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 has been some time since I’ve seen you covered in beast blood, Your Highness.” Lord Rengard clasps hands with Zander the same way he did when they met the morning he delivered supplies for our long journey north to Stonekeep. It’s as if a vast army of thousands of men isn’t standing nearby, awaiting orders.
“You answered my call, dear friend.”
“We rode as hard as we could. I am sorry it was not hard enough.”
“Do not fear, you will have your opportunity to defend Islor before long.”
Lord Rengard studies Zander’s face, a mixture of wonder and confusion there. “The last we spoke, you were chasing prophecy into Venhorn. It seems you found it.”
Zander smirks. “So it would seem.”
“It also seems you left some important details out of your letter.” He regards Caindra.
“It was far too much to include, but all will be explained in due time.”
Lord Rengard’s interest swings to me. It’s a moment before he dips his head in greeting. “Princess Romeria.”
“Queen Romeria,” Zander corrects. “Of Ybaris and Ulysede.”
His eyebrows arch. “In due time, indeed.”
With that greeting finished, Zander turns his attention to the other half. “The eastern army, sent here by my brother.” He has adopted an imposing voice. “Who leads you now, for I know it is not General Adley.”
Abarrane chuckles. It was her blade that severed Lord Adley’s son’s head from his body, after all.
“I am Amos. I lead these men,” a male announces. He has no feather plume or stately armor, nothing to suggest his high rank. He looks too young to command an army, though I know looks can be deceiving in his kind. Still, he puffs out his chest.
“Your Highness,” Abarrane hisses, chiding the officer much like Boaz once did to me. “You are in the presence of Islor’s true king.”
Zander pats the air to rein in her temper. “And who are you to Lord Adley for him to name you general of Kettling’s army?”
Amos pauses on his answer, as if deciding how much truth he has to offer. “I am no one to Lord Adley. I’ve never spoken to him. He did not name me … Your Highness,” he falters, glancing at Abarrane. “The king did.”
“The king. As in my brother,” Zander says evenly. “Explain.”
“His Highness left the city walls to give us our orders to march here at once. I was not in command at the time. I was not even second-in-command. But he relieved my superiors and told me I was in charge.”
“Superiors. Plural.”
“Yes. Four of them, Your Highness.” Amos swallows. “He pulled them into a tent one by one, and I guess he did not like what they had to say.”
Zander twists his lips in thought. “So Adley is giving my brother as much issue as he gave me. Not surprising,” he murmurs, more to himself. “And what were his exact orders?”
“His Highness sent us here, to the rift, to battle against the enemy Ybarisan invaders.” Amos’s eyes land on me, his expression hard.
A deep rumble vibrates my core as Caindra snarls, her lips curling upward to reveal her fangs.
The young general’s face pales, earning Abarrane’s and Jarek’s snickers.
Zander ignores them, moving closer, seemingly unfazed that Amos sits on his horse and he is without his. “And did he give you any other orders, Amos? Anything regarding me or Her Highness?” He watches him closely.
Amos keeps his focus on Zander, as if afraid to look at me again for even a fleeting second. “He said we are to aid the rift army in the name of Islor, and that he would arrive soon to deal with our traitors.”
Zander inhales deeply. “Then you will be happy to know you can follow your orders without issue, General. How far behind is the infantry?”
“A half-day’s march, at most.”
“Rift Commander!” Zander reaches behind him and Gaellar trots forward, reins for our horses in hand.
We remount, and I follow Zander as he moves toward the wall of cavalry, my heart thumping in my throat. I wish I could erect an air shield in case of stray arrows. Surely, no one would attempt something as foolish as to shoot either of us.
Even battle weary and covered in blood, Zander sits regal atop his horse. “Soldiers of Islor! My name is Zander. Some of you know me as king, while others will refuse to address me as such. In these coming dark days, it does not matter which side you choose as long as you listen to me now, for time is not our ally.” His deep voice carries, riveting all eyes to him as he lets his stallion pace several steps to the right, then to the left. “Cirilea is in the throes of rebellion, and we do not know its fate. King Atticus left for the east to fight against Kier soldiers, welcomed into our lands by eastern lords who plotted to carve up Islor for themselves. They are the true traitors to Islor, and they will be judged for their treason.”