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)
“That is not how prophecy works—”
“But if it did?”
Her brow furrows, as if to consider her answer to that question.
“Your Highness, a banner flies,” Loth calls out, his sights on the distance.
“We will continue this conversation later.” I stroll toward the exit. Romeria moves to join me, but I hold up my hand to stop her. “I am stronger, but that does not mean I trust myself around you.” I’ve crossed this threshold and battled the curse’s craving a handful of times today and, each time, the need’s assault grew weaker. Still … “Give me a moment.”
She nods and waits as I step out. The Ybarisans watch from a safe distance, no doubt equal parts curious and wary about the exiled king whose knees buckle every time he steps outside the secret city. Earlier, when Radomir drew his cloak and stepped out—and crumbled under the weight of the curse, turning him back into his sapling form—they wore masks of horror, but followed Kienen’s lead, remaining in place.
This time, the need is nothing more than a nuisance—thankfully—and it vanishes in seconds.
Far ahead in the evening dusk, four silhouettes canter forward on horseback. They’re nothing but tiny specks that even my eyes can’t decipher, the navy blue and white Lyndel banner waving high above them. But Telor will be among them. He’s never been one to send a messenger to negotiate a surrender or launch a battle. He has too much pride for that. “My horse.”
I expect Abarrane to answer the call, but it’s Romeria who rides out, leading my black stallion by its reins next to her chocolate-brown one. Whatever doubts the Ybarisans have of this alliance with Islor, they seem to stand taller at the sight of her. The truth about King Barris’s assassination has penetrated the ranks and, as Kienen expected, their anger is potent. No one has opposed following Ybaris’s heir to the throne.
Yet, that little voice screams.
But each day forward will only bring more danger, more dark truths. Too many bad actors with access, too many easy mistakes to be had.
If I were to lose her, I think I might burn this entire realm.
I climb into my saddle. “It’s amazing how proficient a rider you’ve become.” I still remember that first day, riding through the streets of Cirilea with her ramrod back and her obscenely poofy dress.
“Jarek’s a good teacher.” Her beautiful, clear blue eyes squint as she tries to make out the figures ahead. “Do you think Telor’s already sent a message to Atticus about us being here?”
“Yes, but it won’t get there before the taillok does.” Gesine confirmed the bird would arrive in Cirilea by sunrise, its wings capable of speed like nothing we’ve ever seen before. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I nod toward the enemy line.
“What do you mean? I love meeting people who want me dead,” she mutters wryly. But the humor slips as she adds, “At least now they have a good reason. I can’t blame Princess Romeria for what I’ve done.”
I want to collect her face in my palms, kiss her worries away. But now is not the time for that. Maybe my words will offer her some comfort. “You have been a tool all along, for the fates, for prophecy, for politics. The blame does not sit on your shoulders, and I will quiet anyone who suggests otherwise.”
“I don’t know if I believe that, but thank you for saying it.”
Others ride up to our flanks then, our commanders taking their rightful places by our sides, Elisaf and Kienen next to them. Gesine holds tight to Zorya on their horse, and Radomir hides within his deep cowl.
“On your lead, Your Highness.” Abarrane’s horse prances in anticipation.
We begin forward in two lines.
I ignite each bonfire as we pass it, creating a blazing path. If nothing else, it should serve as a warning to anyone with nefarious ideas. Lord Telor, I do not worry about. He is too principled.
Abarrane’s glance over her shoulder at the soldiers behind us says she’s thinking the same thing. “What parlor tricks should we expect from you, Ybarisan?” she asks Kienen. “What do you hide in your little pocket?”
“A big blade, Islorian,” Kienen retorts.
“I’m sure it won’t impress me.”
I’ve seen the way Abarrane prowls around him, and I know my commander well. She’s enjoying baiting him more than usual, which usually means she has plans to have him on his back to perform for her before too long. That won’t keep her from putting a blade through him after, though.
“Twenty gold coins, I’ll wager,” Elisaf whispers, and I stifle the urge to laugh. His thoughts are along the same as mine.
“What is your affinity to, Kienen?” Romeria asks.
His eyebrow arches. It’s a subtle tell, but one all the same. Would Princess Romeria know Kienen well enough to have that answer already?