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)
All down the line, the dragons lower their heads in warning.
The woman doesn’t flinch, but the crowd falls quiet.
I take a steadying breath and send a prayer up to Zihnal himself that this encounter goes better than our last.
“Welcome to Zehyllna!” the woman says in the common language, then grins as she approaches, her white teeth sharply contrasting her deep-brown cheeks. She’s beautiful, with joyful brown eyes, a halo of black, airy curls, and thick curves. “I am Calixta, mistress of today’s festivities.”
Festivities? My brows scrunch at the term, and Ridoc rocks back on his heels.
Xaden’s head tilts.
Calixta pauses about five feet from my boots, then glances across our squad and begins to speak in Zehylish.
I blink. Any studying I did is completely useless. Nothing on the page could prepare me for hearing it spoken. It’s a lilting, flowy language where one word seems to run into the next.
Dain replies slowly from my right, the words coming out like he’s in pain.
Aaric sighs from beside Xaden, then proceeds to speak like he was freaking born here.
Dain looks ready to murder him.
“Excellent!” Calixta replies in the common language. “I am happy to speak in your tongue if it brings you joy.” She turns to me. “Your translator says you are the leader of this glorious assembly.”
I’m really starting to loathe that word. “I’m Violet Sorrengail. We’ve come in hopes of—”
“Securing an alliance!” She beams. “Yes! Word of your travels reached us a few weeks ago, and we have been waiting ever since.”
“Here?” Ridoc asks. “You’ve all been waiting out here?”
“Of course not.” She scoffs. “People come to the festival grounds as they have time in hopes they will be the first to see the dragons. And Zihnal is certainly with those of us who chose today!” Her gaze sweeps over the riot. “Which is the irid?”
I draw back. “Courtlyn?”
“Courtlyn,” Xaden agrees.
Andarna lifts her head, and Tairn growls down the bond.
“Way to give yourself away.” I narrow my eyes at her.
“It looks…black,” Calixta remarks.
Andarna blinks, and her scales shift color, blending into the background.
“She,” I correct Calixta. “Her name is Andarna and she’s the only irid on the Contin—” I wince. “On Amaralys. We’re searching for the rest of her kind and allies to hopefully fight alongside us in a war against those who wield dark magic.”
“She is marvelous.” Calixta bows, low and deep.
Andarna shimmers again, her scales returning to black, then lowers her head when Tairn huffs a breath at her.
“Our queen is delighted you’ve sought us out and is eager to come to your aid. We have always revered dragonkind.” She tilts her head toward Silaraine. “And the gryphons, of course.”
There’s no fucking way this is that easy. Dad wrote about playing games picked at random to gain entrance. “May we speak to your queen?” I ask. “We’ve brought a prince of Navarre to speak on our kingdom’s behalf.”
“Of course!” Calixta replies. “But first—”
“Here we go,” Ridoc mutters under his breath.
My thought exactly.
“—we must see what gifts Zihnal has chosen for you,” she finishes. “If you are willing to play and accept whatever gift the god of luck presents you with”—she lifts a finger—“without complaint, then you will be granted entrance to our city, where our queen waits.”
“I expected dice or even a board game, not gifts,” I admit to Xaden.
“There’s a trick here,” Xaden warns. “But there’s not enough power to read her.”
“And if we…complain?” I ask.
All traces of amusement drain from her face. “If you do not accept that luck determines your fate, that Zihnal may gift you with great fortune or take it, then we cannot ally ourselves with you. We do not accept those who do not adjust their sails in a storm.”
Not such a random choice of game, then. They want to see how we handle disappointment.
“No whining,” Xaden remarks. “I can respect that.”
Looking left, then right, I meet the eyes of every person on our squad, starting with Trager. One by one, they nod, ending with Mira on the right, who immediately rolls her eyes afterward.
“We’ll do it,” I tell Calixta.
“Wonderful!” She spins back to the crowd and lifts the pointed end of the hollow cone to her mouth before shouting into it.
The crowd roars.
“She said we’ll play,” Aaric tells me, leaning forward to see around Xaden.
“Where were these language skills when we were translating journals last year?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve gained another head. “I was raised to be a diplomat. Diplomats don’t speak to dead people.”
“You didn’t think we should know you speak fluent everything?” I arch a brow.
“And nullify Aetos’s reason for joining…what is it Ridoc calls us? Quest squad?” Aaric shakes his head.
“Let us see what Zihnal shall gift you with!” Calixta says over her shoulder, then walks toward the crowd.
Five people emerge from the right side of the steps, four carrying a table and one, a chair and a canvas bag.