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)
“My king!” someone yells from behind me.
“It’s fine, Burcet!” Courtlyn calls back. “My trade minister will stay for negotiations, along with finance and”—he looks their way—“foreign.”
“As it should be.” I nod, then hold out my hand to Halden. “Bring me both of his weapons.”
Halden’s head draws back in offense.
“Now,” I add, just in case he thinks I’m kidding.
“Way to fuck up the negotiations, Riorson.” He glares and tosses them over.
The steel lands on the table with a clatter, and I make quick work of sheathing Xaden’s swords at his back and packaging the dagger in his bag with the Sword of Tyrrendor.
“All ready.” I tap Xaden’s back and he stands, turning away from Courtlyn and Halden before swinging his pack over his shoulder.
He keeps his head low but opens his eyes to look at me. “I’m not sorry, but I am.”
“I love you.” I cup the sides of his face and choose my words carefully. “Sgaeyl is just behind the trees. Take the heirlooms back to Aretia and handle whatever business you might have there for the province.” My throat tightens as I hold his gaze, beating back the physical instinct to fight or flee at the glimpse of red. I rise up quickly and press a hard, quick kiss to his mouth. “I’ll see you at Basgiath in a week.”
“A week,” he promises, and then he goes, hanging his head as he descends the dais, then lifting it when he passes Andarna and striding through the trees like the arrogant ass he is.
I pivot back to Courtlyn, noting that his three ministers are picking their way toward us.
The king’s gaze narrows on me in a glare that’s equal parts hatred and appreciation. “Are you nervous now that your reckless one has departed?”
I clear my throat, and the ground shakes as Tairn steps over the trees, lowering his head so that the table linen moves with his breath. “No, not particularly. Dragons are known to have short tempers, and Andarna’s jaw is probably getting a little tired, so we should speed this along, don’t you think?”
Courtlyn nods.
“Same terms as the duke stated while I sat beside him earlier this evening, and I will add that Xaden Riorson is to be pardoned of any crime you would accuse him of regarding tonight’s activities, considering he was provoked and attacked by your guards, and he is to be allowed to return to Deverelli as a member of our riot at any time.” I flash a smile.
Courtlyn blusters, and his ministers call out protests as they make their way toward the dais.
“Or we can go home, and I can ask King Tauri how he feels about tonight’s actions and go from there.” I shrug.
“Accepted,” Courtlyn bites out.
“Excellent. Now, I expect you will accept the citrine as payment for the alliance but agree you should be compensated for the prince’s crimes.” I unclasp the top of my pack and remove the hard metallic shards of shell I’ve carried all the way from the Continent. The smallest pieces cover my palm, and the largest section would easily fit a medium-size dog. I set the base on the table and its pieces inside, marveling at how the shades of color graduate from the darkest onyx on bottom to the brightest silvers on top, each ring of hardened scales nestled within the next yet never separate, creating a smooth outer layer with no ridges that only cracks when the hatchling is ready.
“A dragon egg shell.” Courtlyn drags out the words, less than impressed. “As amazing as your beasts are, once you’ve seen one shell, you’ve seen them all.”
“Not this one.” A corner of my mouth lifts, and I run my finger along the inner edge, picturing her biding her time for hundreds of years, listening, waiting. A charge of energy runs up my arm, and I lift my brows at the sensation. “This is the only shell of its kind. It belongs to the one and only irid we have on the Continent. The seventh breed of dragon. It is Andarna’s kind we’re searching for.”
“You expect me to believe—” Courtlyn starts, then stands completely awestruck, staring at Andarna.
I glance back and see she’s chosen to blend with the vegetation so it appears Shira is hanging in midair, suspended by an unknown pointed vise. “Yes.”
“And this is her shell.” Courtlyn leans closer.
“It is. She gave me permission to gift it to you.” I push the heavy structure toward him.
“I’m starting to drool,” she warns me.
“Just a little longer. You’re doing great.”
Courtlyn nods, inspecting the shell. “Yes, yes.” His head pops up. “One condition. He”—his finger swings toward Halden—“never steps foot on my isle again or his life is forfeit.”
“Done.”
“Violet!” Halden argues.
“Done,” I repeat to Courtlyn.
“Then the deal is struck.” Courtlyn bows his head.
“The deal is struck.” I bow mine, and Andarna spits Shira out. The panther bolts past us, taking her sisters with her.