Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“You are not kidding.”
“It’s not merth, at least, but unless you wish to sit up there for the next few hours until it heals and my affinity works again, I suggest you either test your skills or your strength.”
“Mine is not strong enough to carry us down.”
“Fine.” He juts his chin toward the trunk.
Destry shimmies and swings her lithe body from our branch, dropping to the next, and the next, landing on the forest floor with a soft thud.
“See? Easy.”
“For a peasant child who played in the dirt, perhaps,” I snap, my anxiety flaring.
Tyree gives me a mock shocked look. “Did the princess never climb a single tree in that royal garden?”
“Of course not. I did many things in those trees, but climbing them was not one.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the stories.” He grins. “Come on now, you can do it.”
With a huff, I crawl across the branch like an inchworm, hugging it so tight, the bark picks at the fabric of my clothes.
Below, Tyree purses his lips to keep from laughing.
“Shut up!”
“I haven’t said a word!” He sheaths his swords. “I was just thinking about ways you can use these moves on me later.”
A burst of laughter slips from me, my nerves frazzled. “You are an idiot, Tyree.”
“An idiot you adore.”
“We must keep moving.” Destry fishes through the Azyr’s pockets to find her pendant. Three more dangle from her fist, two with bigger stones than her own. I suppose they have real value to her kind.
“Come on, try, Annika. I will catch you either way. I promise.”
I know better than to question him. With a deep inhale, I copy Destry’s earlier moves, far wobblier on my landings. I make it all the way to the last branch before my feet scrape past and I plummet …
And land in Tyree’s arms.
“There you go,” he whispers, setting me down.
My hands roam his body, checking for any other wounds besides the one he showed me. There are several, but none look that deep.
He presses a kiss to my temple, then my nose, then a lingering one on my lips. “As much as I enjoy you groping me, Destry’s right, we need to go.” He leads me to our horse, helping me up. After collecting a few extra daggers from the fallen soldiers, he joins me, taking the reins.
I hug him tight as Destry leads us forward through the grim battlefield.
“So, Destrelia the deserter …,” Tyree calls out. “What’s the story to that?”
“I left before they could kill me. That is the story.” She picks up the pace, signaling the end of those questions.
60
Romeria
It’s early evening by the time we reach Ulysede. The silhouettes of the Cindrae’s bony heads fill the inner gate as we ride through the tunnel. Jarek and the others hang back, giving us—Zander, really—space. He has said almost nothing since he dragged Captain Aron past Northmost’s gates, shoving the terrified mortal to the ground in front of Xiaric and announcing, “A snack, but take your time.”
The young dragon didn’t need to be told twice.
The sailors of the Tempest were quick to set sail while their captain died, believing they could escape punishment. They made it past the last set of markers into the sea before the dragons descended, Valk igniting the ship with one pass before Caindra tore off the mast and punched a hole in the side with her claws. Those on deck died quickly. Any below are now sitting at the bottom of the sea.
We took the long way around the mountains, flying over Malachi’s army to check for signs of their leader and gauge how long we have before they reach Lyndel. It was discouraging to see them wading across the waist-deep river with ease, barely slowed by the lack of a bridge.
We made two passes, attacking with streams of damaging fire before the bolts began soaring and we chose to retreat.
Now we are here, for a moment’s respite, while we wait for the foreseeable doom. That’s what it is beginning to feel like, anyway. The days and nights bleed together, and one gain leads into a devastating setback around the next corner.
“I do not have it in me to tolerate Oredai,” Zander warns, his voice empty, the pain of losing his sister radiating from his every limb.
“I know.” All I have to offer is a sympathetic smile and a comforting stroke over his arm, my heart aching for him.
“Have the scribes left any new messages?” I ask the Cindrae leader when we reach him.
They have not, Your Highness.
That likely means no answer about a possible exorcism for Sofie yet. Which means there is no purpose for coming back here, except to give Zander—and all of us—a moment of quiet before chaos arrives.
Our group passes along the vacant streets to the castle without saying a word. This city once felt like hope, like a new beginning. But in reality, it has become just another distraction from the inevitable. What is the point of holding on to Ulysede if everything around it burns?