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)
“Both of which can be achieved by an alliance with only Aretia,” I note as Xaden begins putting my daggers in place, slipping them into the sheaths at my thighs and the ones sewn into my uniform along my ribs.
“Now who sounds like the separatist?” His mouth quirks. “If we had stable wards, maybe. But we know they’re faltering, and even if they weren’t, the last time Tyrrendor attempted to secede, it didn’t go—” He cocks his head to the side like he’s listening, then storms toward the door, whipping it open. “Are you fucking kidding me? Neither of us has even used a bathing chamber yet.”
Ah, there’s the hard-ass everyone else gets. I don’t fight the urge to smile. There’s a huge part of me that likes that I’m the only one who gets his softer edges. “Who is it?” I ask, grabbing my flight jacket off the back of the chair.
“You’re in there with my little sister and you’re asking me if I’m kidding you?” Brennan snaps back. “Usually, I consider myself pretty understanding about the fact that you sleep in her bed, and I look the other way when you two attach yourselves at the face, but we have a meeting in thirty minutes and I need to talk to you before then.”
“Good morning, Brennan,” I call out, slipping my arms into my flight jacket.
“Hey, Violet,” he answers.
“I have a patrol,” Xaden says.
“He does,” Garrick adds from somewhere behind Brennan.
“How many people are out here?” I duck under Xaden’s arm, and my brows rise. The hallway is packed. Brennan, Garrick, Lewellen, Bodhi, and Imogen are all waiting. The days of negotiation have worn on both Lewellen and Brennan, darkening the circles under Brennan’s eyes and thickening the salt-and-pepper stubble on Lewellen’s strong jaw, as though he’s been too tired or too busy to shave. “Did someone die? Why didn’t any of you knock?”
“Because she’s mean.” Garrick nods toward Imogen, who’s leaned up against the wall to my right.
“She needs to fucking sleep.” She cocks her head to the side at him. “Given how rested you look, I’m guessing you got plenty of that in Nina Shrensour’s bed last night. How disappointing for her.”
“Damn.” Bodhi fights to smother a laugh.
A slow smile spreads across Garrick’s face, and a dimple pops in his left cheek. “Careful, Imogen. You sound a little jealous.”
“Who the hell would be jealous of a flier?” Her pointed glare promises a quick death.
“Right.” Brennan rubs the bridge of his nose, and Lewellen walks away, shaking his head. “Look, we just need Riorson.”
“Seriously, figure your shit out, kids. We’re in the middle of a war,” Mira says from the end of the short hallway, her cheeks red and goggle lines still fresh in her skin.
I instantly grin. “You made it!” Thank you, Amari, we have forty-eight hours and a shot.
“I thought you were due back tonight at the earliest.” Brennan raises his reddish eyebrows.
“Teine was feeling spry.” Mira’s smile could cut glass, but at least she’s trying. It took her months to let him back in after she found him alive. Who knows how long she’ll need to get over losing our mother on what she considers to be Brennan’s watch. “I bring news and a few missives.”
I need everyone to leave now so I can know exactly what that news is.
“Thank you,” Brennan says to Mira, then turns to Xaden. “This is more important than patrol.”
Xaden’s hand skims my lower back as he walks into the hall, then follows Brennan to the main hallway, where Lewellen waits, Garrick close on his heels.
“Anything I should know about?” Bodhi asks, two lines appearing between his brows as Mira slings her pack from her shoulder.
“We’re good,” Brennan assures him as the foursome turns the corner and disappears.
“Good to feel needed,” Bodhi mutters, stepping closer as Mira completes our own huddle. “Guess we’ll be taking the patrol, Imogen.”
“Did you figure it out?” I ask Mira, unable to take another second.
“First, Felix sent a gift.” She retrieves a conduit from her bag and hands it to me with a smile.
“Oh, thank the gods.” I sigh with relief as my fingers curl around the metal-rimmed glass orb that gives me a semblance of control over my signet.
“And then there’s this.” That little spark of hope behind my ribs fans straight into a flame when Mira pulls a wooden, runed practice disk from her satchel. “Trissa’s a genius.”
My jaw drops. There are three runes tempered into the disk, one for levitation in the middle, then two in overlapping layers for what appear to be sound-shielding and warmth. The outermost line—warmth—is broken by a small green shoot of new growth. “How did you do it?” It’s almost impossible to keep my tone down.
“After being nearly blown up and hurled like a projectile”—a smile lifts the corners of her mouth—“we altered the material the rune is tempered into without destroying it, truly changing its form. Turns out Kylynn is an agrarian,” Mira says.