Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
“The kitchen,” I whisper, wiping my bleeding nose on the sleeve of the coat that was carefully tailored to my size not that long ago. Sylvan’s eyes are bloodshot when he glances my way, but at the top of the stairs Tristan is picking himself up from whatever happened while the fog kept me blinded. We both stumble down the steps, because we either flee or confront all the Nightcloaks, and I’m definitely not up for fighting men who can create rabid bats out of smoke.
Gloombane stands in our way with two of his men at the flanks, but the floor below them turns black, then burns like paper around a fallen ember, and all three elves fall into the void. Are they dead? Trapped like that poor wedding guest was earlier? Can’t pretend that I care, but another bout of weakness forces me to grab the railing for support as I stumble. I couldn’t have drank that much, could I? My eyes remain open though, and I watch the hole in the wooden planks turn dull before retreating under Sylvan’s feet like a matte oil spill sucked back to its source.
“Captain!” one of the remaining wardens cries. His face is stiff with tension, but the moment he raises his sword and charges, Sylvan’s arm transforms into a fat tentacle, which slams the man into the nearby table. The thin wooden legs break from the force of this freaky magic, the floor cracks, and we make a dash for the open kitchen.
The level of destruction around us is pure madness, but I’m too exhausted and shocked to do anything other than grab Sylvan’s shoulder and let him lead. Surrounded by dust and the remnants of the gray fog, we’re about to reach our destination when Tristan Bloodweed’s formidable form lands in front of us. This time, he’s ready and lashes out at Sylvan, who stumbles over his own feet, saved from his cousin’s blade by my quick thinking. I pull him to my chest and spin around, alarmed by a clang of metal behind me. A dusky shape looms in the magic mist, and I blindly slam my fist into it, hitting metal, bone, and flesh.
The last Cloak collapses with a dull cry as pain flashes up my forearm, replaced by tingling heat. I fall over as a giant force rips Sylvan away from me.
“Stand down! I don’t want to hurt you,” Tristan cries, standing over Sylvan’s petite form like a monster about to feast. I scream out, dragging myself back to my feet, but my voice dies when an invisible force sucks the air out of me. All at once, I’m nauseated, dizzy, and tired. So, so tired.
I stare at my swelling fingers and follow the black inkblot of shadow over the floor, all the way to Sylvan, who rises off the floor, levitating. He throws a punch at his cousin. I fear he might hurt his delicate hand, but then obsidian claws erupt from his fingers and tear through Tristan’s wing.
The red-headed soldier shrieks, even though his cut appendage turns to dust before it can hit the floor. Shell-shocked, Tristan takes a step back, but Sylvan doesn’t hesitate. A massive shadow tentacle emerging from under Sylvan’s feet slams Tristan down, and then twists, pulling the other wing out, as if it were a single feather.
His pained cry rings in my ears as I crawl forward, focused on Sylvan, who collapses onto his ass and… vomits.
Shit.
Braving the lightheadedness making every move a fight, I reach him just in time to offer him my coat as a means to clean up. I don’t know if Sylvan’s this drunk, or if using those powers has such a detrimental effect on him, but I’ll worry about that later. With Tristan knocked out and the others gone, I need to seize the opportunity to disappear.
“Let’s go. Your shadow is… amazing,” Sylvan mumbles when I scoop him into my arms and stumble toward the kitchen.
His words make me slow down, and while I get with the program and dash into the stew-scented rooms that should lead me to some kind of back door, my mind spins with questions. I noticed that he was manipulating my shadow to fight off the Nightcloaks, but is that why I’m so lightheaded and exhausted? Why my legs shake and my nose bleeds?
The way he fought Tristan, recklessly as if he wanted to prove something rather than just get us out of trouble, didn’t show any care for my wellbeing. When he first tried to convince me to start our arrangement, he claimed the exchange would happen at no real cost to me. Was he… lying all along?
Cold dread pools in my gut as I rush into a room full of dirty dishes, using the wall to support one of my shoulders. I’m panting with the effort of propelling both myself and Sylvan forward, but despite the ache in my chest, I remain desperate to get him to safety. Whether his intentions toward me were pure or not remains to be seen, but my feelings remain unchanged, and I would not abandon him.