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)
“I do not know what these first dibs are, but I’m sure you are right. As usual.”
“Do not fill her head with that,” Elisaf teases, earning my gentle elbow.
With a soft chuckle, Zander’s eyes drift behind me. “What did you mark these mortals with, High Priestess? They all bear the crescent emblem, but some do not glow.”
I turn to find Gesine approaching.
“Yes, Your Highness. I thought it would be wise to ease my workload and lessen the risk that one of them may be tainted without their knowledge, so I improvised. Should any of them become contaminated in the future, the mark will illuminate.”
“Clever.”
“I thought so.” She smiles, though it’s tight. “Romeria, Ianca has asked to speak with you.”
“Me? Really?” She’s never seemed lucid enough to beckon me.
“To be more precise, to Other Romeria. You must ride in the wagon with us.” She heads back to it, assuming I’ll follow.
Eros is already saddled and standing beside Zander’s horse. I was looking forward to riding out of this fucking hellscape and into the scenic mountains next to him.
“Go. Switch out at our first rest. It is for the best, in case someone is foolish enough to aim an arrow.” Zander skims the milling spectators. Only two keepers attempted to stop their caged tributaries from leaving with us. Their spouses are likely preparing burial spots right now.
“As long as you don’t take off to find these saplings without me, or something else equally dumb.”
“I think I’ve learned my lesson in that regard.” Zander leans down to press his lips against mine. It’s a tender kiss, and yet desire for so much more flares in the pit of my stomach. “Later,” he whispers, capping it off with a peck against my nose before shifting away. “For now, see Ianca.”
I weave through the wagons already loaded with the women and children. Other mortals have found horses to ride. Some are on foot, shifting nervously as they steal glances around, as if expecting to be yanked from the line.
All offer me bows as I pass.
And all the legionaries seem intent on avoiding eye contact. They don’t acknowledge me. I want to think it’s because their attention is rapt on the external threat, but this gut feeling says otherwise. Is it by their own volition or inspired by Jarek’s bitterness?
“Your Highness!” Eden scurries up to me, her arms loaded with a heap of clothing. “Pan told me about last night.”
What did he tell her, I wonder, because Zander warned him to keep what he saw to himself. People will find out, but we don’t need to broadcast it, especially when I’m still far too inexperienced to defend myself.
“How are you, Eden?” I haven’t seen her since Jarek led her into that tent.
She lifts her arms. “I have things to mend to keep me busy.”
I hesitate. “And how was last night with Jarek?”
“Oh.” She flushes. “Fine.”
“Did you … did he …” How do I ask? Do I have a right to ask? Is it any of my business?
Eden clues in to my meaning and shakes her head. “No, we talked. That’s all.”
My eyebrows arch. “Talked?” Jarek talked? “About what? How to kill people?”
“No!” She giggles as if I’m joking. “About our childhoods, our parents.”
“Really?” Jarek had a willing and beautiful mortal in a tent and told tales of dear mommy and daddy? “I can’t see it.”
As if his ears were burning, the warrior and his white stallion trot toward us.
Eden smiles at him as he approaches. “I told you he can be sweet.”
His horse is heading straight for me, forcing me to step back or risk getting run over. I tell myself it’s coincidence, but Jarek’s half turn to check over his shoulder, to see us in his peripherals, tells me he knew what he was doing. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”
“Ready!” he hollers, his intense focus swinging to those still lingering in the square, watching the spectacle, probably holding their breaths until we’re gone. The legionaries mount their horses and shift to form a perimeter around our expansive caravan, their swords drawn and senses vigilant.
“I should go. Do you need anything?”
“No. See you at the first rest.”
Pan is already perched next to Bregen in the driver’s seat, and his new best friend Fearghal sits on a horse. I assume he’ll be riding alongside us for the journey.
“Is it true you got a seer and a caster in there?” Fearghal’s eyes are wide with genuine awe.
“Maybe.” I still don’t trust the Woodswich mortal—as much as I’m beginning to like him—but I smile like I do. If he is planning on trying something, it’s better if he drops his guard first.
Climbing back into the wagon, the air stale and pungent, feels like a punishment after being out of it for so long. But when I see Ianca, lying beneath the furs, the skin hanging off her face as if there’s nothing for it to cling to anymore, I understand why I’ve been summoned.