Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
In the first twenty-four hours of removal from source magic, the subject—an asim—presented as even-tempered. But withdrawal quickly revealed the subject’s true nature, requiring the subject’s immediate transfer to stage two of the study. Her results can be found with group thirty-three B under the category: DEATH BY FIRE, and subsequently group forty-six C under the category: DEATH BY POISON.
—A Study in the Anatomy of the Enemy by Captain Dominic Prishel
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Deverelli is beautiful by sunset, or at least it would be if I could concentrate on taking the time to really appreciate the isle.
Instead, I’m focused on exactly how close Tairn thinks he can fly to the treetops without actually crashing into one as we race along the hillside ahead of Sgaeyl.
To Andarna’s disdain, Tairn ordered her to remain behind for her own safety.
“You’re sure we’re out of range of the cross-bolts?” I ask, hunkered down against the pommels of my saddle, my pack weighing me down, as if my slight stature could possibly affect his aerodynamics.
“They are made not to rotate this way but to defend the shoreline. They woefully underestimate our intelligence.”
Still, the existence of the cross-bolts means this isle wants to do us harm. And it possibly already is.
“Are you in pain? Is Andarna?” I ask as I spot four enormous gray pillars ahead, supporting the remnants of an aqueduct as they curve around the hillside, marking the path to their palace.
“What would make you ask that?” His gruff tone answers for him as he crosses over an open space that looks to be in the arts district from what I remember reading, and a chorus of shouts sounds then vanishes as we pass by.
Sorry, but if you abduct our royalty, we scare the shit out of you with our dragons. Seems pretty fair to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Guilt for even suggesting to Xaden that we stay, for not realizing it, settles on my shoulders.
“You live in pain. Do you feel as though you need to alert me every time your knee twinges or your joints slip?” Even his wingbeats change, becoming more staccato. “There have been several moments, even here, when your heartbeat has elevated and you have approached unconsciousness, yet you have not made special note.”
I lean with him as he banks left, following the centuries-old aqueduct. “That’s just everyday life for me. This isn’t normal for you.”
“Andarna shows no sign of trouble. I am inconvenienced, annoyed, and cut off from my source of power, strength, and my mate’s thoughts, but I am still Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from—”
“All right, yes, I get it. You are superior in all ways.” I interrupt him before he can get through his whole pompous lineage like I don’t have it memorized by now.
We level out, following the topography, and I take in as much of the layout as I can before we’re too far overhead. Tairn’s size is a distinct advantage in battle, but it’s a pain in the ass when I’m trying to see what’s below me.
The palace is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. Not only is the four-story structure carved into the hillside, but so is a hundred-yard meadow ahead of it. It’s truly spectacular, a feat of engineering when it was accomplished a thousand years ago, and testament to their traditions that it’s still their seat of power and hasn’t faded to ruin like so many of the ancient castles of kingdoms past on the Continent.
Soft blue light glows in orbs down a central path of the clearing, lighting our way as the sun sinks behind the hills and we descend toward the muted green grass. The space is wide enough to support the width of two dragons with fully extended wings, but probably four if they held them retracted.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Tairn asks as we approach, his wings flaring to slow our descent.
“The majority of their formal spaces are outside, according to what I’ve read, as are the king’s chambers, just beyond the first row of trees, so in theory…yes.” I position my body for landing as he flies over a platoon of panicked guards bearing what appear to be silver-tipped spears, then sets us down to the left of the row of incandescent blue orbs. “Not that they’re going to let me in.”
Sgaeyl and Xaden land to the right.
Shouting ensues as I unbuckle my belt and move for Tairn’s shoulder. “No changes to the plan?” I ask, steeling my nerves for what’s bound to be a contentious confrontation.
I want my fucking power back, and I want it now.
“None. I will be with you all the way, Silver One.”
His promise reassures me as I dismount, the weight of the pack jarring my spine on impact. I shake it off, then walk toward Xaden, who’s already waiting for me at the center of the path between the rows of blue orbs. His swords are strapped to his back, but his daggers are within easy reach, and he carries the same oversize pack he’s hauled with us from Navarre, which he’d told me was for just in case.