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)
“Enough, Halden!” Xaden stands and I slowly do the same, monitoring the guards around us, the panthers behind us, and those in the crowd reaching beneath the linens for what could be hidden weapons.
“He is a thief, and he impugns my honor in front of my entire court!” Courtlyn shouts at Xaden, but he points his finger toward Halden.
“He no longer speaks for us.” Xaden swings the pack from his shoulder, setting it atop the table with a clang. “If you will not accept the deal with Navarre, then accept it with Tyrrendor, and I’ll assure you the only riots on your shore will have Aretian riders and their flier counterparts, who will abide by your laws and respect your customs, and in return, with my utmost gratitude for your trust—” He unbuttons the top flap of his rucksack and pulls it back slowly, revealing an inch of an emerald-studded hilt that steals my breath. It looks too much like the dagger to be a coincidence.
My heart stutters. That can’t be. He can’t. I won’t let him.
“No.” I grab hold of Xaden’s hand, preventing him from showing the rest of it. “If that’s what I think it is, then absolutely not.”
“Vi…” He shakes his head, searching my eyes, and I know I’m not the only one longing for the bond that usually makes these moments easy for us. “It might be the only way to forge an alliance and save the prick.”
“You’ve sacrificed enough. I’ve got this.” I slip my heavy pack from my shoulders and set it beside his.
“Absolutely not!” Halden shouts.
Xaden gives him a look that clearly says he’s had enough of his shit.
“I alone have the authority to speak for Navarre!” Halden rages, taking two threatening steps toward the king. “You do not make deals with provinces, let alone the son of a traitor who blackmailed his way into a title. I am the only voice of our kingdom!” His hands curl into fists, and the binding around his right floods crimson.
Courtlyn sighs, then reaches for his goblet and takes a drink. “I’ve heard enough, and this grows tedious. Tecarus may live. Kill the rest.”
Sometimes diplomacy is best served at swordpoint.
—Journal of Captain Lilith Sorrengail
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Guards move in and everything goes to complete, immediate shit.
Xaden draws both his swords, then surprises the hell out of me by tossing one across the gap to Halden, who catches it with his left hand in the same breath that I palm two of my daggers.
We are not dying tonight.
“Try not to kill anyone,” Xaden says, even as the first of the guards charges up the steps between the panthers. “International relations and all.”
“Tell her that.” I glance down at the panther, thankful she’s still occupied. “Do not overreact,” I warn Tairn, hoping it’s not my final request. “We still need this deal.”
“I resent the implication that I am given to melodramatics,” he replies, but there’s a distinct, plate-rattling roar to my left that causes more than a few guests to shriek as Xaden clashes blades with the guard, then kicks him clean off the stairs with a boot to the center of his chest.
I whirl to the left as a guard climbs the end of the dais without stairs and pull a move from Courtlyn’s own book, thrusting my dagger through her hand and yanking it out. She shouts, falling backward, and when I rise, I find two more guards have managed the same maneuver behind us, filling the space between Xaden and me.
Bone crunches and a body flies around the guards, but there’s easily a half dozen more waiting beyond the panthers.
The closest guard has at least a foot on me and fifty pounds, and if the scars on his forearms are any measure, he’s no stranger to fighting. But he’s no Xaden.
I charge before he can take a fighting stance and let muscle memory take over, my first cut landing deep in the outside of his thigh before I duck close, avoiding the swing of his long spear. They aren’t made for close combat, and I am.
He misses, thrusting the spear into the table, shattering glass, and giving me the time to regretfully slice the tendons behind his knee. It’s a long-lasting injury for a warrior, but at least it won’t kill him.
He bellows, toppling sideways and falling from the dais, but before I can get up, pain explodes at the back of my head, and I’m yanked upward…by my godsdamned braid.
A battering ram of an arm shoves my chest onto the bloodied plate between our packs, and my face narrowly misses a sharp shard of glass. The spear shattered my conduit. “Do your dragons scream before they die, fire-bringer?” the guard hisses in my ear as she leans over my back. “Does it take them minutes to perish after you do? Or is it instant?”