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)
The enemy hacks and claws at the stone structures with reckless abandon, oblivious to the first wave of cavalry that charges in.
All is unfolding as planned. There is nothing more I can do from up here.
Kazimir and I dash down the stairs, aiming for our horses.
King Cheral is waiting, Satoria at his side. “Goodbye, wife.” He kisses her forehead in a peculiar—almost fatherly—show of affection, but given all she’s told me, I’m not surprised. Climbing into his saddle, he leans down to offer me his gauntlet-sheathed hand. “I still haven’t decided if I should execute you.”
I accept his gesture with a grin. “We can discuss it more later.”
His eyes sparkle. “Until then.” With a kick of his heels, he rushes past the wall.
Satoria runs to me as I reach my horse. “Did the queen take you to her last night?”
I don’t have to ask who she means. “Yes. Thank you for whatever it was you said to Romeria. And for everything else.” On impulse, I lean forward and kiss her goodbye. “Work on your assassin skills for me.”
Tears brim in her eyes as she nods.
And then I’m in my saddle and racing ahead.
84
Annika
Tyree sits on the stone ledge next to Neilina as her flesh knits itself back together, the token blade from Malachi and that gaudy rack of golden antlers in his grip, his face full of shock.
After that initial gasp of air, she demanded with a raspy, barely coherent voice that he “take them out” and then collapsed, unconscious.
There was only one thing she could mean.
With gritted teeth, Tyree wrenched Aoife’s token from her chest, the points leaving deep gouges.
“I would like to know who put that blade there,” I whisper from the opposite corner of the cave where I sit on a boulder. And thank them, I add in my head. According to Tyree, she wore the antlers like a necklace daily. Regardless, my feelings for her son do not change the reality that I have often wished for her death, and do not believe for one moment that my heart will soften for her as it did for him.
“I am much more interested in how the queen of a distant land ended up here.” Destry studies the replica nymphaeum stone beside her with intensity. She’s been quiet since they arrived, and on edge.
We all are.
“Maybe the wyvern carried her here.” But all the way from Ybaris?
“Who told it to do that?”
The fable Tyree shared earlier stirs in my mind. “Vin’nyla?” Who else could command one of these things but a fate? There’s certainly no Azyr nearby to guide the beasts.
“And why would one of your gods do that?”
“Because Neilina has a collection of elementals to summon them for her.” And we all know she isn’t above breaking her own rules. “Maybe the wyvern dropped her body in its lair and those little goblins made that nest for her.”
“But why?” she pushes, not challenging my claim about the creatures that vanished.
I shrug.
Desty is silent as she traces the swirling lines on the stone with her fingertip.
“That looks like the writing on your forehead.”
“It is the script of the light.”
“We have one of these stones in Cirilea. It has something to do with the nymphs but I have no idea what.”
She hesitates. “The balance here is off.”
“I have no idea what you mean by that.”
“I sense both light and shadow in this cave. I cannot find the source of the light, and the shadow grows stronger by the minute.” Her black gaze veers to the corner where Queen Neilina and Tyree are as she says this.
“Your eyes haven’t gone back to normal. You know that, right?”
“I have reached for the light too much lately. They will remain like this for some time.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I know nothing about this conjurer except that she has helped us immensely, at her own peril.
She worries her lips over her answer. “I did not ask to be made this way. I did not ask for any of it.”
A dainty hand appears then, pawing at the ledge, and Queen Neilina sits up. Even from where I sit, I can see that the wounds in her chest and neck are closed. That is unheard of—to heal so quickly and from such devastating injuries without the aid of a caster.
“Mother.” Tyree bows his head in deference to his queen.
“Fates, Romeria looks exactly like her,” I whisper. Neilina’s blue eyes are glacial, though, as they rake over her surroundings, barely acknowledging me. Whatever happened to her, it must have been awful.
“Where am I?”
“In a mountain in Udrel,” Tyree says, drawing her gaze to him.
Her lashes flutter as she blinks, as if noticing her son there for the first time. “Prince Tyree of Ybaris.” It’s not a question, but it is an odd way to address your son. Then again, he did say people call her cold and distant.