“The fuck I do.”

Callum’s retort cuts through the argument, and I clench my jaw, willing them all to stop.

“And you think you’re her keeper now?” Gwyn fires back.

Their voices rise behind me, the bickering escalating.

I don’t have the energy for their argument, not when every piece of this puzzle feels so maddeningly out of reach.

My father’s men will be watching every inch of the library, and any misstep could ruin everything.

But the symbol Malachi described—the bleeding roots—feels important.

I try to remember if I’ve seen anything like it before, but the memory refuses to come.

I force myself to breathe deeply, focusing on my steps as I pace. In and out. Keep moving.

If I went back, how would I get past the guards? How would I even get close enough to search? There are too many risks, too many variables, and yet… I can’t shake the feeling that this book holds the answer we need.

I stop abruptly, the pieces of my thoughts clicking together like a lock turning.

I lift my head, and the room goes silent as I feel every set of eyes land on me.

Casper is already watching me, his emerald gaze steady, filled with an intensity that makes my chest tighten.

He doesn’t say anything, but the way he looks at me—it’s as though he already knows what I’m about to say.

“I know how to retrieve the book,” I say, my voice firm, cutting through the noise like a blade.

The room shifts. Alias tilts his head, intrigued.

Gwyn narrows her eyes, her curiosity growing.

Callum’s lips press into a hard line, the worry radiating from him.

Malachi remains a pillar of calm, though the faintest hint of approval glimmers in his gaze.

And Casper… Casper’s eyes soften just slightly, the edges of his hardened expression easing as though he already knows what this means for me—for us all.

I hold their gazes, one by one, my resolve hardening with each passing second. The risks are immense, but the cost of doing nothing is far greater. I’ll find the book. I’ll face whatever I have to. Because there’s no other way forward.

This isn’t the end. Not yet.