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)
“I love that after twenty years of my life was devoted to preparing me for the tower, they sent you in the space of three days. That must have been quite shocking for poor, pampered little Candromeda. So sad.” She mock-pouts, her lower lip thrusting out. “Did you stay inside like a good little Vestalin?”
I roll onto my back, but I can’t get up from the floor. Dimly, I remember her words. Poison? Someone poisoned me? I think of the milk I drank at dinner. How Ajaxi had paused when I skipped the wine. Was it him that poisoned me? I pant, trying to pull enough air into lungs that feel like ice. “Why…”
“Why what? Why is the curse upon us?” Meryliese leans over my dying body, studying me. “You did stay inside the tower, didn’t you? What was it, at least two years now? My, my.” She chuckles. “And all that time you didn’t wonder at the weather? It was Ivornath’s idea, you know. The Golden Moon Goddess brings a wealth of angry storms to show her displeasure, but the Fellians are safe underground. It was a simple thing to visit the tower the day of the solstice and step over the threshold and quickly leave again. With the curse activated, Lios and its fleet were doomed, and Ivornath and I were cozy here inside Darkfell.” Her face falls momentarily. “At least, until Ivornath went and died on me. But not to worry, his brother Ajaxi is an absolute cretin. He’s dancing to my tune already.”
I groan in pain, unable to believe what I’m hearing. It can’t be true. Meryliese deliberately sabotaged the tower before we ever stepped inside. She and Ivornath wanted Lios to fall, wanted all this misfortune. It’s horrible to think about.
“I hear you went and fell in love with your sweet Fellian. Is that true? Nemeth is not my type, you know. I like them more ruthless and vengeful.” She chuckles and leans down, pinching my cold cheek. “Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll keep him alive. I need at least one of First House if I’m to rule Darkfell.”
I want to bat her hand away, but I can’t move. My limbs are stiffening as if I’m a corpse. My vision has faded to a blur, and I’m only dimly aware of Meryliese straightening and turning.
“You should be downstairs entertaining your brother,” she says in a sharp voice. “Where’s Nemeth?”
“I knocked him out,” Ajaxi slurs in a wine-soaked voice. There’s a crash of dishes and the sound of furniture being shoved across a floor. “He’s…real real mad.”
“He can be mad,” Meryliese says impatiently. “It won’t make her less dead. With no one left, his loyalty will be to us.” She leans over me again, a blur of dark hair and green eyes. She slaps my cheek, and I don’t even feel it. “This one is taking a long time to die. Did you give her enough poison?”
“Lots. Lots and lots.”
“Hm. Well, take her to the root cellar. Dump her body there until we can figure out a better place to store it.”
I fade out.
I dislike death intensely. It’s cold and it smells like garlic and onions. Here I’d always thought death would be peaceful, but it’s oniony and someone’s arguing nearby and it’s all very irritating. I growl, and someone reaches out and slaps my face.
This one, I feel.
“Ow,” I manage. My lips feel heavy and tingly. “Not…spose…to slap…the dead.”
“You’re not dead, fool,” comes Erynne’s acerbic voice. “Wake up.”
“Can’t,” I mumble. “Dead…just like Meryliese.”
“Yes, well, she’s not dead either,” Erynne retorts. “So quit playacting at being a corpse and wake up.”
Not…dead? Hm. Vague memories flicker through my sludge-filled brain. Of a woman dressed in scarlet who looks a bit like Erynne and a bit like me. Of Ivornath’s dead body, still marked with plague and stinking of rot. Of Nemeth at dinner.
It was the truth, but it was not all of the truth, Candra. I swear it.
“I’m not dead,” I manage, and I’m honestly surprised that I’m not. My mouth feels strangely tight and when I try to lift my head, I can’t. My neck is stiff. All of me is stiff. I can twitch a finger, but nothing else, and the realization makes me whimper. “Can’t move.”
“Stay still,” comes a kinder voice. Riza. A hand brushes my hair from my forehead. “Drink this and wait for it to pass.”
A warm vial of something bitter is pressed to my lips. I cough and sputter and some of it runs down my cheek, but I manage to drink most of it. Riza makes soothing noises and continues to stroke my hair and face. I close my eyes, drifting and dizzy.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Erynne whispers.
“I don’t even know how she’s alive,” Riza murmurs. “The cook said that they dosed her with enough to kill her twice over, yet she lives.”