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)
His roar of indignation shakes the rocks loose from the mountainside, but he snaps them closed, tangling in the net.
And we fall.
“Prepare yourself!” Tairn warns as the mountain flies by in a blur.
Andarna. Xaden. Sgaeyl. Mira. Brennan. My friends. They slip through my mind in a whirl of pictures I can’t grasp on to, flickering too fast to fully feel. All I can do is ease off the pommels, lean right to spare the inevitable impact to my abdomen as the thick rope of the net digs into my back.
“You have been the gift of my life,” I tell Tairn.
“It is not over!” he shouts.
We hit with a jarring impact, bone crunching against rock, and my left arm snaps and the dagger falls.
A scream forces its way through my lips as we slide down the mountain…just like the first time we encountered Theophanie. The sound of claws scraping over stone consumes my existence as I fight to block out the pain, and Tairn swings his body weight so we skid headfirst through the trees in an endless, terrifying plunge.
I keep my head down to avoid any low-hanging branches as something digs painfully into my ribs, and eventually our momentum slows.
Holy shit, we just might survive the fall.
“Of course we’ll survive!” Tairn growls.
“Are you hurt?” I ask Tairn as we come to a stop at what appears to be the edge of the forest.
“Nothing that won’t heal after we free ourselves and separate her sinew from bone.” The scent of sulfur fills the air as Tairn breathes fire through the net.
Wood crackles and net thwangs. Then he surges forward and the net slips just enough for me to sit up through the opening that’s clearly designed to hold dragons, not riders.
“We have to get to Sgaeyl.” Which means getting him free, but it will take too long to cut through these ropes with the runed daggers I have. And even if I do, I’ll still have to wield to kill her without my alloy-hilted one, and I’m already edging burnout. My arm throbs mercilessly, and every breath I take scalds my lungs.
“Sgaeyl can handle herself,” Tairn grits out, but bowstring-tight tension and worry radiate down the bond as fire streams again and he fights to get us loose. “And the dark wielder descends ahead.”
Sure enough, Theophanie’s wyvern glides down toward the field like they have all the time in the world, like we’re pinned exactly where she wants us.
Gods, she’s relentless. It doesn’t matter that my arm throbs with excruciating intensity—we have to get out of here right fucking now. Time to use the runes I brought in case of an emergency and pray I tempered them correctly, because this is definitely a crisis.
“We have to get out from under this thing.” Cradling my left arm to my chest, I twist for my pack, but something pushes into my ribs as I dig into the bag one-handed. I discard the ones I don’t need, then snag the one for softening surfaces and shove it up against the rope. Here’s hoping it’s right.
Magic ripples, and the fibers stretch and give way.
My eyebrows rise. It works.
“Rip what you can!” I shout to Tairn.
“Stay seated so we can fly,” he orders, shredding the net on the edges of his spikes, and I take the opportunity to grab whatever’s jabbing me in my pocket. Aaric’s package. I catch the hastily scrawled message on the edge of the package I’d missed when Sloane handed it to me.
For when you lose yours. Strike in the dark, Violet.
What the fuck? The fall has broken the wax seal, and the parchment unrolls as I loosen my grip, dropping a carved piece of gray marble in my lap—a ceremonial-looking dagger with familiar flame-shaped etchings along the hilt. I glance at the accompanying note from the high priestess of Dunne’s temple in Aretia, but the letters blur as the pain in my arm flares and Tairn thrashes to free us.
A gift from one servant of Dunne to another. I must warn you—only those touched by the gods should wield their wrath. I will pray to Her that she need not use it to avoid reacquainting herself with the other who curries her favor. Her path is still not set.
My stomach pitches. How would Aaric know I’d lose my dagger, let alone think that some piece of rock could replace—
“Ahead of us!” Tairn snaps, and I jerk my attention forward and sheathe the marble dagger out of instinct.
Theophanie stalks toward us from the tree line, her hair fraying from its braid, and there’s nothing patient or amused on her face.
I frantically scan what sky I can see. Theophanie’s wyvern waits in the field beyond the trees, and the only other wings I find are locked in battle over Draithus in the distance, which hopefully means she’s alone.