Someone was standing at the foot of her bed.
Celaena knew this long before she opened her eyes, and she eased her hand beneath her pillow, pulling out the makeshift knife she’d crafted of pins, string, and soap.
“That’s unnecessary,” a woman said, and Celaena sat upright at the sound of Elena’s voice. “And would be wholly ineffective.”
Her blood went cold at the sight of the shimmering specter of the first Queen of Rieo. Though Elena looked fully formed, the edges of her body gleamed as though made from starlight. Her long, silver hair flowed around her beautiful face, and she smiled as Celaena set down her miserably pathetic knife. “Hello, child,” the queen said.
“What do you want?” Celaena demanded, but kept her voice down. Was she dreaming, or could the guards hear her? She tensed,
