Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
He snorts.
“It’s the only thing we have a lot of,” I tease. “Books and my dresses. And I can tell you quite honestly that my dresses taste awful.”
He shoots me a sidelong glance. “This is a serious situation, Candra.”
“Oh, I know it is.” I sit on my knees, clasping my hands in my lap. “And since we’ve nothing to do with our time but think, let us think our way out of our current situation, shall we? Let’s start with the obvious. You have magic. Can you send your people a message of some kind through your magic?”
“I’ve tried.”
His admission startles me. I haven’t seen him casting spells or even approaching his books in the last several days. When was this? Is he keeping secrets from me?
Then I feel guilty all over again as I think of my knife. He’s not the only one keeping secrets. “You tried? In what way?”
“I attempted to contact my brother, Ivornath. He’s the king of Darkfell.”
“And he didn’t answer you?”
Nemeth turns his head toward me. “I’m not supposed to speak of Fellian magic to outsiders.”
“I’m not supposed to marry a Fellian,” I reply tartly. “Lucky for you and your knot, I’m a rule-breaker.”
That brings a smile to his face. “You always bring up my knot.”
“It’s my favorite part.”
He sits up halfway, propping himself up on one elbow, his wings folded behind him like a rumpled cloak. “Your favorite, eh?”
“I told you I was a lusty princess when we met.” I reach out and pat his knee. “Now quit distracting me with thoughts of your knot and tell me more about Fellian magic and the message you sent.”
“It’s a spell,” he says slowly, as if the words feel forbidden to even speak. His gaze lingers on mine. “I write out the missive and burn it in a candle upon the Gray God’s altar. One of the god’s sacred spirits takes it and delivers it to my brother, who must receive the message via a trained evoker. Every court in Darkfell has one. Several, actually. But when I send my messages, they go nowhere.”
“Go nowhere?” I ask.
“They are not received. Whatever evoker is there at court with my brother will not receive my messages.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” His mouth crooks into a half-smile. “No one knows of the lusty princess I’ve mated yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Then there’s no reason for them to ignore you?”
“None. That’s what worries me.” His expression grows more dire by the moment. “Either the evoker is sick—or dead—or my brother is choosing to ignore our plight. My plight.”
Right. Because no one knows we’re a team yet. “That doesn’t explain why no one would come from my people, either. There must be something going on that’s preventing both groups from bringing supplies to us. A problem with crossing the water, perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” Nemeth agrees, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Can you pray to the Gray God to answer you? To intercept?”
He shakes his head. “The Fellians are the children of the Gray God and he gave us his magic, but he will not interfere with mortal trifles.”
It doesn’t feel like a mortal trifle. It feels like a big deal for us to be forgotten by everyone. But I know what he means. Mortals lost the goodwill of the gods when we lost the ability to call them by their names. I’m surprised Fellians yet have magic. Stories say that humans had it once, but it was stolen from us when the gods abandoned our kind.
And yet…I do have magic, of a sort.
The secret of my knife gnaws at me. Do I confess it now? Do I yet keep it a secret and hope Nemeth never finds out my sister’s plans? It seems unfair given that he’s shared a Fellian secret with me. “I need to tell you something, Nemeth.”
He arches a brow at me. “Oh?”
I fuss with the folds of my gown. I’ve been sleeping in my clothes for days now, just in case someone would arrive with our supplies. “Humans don’t have magic. Not really. But we do have a few magic objects.”
He grunts. “Because you’ve stolen them from Fellian owners.”
I wince. He’s not wrong. Humans are the children of the Absent God, who made us from simple clay. It is the Fellians who are the children of magic, the offspring of the Gray God and his benevolent shadows. The only way we acquire magic is if it’s gifted to us, or we steal it. And since we’re sworn enemies with the Fellian people…it’s almost always stolen. I decide to avoid the sticky accusation part of things and go right for the meat of the topic. “I have an enchanted blade. It’s the one you stole from me, actually. It has magic.”
“I see.”
I can’t tell what he’s thinking from his neutral tone, so I continue on. Best to get it all out in the open quickly, like pulling a thorn from my foot. “She wanted me to be able to have some sort of connection to the outside world, so she gave it to me just before I came here. If you ask the knife a question, it can answer with a yes or a no.”