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)
“What about Abarrane?” She’s always been part of Zander’s inner circle.
“There is only one thing the Legion despises more than Ybarisans, and that is the casters of Mordain.” His head shakes. “She is loyal to me, but I fear she will have too many reservations about keeping a key caster alive.”
“You really think she’d kill me?”
“I think she’ll kill you when she discovers what you are. You are already so dangerous to Islor’s existence as it is. News of your blood’s potency will spread, stirring rebellion from the humans and panic from the elven. What we saw last night was merely a battle ahead of the coming war. But if the masses find out what you truly are, how dangerous you are not only to Islor but to Ybaris and Mordain …” His voice drifts.
Is Zander having reservations? Regrets? He spent the sail back to land brooding quietly, staring out in Cirilea’s direction. Does he wish, in those split seconds between Tyree’s proclamation and Atticus’s condemnation, that he had chosen a different path? That he had been the one to declare me an enemy?
Gesine stumbles a step and leans against the skiff’s bow for support. It creaks noisily in return.
“Are you going to be okay?” I shift closer in case I need to dive in to catch her.
She waves off my worries. “I just need rest.”
“There is no time for that. The trek to Eldred Wood is long. It’ll take us most of the day.” Zander sheds his cloak and ruined jacket, leaving him in only his black breeches and shirt, damp and clinging to his muscular frame. Beside him, Elisaf wrings the water from his tunic while his eyes comb the shadows.
“We won’t need to walk,” Gesine says between labored breaths. “There is a small village not five miles from here … Shearling. A human named Saul waits with horses at the mill south of the bridge.”
“Horses,” Zander echoes, and there is no mistaking the shock in his voice. “But you were intent on landing in Northmost.”
“I coordinated various routes for Romeria’s”—she falters on my name—“departure, including passage back to Seacadore, if our route north was impeded.”
“Escape routes.” Just like I used to map out when I was working for Korsakov.
“Yes, to account for a myriad of scenarios.” She offers a weak smile. “It took much planning. Many letters dispatched and coin purses lined. The things I’ve had to do to reach you …” Her voice drifts, sadness filling her features.
“Who helped you?” Zander demands.
“Wendeline, for one. But many others. Too many to name.”
“So while Queen Neilina and Princess Romeria were strategizing to murder my family and take Islor, you were scheming with my people to sweep in after and collect your key caster?”
“I did not know of Malachi’s plan for the key caster—”
“But you knew of Neilina’s plans, and you did not dispatch any letters or deliver any coin to stop that.”
She sighs. “I could not—”
“You chose not to!” His condemnation is clear. If he were sitting on his throne, an execution in the square would likely follow.
Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. We knew Gesine had been writing letters, marked with Mordain’s official scribe seal. At least she didn’t lie about it.
The Princess of Ybaris must survive at all costs, by Malachi’s will. That was the message Gesine sent to Margrethe. A proverbial nail in my coffin from this world, while Sofie was busy driving one into my chest from the other.
Tense silence stretches on, the rift of distrust between Zander and Gesine widening.
Finally, she clears her throat. “This inlet was not an ideal option, given its proximity to Cirilea, but I planned for it, anyway. It will take longer, but it will lead us to Bellcross just as well.”
“We’re going to Bellcross?” That name has been on many tongues lately, after Princess Romeria’s brother Tyree and his soldiers murdered a tributary.
“Yes. That is where Ianca waits, and we must—”
“No, we are meeting the Legion in Eldred Wood,” Zander counters evenly, cutting her off. The frazzled version from the open sea is gone, his calm, ice-cold demeanor having returned.
Gesine dips her head. “But after that, we will all head for—”
“I will decide where we go once I speak with my Legion commander.” He looms over the sagging caster. “And before I do that, you will answer every question I ask of you about what you have been up to, about what Neilina knows, about the end to this curse, and you will do it truthfully.”
Back in Cirilea, Zander was reeling from the treachery and seemed intent on two distinct paths, with his and Elisaf’s having nothing to do with mine. Now, he is back to playing the domineering king, demanding people obey his will.
But he promised they would get us to the mountains where Gesine could train me. Will he renege now that he’s had time to think? Now that he’s seen how powerful she is? What does he want, besides reclaiming his kingdom? He ridiculed Gesine and these seers for speaking in riddles, but is Zander holding out hope that there is truth to this prophecy? That he could rid Islor of this blood curse that has plagued the lands for two thousand years?