Rising Flames | Throne of Glass

11

He made shock flash across his face as Clarisse screeched, 'He promised. He promised!'

Sam gave a mocking smile. 'He did. And you received your fair share,' he said, jerking his chin to the bottom the paper where a tiny, pathetic number sat. 'No getting greedy, now.'

Tern, Mullin and Harding were all frozen.

'Well,' Sam said, a wicked smile toying across his lips as his fingers danced on the hilt of his sword, 'since I am apparent owner of this Guild, piss off. I don't want to see you lot strutting round the Guild ever again.' Perhaps Celaena was really rubbing off him from the way these actions and words came to him.

Clarisse let out a cry of outrage and despair, and she fled from the room, wailing. Sam grabbed Lysandra's elbow as she hurried past, drawing her close to him.

Mullin finally found his voice. 'You- you can't do that!' he cried in fear and outrage.

'I can, and I will. How does it sound - Sam Cortland, King of the Assassins?' His eyes hardened. 'Don't make me say it again.'

'But this is our home,' Tern mumbled.

Pity flashed through him momentarily - but he had to stay hostile. 'I don't give a damn. You willingly treated me and Celaena like shit. Why shouldn't I return the favour? And don't think that I don't know you played a role in setting Celaena up. You willingly sold her to Farran - and to the King. So get out.' Lysandra tensed beside him.

'Please.'

The desperation in his voice made Sam pause. 'I suppose,' he drawled, 'I could sell you the house, the land and the Guild.'

'Bullshit,' Mullin spat.

But Harding stepped forwards. 'How much would that be?' he asked the Master. The man seemed to shrink away at their sudden attention on him. But he rifled through the documents, and pronounced the sum.

A ridiculous, absurd amount.

That number was enough to provide himself and Celaena and Lysandra and Enya with enough money for travel - and even set up a new establishment or buy a new property elsewhere. The possibilities were endless. He felt a smile spread across his face.

Tern's face was red - turning more violet by the minute. 'Bullshit,' Mullin said again.

Harding whirled on his senior. 'Shut the hell up.' He spoke suddenly - Harding, usually quiet and cold - tripping over his words in haste. 'What if we all - us three and the others - what if we all paid together?'

'Money's money. I don't care where it comes from.' Sam turned to the Master. 'Is it possible to have the papers drawn up in a few hours?'

'Three hours should be adequate.'

'Well, then.' Sam stuffed a hand into a pocket, the other clenching Lysandra's arm. 'That's settled. In these three hours, this place is still mine. I don't want to be bothered by any of you or your dogs from this minute onwards. If I do see you any time after this, I won't hesitate to kill you. I will never forget what you did,' he snarled. 'Get out. Now.'

And that was it. The three men shuffled away, heads down.

Sam finally looked at Lysandra and the Master. 'I'm sorry about all that.'