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)
Finally, we’re getting somewhere. Relieved, I fling my arms around him and hug him tight. Maybe it won’t come to an uprising. Maybe Ivornath will listen to reason.
And if he doesn’t, maybe I find a knife and make him listen.
I’m nervous the next day for the dinner. Nemeth doesn’t leave, so I can’t send a message to Riza. In a way, I’m glad. It feels less like I’m betraying him this way and more like we’re a team once more. We move around in his quarters, pointing out spots that might be good for staircases to be added, and he’s affectionate and sweet, and I feel like the biggest arse in all of Lios.
Has he been on my side all this time? Are Riza’s words lies? But Riza doesn’t have to lie to me. She’s been my family since I was born, even if we’re not related by blood. It fills me with turmoil, and I’m tempted to pick at Nemeth, to pry at him and try to get him to admit to his secrets.
But I’m tired. So tired. So I opt for an easy day instead. We eat together, and nap together, and talk about the future as if nothing has changed. We lie in bed and he puts a hand on my belly, feeling our child kick. And when the dinner hour nears, we prepare.
Nemeth wears his First House regalia, the metal embossed kilt and the finely engraved breastplate. He throws a bright red cloak over his wings, the material sliding down the center of his back like a waterfall. “For show,” is all he says when I arch a brow at him. “Ivornath likes a production.”
Ivornath sounds a bit too much like Lionel for my tastes, but I can put on a show, too. I dig through the case of jewelry that had been brought for me and deck my braid with strand after strand of pearls and gold. My ears are adorned with heavy pendulums of jewels, and I wear more at my throat. My dress is the simple Fellian garb, but I pick out the most ornate-looking shawl and wrap several necklaces around my wrists in makeshift bangles.
I look very rich and very garish, which I think is the point. Gazing into the mirror, I run my pinky along a pot of lip tint and rub it onto my mouth as Nemeth comes to stand behind me. “Well?” I ask, putting the finishing touches on the cosmetic. “Do I look fit to see a king?”
“You always look like a dream to me,” he confesses, taking my jewel-encrusted braid in his hand and rubbing his finger along it. “You grow more beautiful every day.”
“My beauty isn’t the question,” I tease, keeping my voice light even as my heart aches. “It’s whether or not I will impress your brother. He’s been so difficult to reach I worry we won’t have another chance.”
“I just hope he’s finally willing to be reasonable,” Nemeth says. He gently sets my braid back on my shoulder and gives me a thoughtful look. “I’ve thought about what you said. About leaving. If it comes to that, then we will go. But while there is food and safety here, we must give Ivornath a chance.”
“Safety?” I wipe my fingers on a towel. How can he speak of safety when there’s a plague here? I’m about to blurt that out when I remember I’m not supposed to know there’s a plague. Dragon shite. “Do you, ah, feel we’re safe here? Even though this place feels wrong to you?”
Nemeth shrugs, his wings shifting. “There is food and protection from the storms. For now, that counts as safety.”
I’m not so sure I agree. Not if there’s a plague striking Fellians down. “Well, I’m ready. Shall we go?”
“We should cover our mouths,” Nemeth says, handing me a length of cloth. “King’s orders.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“Ivornath can be eccentric.”
Oh come on. And he still won’t tell me there’s a plague? I give him a disappointed look but manage a smile anyhow. “Well. Shall we do my potion before we leave?”
A short time later, my pulse is singing thanks to the infusion of Nemeth’s blood, and I’m feeling good enough that despite the wooziness that a quick teleport imparts, I recover quickly. We appear at the front gates as we did before, but this time, instead of the guards directing me to the gardens, they cover their faces and step away, eyeing me with distaste.
“My, how odd,” I exclaim to my traitorous mate, even as I cling to his arm. “They act as if we’re sick.”
Nemeth stiffens, but then pulls me closer. “You’re safe, Candra. Rest assured that you’re safe.”
I bite my lip, hating that he’s giving me more non-answers.
The large, jewel-encrusted doors of the palace open on their own, letting us in. When we step inside, it’s dark and shadowy, the hall itself enormous and stretching up into the shadows as far as the eye can see. A few magical globes shed light, but I can’t see enough to make out much of my surroundings. It echoes in here, our footsteps loud with every step forward. There’s a set of stairs tucked along one wall, which I find curious, but we pass them quickly and head deeper inside. Shadowy shapes lurk at the edges of the darkness. I’m pretty sure they’re statues, but it’s unnerving anyhow. “Just so you know, I hate that it’s dark in here.”