Throne of Glass: short stories and exclusives

Chaol and Nesryn's journey to Antica - WHSmith Exclusive

This short exclusive takes place before the events of Tower of Dawn.

. . .

Chaol Westfall has always defined himself by his unwavering loyalty, his strength, and his position as the Captain of the Guard. But all of that has changed since the glass castle shattered, since his men were slaughtered, since the King of Adarlan spared him from a killing blow but left his body broken. 

His only shot at recovery lies with the legendary healers of the Torre Cesme, in Antica—the stronghold of the southern continent's mighty empire. And with war looming over Dorian and Aelin back home, their only chance at survival might lie with Chaol and Nesryn convincing Antica's rulers to ally with them. 

Read on for an exclusive glimpse into Chaol and Nesryn's journey across the sea—the beginnings of an adventure that may doom or save those they love most . . .

. . .

After two weeks aboard the Wind Cutter, Chaol Westfall still wasn't entirely certain how Dorian and Aelin had arranged for him to stay inside the captain's lavish suite. He wouldn't have put it past either of them to have bribed or bullied the ship's captain into yielding the room—but from the polite, cool distance with which the captain treated him and Nesryn, Chaol suspected that the Queen of Terrasen had made a point of visiting the ship before departing for her own kingdom. 

A suspicion that was only solidified by the handprint burned into the desk across the room. 

Honestly, he would have preferred if they had just given him a small stateroom. Mostly for two reasons: the first, and perhaps worst, was that it only drew attention to him. To his condition. He still didn't know exactly, to call the absolute numbness and lack of movement below his waist. 

But he could only endure it thanks to the other reason for wanting smaller room: Nesryn. 

With the larger cabin, there was really no excuse for her to stay elsewhere. And though he knew damn well that she could take care of herself, the thought of Nesryn staying belowdecks in a ship filled with sea-hardened men made him grind his teeth. 

So, she stayed with him. Here. In this room. In this very bed in which he was now lying, watching the reflection of sunlight on water ripple over the white-painted ceiling. 

He hadn't touched her—not during the nights they'd shared this bed. Not during the daytime hours, either. Though he certainly woke up most mornings with the merciful proof that something still worked below his waist. 

Not that Nesryn showed any inclination to touch him, either. 

He wasn't sure whether that was a blessing. Whether he could stomach the sure humiliation of trying without use of his legs. Whether he could stomach reaching for her, only to have her recoil. 

He knew Nesryn didn't think less of him. She believed the injury was only temporary, and he knew that even if she had to bang on the front doors of the Torre Cesme, she'd get him help from its famed healers.

But he still noted the way she'd sometimes look at him—with that pain and pity. 

He wanted to scream whenever she did. Whenever any of the sailors on this ship had the same look as they wheeled him in that infernal chair onto the deck for some fresh air. Another reason why he'd been granted the captain's suite: it didn't require stairs to access the deck. 

He tried. Every day he tried to get just one of his toes to move. The empty silence that greeted him was more terrifying than those moments facing the king. Even the death he'd believed was coming had been less harrowing and unbearable than the utter silence of his body.