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)
For all that Gesine laid before me, I cannot be sure of any path forward.
And what if the day comes when it is not me but Romeria making the impossible decision? Would she be willing to sacrifice me to see peace restored? Would her gentle and welcoming heart allow her to do that? To put Islor ahead of me? Of us?
I fear I already know that answer.
This is why I should keep my distance and allow her feelings to harden toward me. I know where her thoughts were going just now. Maybe it’s best they remain there to rot until hatred breeds.
The crunch of an apple beneath a boot warns me of Abarrane’s approach, though I sensed her there, lurking in the shadows. “What have you learned?”
“That she’s too emotional.”
I roll my eyes. “About Freywich.”
“It is as you suspected. Many keepers have cellars full of food and wine and stables full of hungry servants.”
A vast expanse of trees stretches into the darkness. Lord Danthrin has spent years nurturing the idea of a simple, struggling domain. Given Freywich’s location off the king’s road, it is removed from common travel and therefore not visited. No one would have suspected he’s been cultivating far more than lies with the lands given to him by my father, being this close to Cirilea.
“She’s right. All I’ve done so far is talk,” I murmur, more to myself. Talk and strategize and arm myself with information about the atrocities Islorians commit every day.
Talk, but no action.
“What do you know of this Romeria?” Abarrane asks quietly to avoid nearby ears. Though, they wouldn’t be foolish enough to eavesdrop on their king and commander.
“She was a jewel thief.” One with a relentless—and endearing—need to help those less fortunate.
Abarrane snorts. “A thief who cannot wield a weapon?”
Who cannot even seem to figure out how to affix one to her hip. “That is why you will train her how to fight.”
“Not this again.”
“Yes, Commander. This again. She must be able to stand up for herself in every way, in every situation.”
“So she can be more dangerous to us than she already is?”
“As long as we can keep her reined in, she will be an asset to us.”
“And what of after? Once you are back on your throne?” Abarrane doesn’t waver in that goal, does not doubt the outcome. Her resolve is admirable.
But I know what she’s asking. It’s the exact thing Romeria just implied. “I will make the right choice for the future of Islor.” I study the scattered fruit on the ground and the full basket nearby. It’s time I spoke in the only language these keepers seem to understand.
“Wake the Legion.”
12
Romeria
The stables are bustling when Gesine and I emerge in the morning, the legionaries affixing animal skins to their saddles for the next leg of our journey. Zander hovers near the orchard gate with Abarrane and Elisaf, a rolled parchment in his grasp. Whatever they’re discussing, Zander’s glower is dark, his lips moving fast and furious.
My heart pangs with sorrow at the sight of him. Did he sleep last night? The floor in our hall is full of creaks, and yet, as I lay in bed for hours, struggling to stifle my sobs, I didn’t hear a single sound.
As if sensing me, Zander turns and meets my gaze, revealing nothing in his. I would do anything for a pair of heavy sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes.
He looks away, his conversation continuing, as if I’m nothing more than a minor distraction.
Gesine is wrong. If he felt any sadness for me, he is over it.
“We need to leave,” I whisper, the second time I’ve said those words to her this morning.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “You know why we can’t.”
Because we wouldn’t survive long out there, just the two of us. And because Zander won’t ever allow us out of his sight, not when he has a powerful elemental and a key caster at his disposal to win back his throne.
But mostly because of this stupid prophecy Gesine clings to, that Margrethe gave her life for.
Gesine may not be willing to run, but I am. I decided last night, staring at the velvet canopy of the bed, absorbing the cold shock of my encounter with Zander. Now that I know where he stands, and what’s likely in store for me once he’s back on his throne in Cirilea, I have no other choice.
One day, after I’ve learned what I can from Gesine, I will run where no one will ever find me.
Where no one can use me ever again.
I scan the stables for Eden. She wasn’t in her chair when I returned last night. It was a relief at the time, not wanting her to see my tears. But the servant who brought plates of food and water for cleaning up this morning seemed cagey when I asked of Eden’s whereabouts.