Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Abarrane’s breathing is ragged, her rage a palpable tension churning around the tent.
“You will sit and you will listen, and when I am finished, you will realize that killing Romeria would be a graver mistake than keeping her alive.”
It sounds like he’s already weighed those two options.
Elisaf’s hand has settled on his sword pommel, as if worried that whatever force Gesine is using to bind Abarrane might lose its grip.
I sneak a glance through the tiny slit in the flaps. So far, the legionaries remain where they are.
“They would not dare,” Zander says, as if reading my mind. “Let me know when you are ready to listen to reason, Commander.”
Uncomfortable silence drags in the commander’s tent as Gesine toils away with her magic and the rest of us wait for Abarrane to stop seething.
Finally, she huffs out a breath. “Have you forgotten that the last time Malachi used a key caster in this way, the only door he opened was to the Nulling?”
“I’m not opening any doors for anyone.” I shake my head in emphasis.
But Zander doesn’t look at me. “As of right now, Romeria would have no idea how to. She has no skill with wielding her affinities, either elven or caster.”
“Is that so?” Abarrane’s eyebrow arches, her sodden braids and clothes saying otherwise.
“I told you that was an accident,” I mumble.
She studies me. “What good is a key caster who cannot wield her affinities? Why keep her alive?”
“Because she will be able to in time,” Zander answers. “Gesine will train her.”
The warrior sneers at the woman kneeling before her. “And what is the witch’s role in all this? Why would she want the princess resurrected in the first place?”
“The high priestess is guided by prophecy. She believes the seers have seen the end of the blood curse and peace between our people, and it requires this reincarnated version of Romeria to achieve it.”
“Fools and their prophecy,” Abarrane spits out, but the slight no longer holds the same noxious anger.
“If Gesine chooses to allow such folly to drive her purpose, that is her choice, as long as it does not hinder my path forward. What I do know is that we now have a key caster, and I intend to use her to regain my throne.”
I flinch at his choice of words. Of course, that’s why he’s changed his mind about going our separate ways. Now that the initial shock is over, he’s realized how stupid he would have to be to let Gesine and me take off.
I’ve become a weapon for his cause and nothing more.
A hollowness blooms inside my chest.
Gesine’s eyes open then. She stands and eases back from Abarrane. “The wound was deep, but the flesh knitted together nicely.”
“I wouldn’t know. I can’t move,” Abarrane mutters.
“Can you blame us?” Zander chuckles, and it sounds so out of place in this tension.
After a moment, she smirks. “No.”
“Is the Legion still with the rightful king of Islor, Commander?” Zander watches her closely.
“Aye. Always.” There’s no waver in her voice. “Though this secret, we shall keep between us for as long as possible. I will enlighten them to Her Highness’s terrible bout of amnesia”—she cuts a glare my way—“but as far as anything else, Jarek and the rest must not know.”
Which means she doesn’t completely trust her second-in-command either.
That’s reassuring.
Zander nods, seemingly appeased by her answer. “You can release her now, Gesine. I think she has seen reason.”
Another beat passes, and then Abarrane pulls herself up from the stump.
Beside me, Elisaf shifts his weight as if expecting her to pounce.
But she only stretches her leg out in front of her, testing it. “That was much faster than Wendeline.”
“Wendeline knows how to heal, but she is not a healer. I am one such, and I am far more powerful.” It’s a simple statement and likely true, given that Wendeline would be hunched over with that one repair. Yet within those words, I sense a subtle warning to Abarrane, maybe to Zander. Do not underestimate her.
Abarrane unfastens the tourniquet and tosses it to a corner with a sigh. “When do you wish to leave, Your Highness?”
“At first light,” Zander confirms. “Before Atticus has time to create obstacles for us.”
“That might be a challenge. As you have seen, many of my warriors are grievously injured.”
“Gesine will heal the worst of them tonight.”
Abarrane opens her mouth—to object, likely.
“In that, we need your help to convince them it is in the best interests of Islor.” Zander holds an arm toward the tent door, palm upturned. A signal.
Gesine glances at me once before moving swiftly out of the tent.
I know stomach slashes and gouged eyes take priority over my questions about my future, and yet my frustration surges all the same.
With one last lingering look my way, Abarrane marches for the door. She stalls at Zander’s side and quietly—but not quietly enough—says, “Please tell me it isn’t your heart that continues to stay your blade.”