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)
“Tell me you’ll help control him.” Tecarus’s gaze lands on mine.
I lift my chin. “What makes you think he’s the one you’d have to worry about?”
Tecarus sighs. “I’ll see that you have a map.” He brings his laced fingers to his chin. “You are prepared to lose your abilities when you cross the ocean?”
“We are,” Xaden replies. “Definitely prepared to get a second of relief.”
“It will be fascinating to see if your powers reemerge once on land. And you’ve brought the requested artifact for the audience?” Tecarus asks.
“Halden’s carrying it. He’ll be taking the audience,” I answer. This one time, Halden’s enormous ego works in our favor. His insistence on being the only Navarrian to meet with the king frees Xaden and gives us time to seek out the merchant my father mentioned.
“Excellent.” Tecarus nods. “A word to the wise…” He glances between us. “I may collect rarities, but King Courtlyn absconds with them. Do not wander off from each other, do not advertise what a rare jewel you are, and at all costs—do not make a deal you cannot keep.”
• • •
Nearly twenty-four hours later, my access to magic fades to all but a trickle at the edge of the coast as we fly over by the colors of dawn, trading power for sunlight. The loss is stunning, immeasurable in a way that, for an instant, makes me pity Jack Barlowe.
For the first time since the night Tairn and Andarna channeled to me, I feel…small, naked even, stripped of the power that’s come to not only embolden me over the last year but define me.
A shivering chill sweeps over my skin with the next gust of wind, and Andarna shrieks high above. My head whips in her direction as the sound echoes from those around us.
Tairn drops unexpectedly, his wingbeats faltering, and I fall forward, fumbling for the saddle’s pommels. My hands make impact, jarring my wrists but catching my body weight just before my stomach makes contact as Tairn levels out over the ocean. “Are you all right?” I scan the sky for Andarna.
“Startled. We draw on magic for strength,” Tairn explains. “I hadn’t realized how dependent we truly are—”
Andarna sinks rapidly on our right, her wings beating a furious but futile pace.
“Hook on,” Tairn orders.
“I’m. Quite. Capable.” She loses altitude with every second, plummeting toward the rippling water beneath us.
“I have no desire to scent salted scales. Once you’re wet you’re on your own,” he warns, then picks up his head, swiveling it back and forth in a reptilian manner.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He dives toward Andarna without warning, and her sigh of acceptance comes out with a huff of a snarl as his shoulders tighten, and I hear the metallic click of the harness locking into place. Her added weight makes him dip for a breath of a second, and then his massive wings beat harder, lifting us toward the riot.
Andarna is suspiciously quiet.
“Tairn?” I prompt, my stomach souring with unease.
“I can’t speak with Sgaeyl.” He clips out each word. “Or any of the others. Our communications have been severed.”
I reach for the glittering onyx bond, but even though Tairn is still there, Xaden isn’t.
We’re already cut off.
It was whispered in academic circles that Cordyn had supplied troops and weaponry for the second Krovlan uprising, but the research has led me across the Arctile Ocean to Deverelli, known to our kingdom as the treacherous isle of merchants, who to my surprise may not have been the source of the arms, but perhaps the broker.
—Subjugated: The Second Uprising of the Krovlan People by Lieutenant Colonel Asher Sorrengail
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Holy shit it’s hot here, and by my estimates it must only be around nine o’clock in the morning as we approach an endless line of white beaches preceded by splotches of alternating turquoise and aqua waters.
Soft green hills rise directly behind the beach, dotted with stone structures. The perplexing color reminds me of the last batch of wool when the weaver’s dye has lost its potency: it’s muted, almost faded, and its lack of color is made obvious by the contrast of the water. The closer we fly, the farther forward I lean in my seat, wholly, completely fascinated. The hills aren’t dotted at all.
“That’s the city, isn’t it? Hidden in the trees?” My fingers curl in excitement around the pommels of the saddle. The area is a thriving port, with four central piers and several smaller ones.
“It appears to be.” Before we get close enough to make out the people, Tairn banks left, taking us east.
“Let me out of this thing before anyone sees,” Andarna demands.
“Not until we’re out of range of those cross-bolts.” Tairn looks pointedly toward a long stone wall a quarter of the way up the first hill, armed with a dozen of the largest cross-bolts I’ve ever seen, all loaded with shining, metallic tips.