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)
“It is not over, but it will end in war.”
“We do not have time for these games,” Zander speaks up. “We are fighting an endless battle against the Nulling beasts that will spill out over our lands, two fates now walk this plane in flesh, and one has claimed my throne.”
At that, Solange and Kienen both gasp. I guess news hadn’t reached the other side yet.
“And instead of uniting as one to face this great threat to all our people, there is a small group of casters sitting in a room on their warded little island, grasping for more power and wasting our precious time.” Fury oozes from each word. “There is only one end to this. Kill the Prime and anyone who supports her.”
I can’t help my sharp inhale. This isn’t the Zander I just spent an intimate morning with. This is a cold, calculating king who has lost too much.
Solange dips her head. “I agree, they must be stopped.”
Zander’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t trust her, and he’s looking for any hidden meaning within her words.
I study the line of quiet Shadows, hiding behind their menacing black veils, the black metal masks revealing nothing more than their eyes.
“I know that look.” Jarek watches me. “What scheme are you hatching?”
I bite my bottom lip in thought. One that Romy Watts would be proud of.
19
Atticus
“Sleeping on your feet. That takes talent.”
The heavily accented voice startles me awake. “I’m a talented individual,” I drawl, digging deep for the strength to grin. In truth, I simply can’t remain conscious anymore. I don’t know how long I’ve been hanging, but my body has grown numb. I’ll certainly collapse the moment I must rely on my legs.
A female in sweeping red robes stands before the cage, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, with golden skin and faded scripture written across her forehead—illegible to me. I can’t guess her age—other than to say not young and not old, and yet in her black eyes is an eerie sense of wisdom.
She nods to the guards, and they open the door to my cage.
“I have never heard an accent such as yours,” I say as she steps inside.
“Have you heard all the accents there are in the world?” Her hairless eyebrow arches.
“I’d like to think I’ve heard a lot of them.”
The smile she returns is smug. “Tell me, usurper king—”
“Atticus,” I correct her with a hint of annoyance in my voice. That title grows tiresome.
She nods once. “Atticus.” My name sounds harsh on her tongue. “Have you ever been to Kier?”
“No,” I admit. “I’ve never had the need.”
“Then I imagine there are many things you have not heard yet.” She rounds my dangling body until she’s hovering at my back.
I tense. Why is she here? What does she want from me? “How’s the gash from that fucking ingrate? I haven’t had a chance to look at—” My words cut off with a yell as sharp pain splices through my shoulder. “What are you doing?” I growl between gritted teeth, struggling to twist out of her reach. Because she’s definitely doing something.
“Stay still!” one of the guards barks.
“You heal well for someone who should be dead. And faster than I have ever seen anyone heal.”
“Have you ever been to Islor?” I ask, throwing her question from only moments ago back at her.
“I have not.”
“Then there are many things you haven’t seen yet either.”
She comes back around. A mysterious smile touches her shapely lips as her eyes crawl over my bare chest, studying me. “I have seen much of your realm and your people.” She drags a lengthy golden claw that caps her fingernail across the silver scar left behind from the arrow. And inhales. “Who repaired you?”
“A caster.” Technically two, but I don’t think she’s referring to Wendeline, who came in to finish whatever that silver-eyed one did to keep me alive. “Do you like my scar? A mercenary from Kier gave it to me.”
Her eyes close as she presses her palm against the scar, her lips moving with soundless words.
A warmth blooms inside me, swelling from my chest, into my limbs, easing some of the aches I’m plagued with. Is that … I watch with fascination as the script on her forehead glows ever so faintly.
She opens her eyes abruptly and pulls away, taking the pleasant feeling with her. “You must be thirsty.” With a snap of her fingers, a guard brings a copper bowl forward and hands it to her. She holds the bowl up to my nose, and the metallic tang touches my nostrils.
I turn away. “I prefer my blood warm and my source identifiable.” At least that’s how I did before this last Hudem.
“Very well.” She tosses the bowl aside, its contents splashing in the corner. “Thank you for seeing me, Atticus.” She glides smoothly out of the cage.