Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“And when are you doing that?” Cat snaps.
“If you weren’t here, it would be done already,” I retort in the same tone she’s giving. No doubt the majority of the Assembly will condemn me as a traitor for this, and maybe they’ll be right. “But you are here. You do matter.”
Maren shifts in her seat beside me, and though I refuse to slip my hand toward my daggers, Ridoc doesn’t hesitate, folding his arms to give him quick access to the sheath along his shoulder.
“And how long are you giving us?” Bragen asks me, tilting his chin and exposing the vertical silver scars down his neck that disappear into his collar.
Every gaze shifts in my direction.
“I won’t lie to Xaden. The moment he’s home, I’ll have to tell him,” I admit. Multiple curses ripple through the fliers. “But I’ll also tell him that I think we should hold off as long as possible to give you a chance to decide if you still want to stay, knowing you won’t be able to channel.”
“And you honestly think he’ll listen to you.” Cat’s hands curl at her sides.
“The good, the bad, the unforgivable.” That’s what he said to me when he put my safety above the best interest of the movement. And he may want the wards up because I’m here and he isn’t, but he also has a province to think of.
“No.” I shake my head slowly. “I think he’ll act in the best interest of Tyrrendor”—I leave myself out of the equation—“and want them up as soon as possible, but I can still try.”
“We’re no good to our people if we can’t channel,” Maren says, looking past Aaric to the window and drumming her fingers on the table.
“Yeah, well you’re no good to them if you’re dead, either,” Imogen counters, keeping an eye on Cat. “And by not raising those wards right now, we’re exposing all of Aretia—the riots, the drifts—hell, all of Tyrrendor beyond Navarre’s wards to danger that’s no longer necessary. So you’d better decide if you’re willing to stay, knowing that it can happen at any moment, or if you’re better off taking shelter in Cordyn, where you’ll have power and dark wielders.”
I don’t envy them the choice, but at least we gave it to them.
“And if you stay, we won’t leave you powerless.” I reach under the table and retrieve my pack, then set the black leather bag on the table and unbutton the top. “Turns out alloy isn’t the only thing we can imbue.” I take out the six conduits Felix gave me yesterday after I trusted him with the truth, each containing an arrowhead like the ones I’ve been imbuing for weeks.
“What’s in that?” Bragen asks, two lines etched between his brows.
“The kind of ore we don’t use to make the alloy. It’s not quite as rare as Talladium but it’s about ten times as explosive. Trust me, I’ve seen this stuff blow sky-high raw, let alone imbued.” I glance at Sloane, who slowly smiles before she responds.
“Maorsite.”
I’m suspended again over that sunburned field, the death wave a heartbeat from overtaking me once the Sage releases me from his hold, and he will. He does it every time.
I recognize the scenario for what it is now—a recurring nightmare—and yet I’m still held powerless, still too slow to reach Tairn, still can’t force my consciousness to snap me awake.
“I grow weary of this. Now wield,” the Sage whispers, his robes purple tonight. “Rip free. Show me the power you used to slay our forces above the trading post. Prove me right that you are a weapon worth watching, worth retrieving.” His hand hovers over mine but doesn’t touch me. “The one who watched thinks you’ll never yield, that we should kill you before you grow into your full abilities.”
My stomach turns, my mouth watering with nausea as the bony hand drifts upward, pausing at my neck.
“Usually, jealousy sways the tongue of young wielders.” He drags a single, long fingernail down my throat, exposing an expanse of tan arm under his robes, and I twitch, fear accelerating my heartbeat.
I force my mouth to open, but no sound comes out. Touching me is new. Touching me is terrifying.
“The rest turn for the power,” he whispers, coming so close I can smell a hint of something sweet on his breath. “But you will turn for something much more dangerous, much more volatile.” He wraps his hand around my throat loosely.
I manage to shake my head in denial.
“You will.” His dark, eyelash-less eyes narrow, and the jagged fingernails slice into my skin with an all-too-real bite of pain. “You’ll tear down the wards yourself when the time comes.”
The temperature plummets, and my next exhale is visible in the frozen air. I blink and snow covers the ground. The only warmth is a quickly cooling trickle along my neck.