Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“And I do not believe you think at all sometimes.” He mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch. “A noblewoman from Cornwall?”
“What? It’s not like anyone here would know her.” I smile. “They call her the people’s princess.”
“Is that who you’re pretending to be now?”
My smile sours. “I did what I thought was right. I don’t want more people to die because of what Princess Romeria did.”
“Many people will die for what she did. Innocent people. You need to accept that and not risk yourself unnecessarily for one when you can save so many.”
“Gee, thanks for the pep talk,” I snap.
“I am trying to keep you alive.”
“Oh, I know. So you can use me. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” I turn in the saddle to meet his gaze. “By the way, what the hell was that earlier, back in the wall?”
His jaw tenses. “A moment of weakness. It will not happen again.”
“Good.”
He steers our horse forward. We say no more as we move through the square at a steady clip, Pan paired with Abarrane, while Elisaf and Jarek ride solo.
As promised, the guards wave us through without question.
“Jarek, get Loth and meet us at the bridge.” Abarrane’s eyes narrow on the horizon where the sun has dipped. “And make haste. I do not care how powerful that witch is. These hills are not safe for a wagon after dark.”
Jarek takes off to the right, his horse galloping.
“Does no one heed my commands anymore?” Zander roars into the emptiness, turning our horse three hundred and sixty degrees to survey the area around the covered bridge that traverses a narrow river. Lanterns burn on either side of it, tiny beacons to mark the path in the dark.
“Perhaps something happened with the seer,” Elisaf suggests. “Or Zorya may have sensed a threat and decided to keep going. It is a solid hour’s ride by horse. Longer with a wagon.”
“Or she was arrogant enough to assume she could handle a few raiders.”
“I will ride ahead and find them,” Abarrane declares. “They couldn’t have gotten far.”
“And divide us more? No. We will wait here until Jarek and Loth arrive with the horses. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“Your Highness,” comes her curt response, laced with disagreement, though she doesn’t voice it. It’s followed by a hiss of, “Stop squirming.”
“I don’t ride horses much, my lady—”
“Commander!”
“I’m sorry, Commander.” Pan pauses. “Hey, why’d you call him Your Highness?”
“Because he is the king of Islor, you imbecile.”
I watch Pan’s mouth gape in the lantern light as he stares at Zander. “If that’s the king, why is he—”
“No more questions,” she snaps, turning to Zander. “I do not think we need to worry about this one having ingested the poison. He is too stupid to be cunning. Allow me to release him.”
“He cannot go back to Bellcross, and he would not last an hour in these hills.”
“Precisely.”
Zander sighs heavily.
I dismiss their bickering, my attention drifting into the darkness. We took a different route here to avoid Bellcross’s notice, but I know basically what the landscape looks like—hills and forests and farm fields and tiny villages with high walls for protection.
An orange glow radiates in the darkness, growing by the second.
“What is that? Over there.” I point toward it.
Zander follows my direction. And curses. “Come.” He sets our horse charging toward it.
“Fates,” Elisaf whispers.
The moment we crest the ridge and spot the attack in the shallow valley below, it’s clear Gesine and the others are in trouble. Their wagon is surrounded by men closing in from all sides, held back by Zorya’s skilled sword and Gesine’s gusts of wind that send them flying backward like scattering bowling pins. Nearby, a great oak tree blazes, the beacon that drew us in.
“I count two dozen. Their horses are down. They cannot get away.” Elisaf draws his sword, and without waiting for Zander’s order, charges down the hill and into the violent fray.
My heart pounds in my ears, watching my loyal guard rush into battle alone against twenty-four armed men. “Help him!” My voice cracks with desperation.
“Get off,” Abarrane demands.
Pan scrambles down, tumbling in the process, but he’s on his lithe feet again quickly.
“You cannot bring her into battle.” With that, she’s gone, her sword held high.
“She’s right, Zander. Let me off. We’ll be fine here.”
A cry of pain rings in the air. Zorya crumples to her knees, an arrow protruding from her rib cage.
Zander curses, and with impossibly quick movements, is out of his saddle and pulling me down by the waist. “It is dark, and they are all focused. You two, hide here.” He points to a crop of boulders. “You have your dagger.”
I pat my hip. “Go!”
He hesitates, a frantic look in his eyes. For a few seconds, I think he’s going to kiss me, and I can’t breathe with the anticipation. But then he pulls away, leaps onto his horse, and gallops off.