Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
He’s looking for an excuse to sever the Ybarisan’s head from his body.
But so far, Kienen has hidden his views behind a masterful poker face. He must know his life depends on every word that comes out of his mouth.
“Romeria should not have come to me like that.” Jarek’s molars clench. “Tainted or not, her Ybarisan blood was impossible to resist.”
“Because you have not built up an endurance outside,” Abarrane scolds.
“I have been busy inside the walls.”
Kienen’s head bobs back and forth between the two as they bicker. “But in here, right now, you have no desire at all.”
“I have desires.” Abarrane circles around the Ybarisan, one hand toying with a braid while the other plays with the dagger at her hip. “The desire to kill my enemies is still very strong.”
Kienen watches her for a moment, before deciding something—likely that she’s all noise, at least for now—and shifts his attention back to Jarek. “You lunged for Her Highness but sailed through the air as if thrown by an invisible hand. Was that—”
“We will ask the questions.” Zander leans over the map, his arms splayed. His favorite pose.
I avoid meeting Kienen’s curious gaze. He may have seen the way my eyes glowed like a caster’s, but there’s no way he could guess the truth. How long will we be able to hide it from him, though?
“Radomir!” Zander barks, losing patience. “There is an army of a thousand Islorian soldiers marching here to kill us, and we have much to discuss before they arrive.”
The sapling’s head snaps back from the view out the window, where the sun has climbed past the horizon, its morning rays casting purple and pink hues over the river. “I apologize. My thoughts are scattered.”
“That’s understandable.” I offer him a smile, still in awe of how such a hideous creature could morph into this handsome man.
Radomir dips his head in deference, though he still looks dazed as he returns to the table. He’s been subdued since the transformation, all traces of his previous arrogance gone.
“When did Queen Neilina seek you out?” Zander asks him.
“I cannot say, exactly. Decades ago. Twenty years. More than twenty.”
Zander looks to me, and I’m sure our thoughts match. More like twenty-five. As soon as Princess Romeria was born and King Barris had a daughter to barter. “And she wanted information on what?”
“Everything Islor. On the royal family, on its cities, on your allies, and those who would unseat the king if given the chance.”
And there it is. The answer of who within Islor has been working with Ybaris all this time, feeding them intel.
Zander frowns. “How did you gather all of this knowledge from your stronghold high in the mountains, avoiding the daylight?”
“Moving in shadows is easier than you might think, even for my kind. We have a lot of practice at it. It took time but there are many of us. We have forged alliances of our own, through both threats and promises.”
“Which was Lord Isembert of Norcaster?”
“A little of both.” If Radomir feels at all guilty for his decades-long treason against Islor’s crown, he doesn’t show it.
Zander studies the map. “And Neilina promised to reverse the saplings’ curse in exchange for this help.”
Radomir nods. “She said her daughter would marry the future king of Islor one day, and when that day came, Ybaris would cross the rift and claim the throne, and she would bring casters to free us.”
Zander folds his arms over his chest and paces. Another favorite position. “So, Neilina used the saplings to gather information and then sent her children across the rift for a wedding with wagons of poison.” His gaze lands on the Ybarisan warrior. “And you moved them up to the mountains at night from Cirilea, while camped outside the walls?”
Kienen looks to me, and I can practically hear his thoughts out loud. Haven’t you already filled him in?
Zander sees it too. “I want your version.”
“Call it a test,” Abarrane adds. “If you lie, we will know, and the outcome will not be pretty.”
Kienen falters. “We didn’t travel to Cirilea with it. We were here”—he points to a spot on the map, just outside Lyndel—“when Prince Tyree became concerned that some of our wagons would not make it south, so he negotiated with Prince Atticus that Lyndel send fresh ones to replace them. We left the ones in disrepair where they stood.”
“It was a ruse. The wagons were sturdy. We gathered them and brought them through the pass with the help of a dozen Ybarisans who remained behind,” Radomir confirms.
Zander’s eyebrows arch. “Atticus left Ybarisan soldiers behind without an Islorian escort?”
“He was unaware. They left camp one night on a scouting mission, by Prince Tyree’s orders,” Kienen confirms, but spears a glare toward Radomir as if annoyed by his honesty.
“And the Islorians did not notice twelve soldiers escape in the night?”