Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“And an entire audience of spectators watched as you slipped a necklace off a woman’s neck.”
Her meaning sinks in. “Are you suggesting I try to sneak out of here?”
“Oh no, I would not dare go against the king’s wishes by suggesting you do anything of the sort.” She pauses. “But if anyone could manage to leave without notice, I imagine it would be you. And if you could not manage it, if the sentries caught you, I assume the punishment doled out by His Highness would be minimal.”
Zander would be pissed, but it’s not like I can’t handle that. I’m schooled in angry Zander. He once ordered my execution, after all.
Now that Gesine has planted that seed, my mind whirls. Is it possible? Could I use these deceptive powers she insists I have, that I’m not entirely sold on, to walk out right under their noses? No, not walk out. Norcaster is too far. Ride out. Me and a thousand-pound horse, like a ghost.
Or a chameleon, blending into its surroundings.
Maybe Korsakov’s pet name for me was more accurate than he could ever have imagined.
“Completely off topic, but I’ve been meaning to give you this.” Gesine fishes into her cloak and pulls out the small burgundy satchel that keeps the dried mushrooms. “I think you can decide when you need them going forward.”
Because I will need to mask the scent of my Ybarisan blood if I go into Norcaster.
She offers a second satchel as well. I know the feel of coins in my palm.
“I should retire to the wagon now. I bid you good night—”
“Wait! Seriously, Gesine …” I falter over my question, lowering to a whisper. “You don’t think it’s too dangerous for me to go there alone? I mean, I can’t even make it rain when it’s already raining.” How am I to protect myself?
She pauses as if to consider my question. “I think every choice you have had to make since the day your father went through the change has led you into danger. But they have also been the right ones, or at least the ones that guided you here, to this moment. And every decision you make going forward will be fraught with peril. But you will not thrive waiting for others to make your choices for you.”
She smiles. “Also, your affinities, caster or elven, are only part of what makes you so special, but when you truly need them, they do not seem to fail you. Good night.” Her gaze flitters around us, and then she whispers, “And good luck.”
My pulse races as the caster vanishes into the forest-green wagon, pulling the door closed to remove herself from all culpability. She’s right. Zander would threaten Abarrane’s blade on her neck for even suggesting I sneak out.
What will he do to me if I succeed?
Frankly, I’m too angry at him for treating me like an idiot, sending me off to my tent in heady anticipation of a night with him when his plans included something vastly different. Beyond that he’s put himself in danger by going without me, he didn’t even give me a chance to go in and see what I could learn about my blood. It’s as if he doesn’t trust my abilities.
I’m the one who tracked down Gesine!
The tent Jarek and Eden tucked into sits quietly, its door flap secured. If I’m going to attempt anything, it has to be now.
A glow catches my attention. It’s Pan—or rather, Pan’s shining mark—as he scurries across the camp, his arms hugging his body against the cold.
I move toward him, hissing his name.
“Romy! Hey! I was wondering—”
I grab hold of his scrawny arm and yank him into my tent.
“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” His eyes widen with panic.
“No. But I don’t have much time, so I need you to shut up, listen, and answer my questions concisely, okay?”
“What does that word mean—”
“Shortest answer possible. Got it?”
He opens his mouth, but then firmly clamps it shut and nods.
“How did you get the poison? Was that story about the peddler giving it to you to repel immortals the truth?”
He falters.
“Pan.” I glare at him, running out of patience, an invisible clock ticking in my ear.
“I got it from a friend of a friend.”
I wait a beat. “Okay, I need a little more info than that. Who offered it to you? Why? Where were you?”
He swallows hard. “So, I was out back of the smithy’s shop. It was two days after my ma died, and Oswald made me chop wood all day until my hands were covered in blisters. Merita, one of the ladies from the bakery down the street, came by with some bread. She was a good friend of my ma’s, and she knew Oswald probably wouldn’t feed me. We got to talkin’ about how horrible he was and all the things he’d done to my family and me over the years, and how he shouldn’t be able to have any more tributaries, but no one would stop him. So then Merita said I should stop him, that my ma would be proud of me for doin’ it. So I said, ‘How?’ And she told me about a guy named Colgan at the butcher and a poison he could give me.” He shrugs. “I thought about it for a few days and then thought about my sister and my ma, and decided, yeah, Oswald needs to be stopped. So I went in and told this Colgan guy that Merita sent me, and he pulled out a small vial and told me to open my mouth.”