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)
As if it’s that easy.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, quelling the urge to vomit, then shove the waterskin back into position as my body absorbs the offering. Heat burns behind my eyes, which means my temperature is still elevated, but the searing pain is gone. I’m getting better at this. “Let’s kill their makers.”
“Let’s,” Tairn agrees, and we dive toward the line of venin sitting atop their wyvern.
Wind roars in my ears, and they launch at the sight of us. Six surge for the city, two fly our way, and three retreat into the mountains—including Theophanie and her monstrosity.
Fuck.
“We kill those in our way and then pursue their storm wielder,” Tairn decrees.
“I only have one alloy dagger left.” I grasp the conduit in my hand as we race toward the dark wielders. Instead of gathering more, I draw on the power already thrumming through my veins with care, excising only what I need with precision.
“Then I suggest you not throw it.”
The venin on the left flicks his wrist, and a spear of ice hurtles our way. Tairn rolls right, and the projectile flies within feet of his wing, too close for comfort. That one needs to die first.
Power snaps through me and I draw it downward with the tip of my finger, searing my skin as I aim. It strikes the venin right through the fluttering hood of his purple robes, and he and his wyvern fall from the sky, instantly dead.
I shift focus to the other dark wielder, only to hear Tairn’s teeth snap in that direction as the pair flee in retreat.
The roaring wind crescendos like a river that’s burst its dam, and a gust catches Tairn’s wing, propelling us sideways for a startling heartbeat before he levels us out and turns into the wind.
Oh, fuck.
A tornado spouts at the northern edge of the field where I’d faced Theophanie, dropping from the clouds in a narrow cone. Earth churns as it spins slowly toward Draithus, its path too precise to be natural. It will rip the city apart.
“Ground the riot!” Tairn shouts so loudly my vision shakes, and I get the feeling the message didn’t go just down our pathway, but every pathway.
Theophanie.
“Our prey waits on the mountain beyond the field,” Tairn says as we cut a route toward the northeast corner of the city.
Wingbeats sound behind us, and I pivot in the saddle. Hope surges at the sight of blue wings— “What the hell is he doing?”
My brows rise as Molvic emerges from one of the southern valleys.
“The Spare brings the advance party from Zehyllna.” Tairn’s head swivels as he relays the information. “A thousand soldiers and their horses. They landed at the port of Soudra by accident instead of Cordyn and will be here in less than half an hour.”
The city has reinforcements if it can last that long, but wyvern outnumber riders and fliers fleeing for cover. Our forces will have to drive the wyvern to the ground for the infantry to kill in order to make a difference. My stomach pitches. Where are Xaden and Sgaeyl?
I reach through the bond, only to be met with a wall of black ice.
Cuir disappears into the fray above the city, and my breath stutters.
“We have to—” I start.
“One objective,” Tairn growls as we near the battle. “Decide our fate.”
Glane launches toward Cuir despite the order to shelter.
I nod to myself, then rip my gaze away, focusing northward on the tornado and its creator.
Time to do what Imogen suggested months ago and delegate. She’ll rip the very sky apart before she and Glane accept defeat.
One objective. “Fly for Theophanie.”
Fuck you. My daughter and I will meet Malek with clean consciences. Will you and your daughters be able to say the same when they come for you?
—The last words of Tracila Cardulo (redacted)
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
IMOGEN
If chaos were a place, it would be Draithus.
Rain beats against the glass of my goggles as Glane climbs toward the three wyvern trying their best to rip Cuir apart. The steep angle of her chosen approach makes it hard as hell to stay seated, but I’m not going to tell her to slow—not that she’d listen anyway. Bodhi’s in trouble.
I grit my teeth. He doesn’t get it. If we lose both him and Riorson, Tyrrendor falls to whomever the king appoints. I’d rather die than see a Navarrian aristocrat on the burned throne Mom and Katrina died defending. The flame of perpetual rage that lives in my chest burns hotter. Fuck that horde. Fuck the venin who ride them. Fuck that unholy vortex of a tornado at the end of the northern field, and fuck the orders to stay grounded in these winds. We’re not losing Bodhi.
There are still too many wyvern despite the inhuman amount Sorrengail just dispatched, and where the fuck is Riorson? He’d better be helping in the northeastern tower, because I haven’t seen a trace of a shadow in the last twenty minutes.