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)
“Noted.” I don’t even need to check my shields. They’ve been locked into place since we left Aretia.
The gryphons stare down at us with dark, beady eyes as we approach and click their razor-sharp beaks in a rhythm that reminds me of speech. The aggressive snaps of the one on the right make me glad I can’t understand what they’re saying.
Two of the fliers wear the same brown leathers I’ve seen before on Syrena, but the guy on the left with the patchy beard has a lighter-colored one and different symbols embroidered on his collar.
“Cadet?” I ask Tairn.
“Yes.” He pauses. “According to the feathered ones, a third of their ranks took shelter here. Cliffsbane Flight Academy was in Zolya.”
Brennan says something in Krovlish, his tone changing into the curt one he uses when his rank is more important than his name.
“We know who you are,” the tall flier in the center interrupts in the common tongue, studying the three of us as if assessing which is the biggest threat. His attention lands on my wind-ravaged coronet braid and his posture changes slightly, taking on the most casual of battle stances.
Guess I win.
Mira moves closer to my side and stares him down, her hand resting just above the hilt of her sword.
“And you speak Navarrian,” Brennan notes.
“Of course. Not every kingdom thinks theirs is the only language that should be spoken,” the flier on the left says, her fingers drumming along her sword.
Solid point.
“Give us one truth, and we’ll allow you to meet with the viscount,” the central flier says, his reddish brows knitting.
“You’re a truth-sayer.” Like Nora. It’s a guess, but I know I’m right when his pale eyes flare. So, some of our powers are the same. Interesting.
“Unlike riders, we do not label ourselves by our abilities, but yes, I have the gift of telling when someone is lying,” he corrects me.
“Noted,” I say for the second time in the last five minutes. I fucking hate being disadvantaged by ignorance, but it’s not like the Archives were stacked with tomes on fliers or what they’ve gone through for the last six hundred years.
“Seeing as you’ve arrived without invitation, we require you have honest intentions before traveling farther.” His hands flex near his daggers, and Mira palms the hilt of her sword.
We’re one misstep away from drawing weapons, and we all know it.
“I’m here to wield lightning in return for asking your viscount for help.” May as well start us out.
He cocks his head to the side, then nods, glancing toward Brennan.
“I’m here to broker a deal for your luminary in return for weaponry,” Brennan declares.
The flier nods and looks at Mira.
“Fine.” She sighs. “Make one wrong move toward my sister, and I’ll gut you like a fish. That goes for everyone in this city. How is that for honest?”
My mouth opens slightly as I glance sideways at my sister.
“Damn it, Mira,” Brennan growls.
The flier’s mouth curves into a toothy smile. “I can respect that.” He glances up at the gryphon above him, and the trio parts, revealing the figure waiting directly behind them.
A figure dressed entirely in black.
His jaw flexes, his hands curl at his sides, and his beautiful face… Well, he hasn’t looked at me with that much anger since discovering my last name at Parapet, back when he wanted to kill me. Guess I should be careful what I ask for, because I’m so fucked.
“You aren’t where I left you, Violence.”
Having refused every proposal from the isle kingdoms, Queen Maraya has named her distant cousin, Viscount Tecarus of Cordyn, as her heir. As the viscount is living in his fifth decade and has no direct heirs of his own, the decision has not been a popular one.
—ON THE ARISTOCRACY OF POROMIEL
BY PEARSON KITO
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Where you left me?” I whisper under my breath at Xaden as we walk across the guarded lawn, passing by a half dozen more fliers on our way to a row of open doors made entirely of glass. How utterly impractical and sublimely gorgeous. “Like I’m some kind of pet who should stay curled up on your bed because you said so?”
Fuck him.
“The thought isn’t entirely unpleasant,” he fires back.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to keep my power from rising, refusing to unpack the conduit from my bag.
“Save it for behind closed doors, lovebirds,” Brennan orders from directly behind us. “We need a united front.”
“I can’t believe you brought her here,” Xaden retorts, shooting an icy glare at Brennan.
“I can’t believe you think you outrank me,” Brennan says, his tone sharpening.
“I do in every way but one.” Xaden looks forward, anger radiating from every line of his body.
“The one is all that matters,” Brennan counters.
“They really grow grass ornamentally?” Mira changes the subject as we approach two guards in crimson uniforms near the door.