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 hand slides to the side of her head, and I hold her tight.
The scream that forces its way through the tangled mess of my throat shreds my soul on the way out and reverberates off the stone, shaking the foundations of my world until it doesn’t just slow, it stops. I stop.
Hi! I’m Quinn Hollis. I’ve decided we should be friends. That’s what she said to me as we climbed the turret on Conscription Day.
You do realize we’re about to cross the walkway of death.
Well, then it might be a short friendship, but we’ll make it a good one.
I stare at the other side of the staircase, locked in the memory, watching as the stones begin to pale, then lose their color one by one, each loss higher than the last. My heart somehow continues to beat, marking what I used to think of as time, and color disappears from the stones in the bend beneath us so gradually that I can’t help but wonder if Quinn simply took the color with her.
“Quinn!” someone bellows from above, and footsteps thunder. “Where are you? We have to go—” There’s a deep intake of breath to my left. “Imogen? Oh, fuck.”
My head turns slowly toward the voice and Garrick crouches on the step above us, his hazel gaze locking on mine and filling with so much misery, so much sympathy that it overflows my own eyes and wetness streams down the sides of my cheeks. “She’s dead.”
Saying it doesn’t make it feel any more real.
His face falls. “I’m so sorry.” He glances down the staircase. “But we have to go. There’s half a dozen of them with their hands on the city walls, draining the life out of the stone. It’s time to go.”
I hold her tighter, unable to fathom the concept of moving, like there’s some miniscule chance she’ll return if I just wait here long enough. “I can’t. Just leave.”
“I am with you. You may not die,” Glane growls.
Garrick’s square jaw flexes. “You have to. We have to go, or they’ll drain us, too.”
“I’m not leaving her!”
“I’m not leaving you!” He leans in and slides his hand behind my neck. “I’m not leaving you, Imogen,” he repeats, softer this time. “We’ll take Quinn, but we have to go now. Let me have her.”
I notice the circles beneath his beautiful eyes, the unusual pallor of his complexion. He’s exhausted, and for the first time in my life, I don’t care that he’s seeing me at my weakest, because he’s right there, too. My chin tips in a nod.
“All right.” He moves quickly to the step beneath us, kicking something out of the way and gathering both of us into his arms. I lock mine around Quinn so she doesn’t slip as we’re lifted off the floor, and the landing beneath us loses its color. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He takes a single step.
Heat and light force my eyes shut as my stomach careens.
When I open them, we’re somewhere else. Rain falls through an open doorway, and the scent of smoke and sulfur fills my lungs.
“Oh gods!” Professor Trissa gasps as Garrick sets Quinn and me down on a warm stone floor in a nondescript building. A store, maybe? Quinn’s body slides, and he helps lay her beside me, cushioning her head with his hand.
“Venin.” Garrick explains her loss with a single word. “Are you weaving?” he asks Trissa.
“We’re starting.” Her gaze darts over me. “They’ll be weak until we can bolster with more power, but they’re our best shot.”
“It’s still not enough.” Garrick’s head hangs as he stands. “I can’t…” He sighs and strides through the door.
I obey the simple instinct to follow, shoving myself to my feet and forcing my body to move. There’s a battle. We’re in a war. Malek might claim more lives. I follow him past the little room where Felix works beside cases of alloy-hilted daggers, all imbued, all humming with power.
Then I step outside into the rain and stare. Houses burn. Wyvern and gryphon bodies lie in the middle of crumpled rooflines. Civilians scream. Cruth sails through the sky and takes a wyvern straight to the ground. Bodhi is on his hands and knees across the town square, retching.
If dark wielders are draining the city walls, we’re next.
“Where are you going?” I shout at Garrick’s back.
“I can’t walk again. Even if I made it to Aretia, I’d never be strong enough to get back,” he calls over his shoulder. “So, I’d better find some fucking way to do something.”
I unsheathe my last alloy-hilted dagger and stare up at the wyvern-filled sky. Then I make my way back inside, slip Quinn’s last dagger from her thigh sheath, and reach for Glane. “Tell every rider within the walls to get over here and disarm. It’s the only way we’re living through this.”