“If they let you out,” Kaltain said, both of them staring into the blackness of their prisons, “make sure that they're punished someday. Every last one of them.”
Celaena listened to her own breathing, felt Chaol's blood under her nails, and the blood of all those men she'd hacked down, and the coldness of Nehemia's room, where all that gore had soaked the bed.
“They will be,” Celaena swore to the darkness.
She had nothing left to give, except that.”