Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“She knows how to survive,” I say for Zander’s benefit, but I’m not entirely sure anyone can outsmart this fate.
Zander stares at the tent ceiling. “Am I to be all that remains of my bloodline?”
I don’t know what to say, so I attempt to distract him with my lips over his collarbones, over the muscular pads of his chest, grazing his peaked nipples with the tip of my tongue, earning his sharp inhale.
“I know what you are trying to do,” he murmurs.
“Is it working?”
“Keep going and I will let you know.” His fingers toy with my mussed braids a moment before pushing my head down his body.
“Your Highness!” Abarrane hollers from outside the tent flap.
“Who is she talking to?” I whisper against his stomach.
“I do not know, but if neither of us answers, perhaps she will return later,” Zander whispers back, earning my giggle.
“She is tired of waiting for you two to finish your business,” comes Abarrane’s stern voice as the flap flies open and she moves into the tent.
I scramble to pull the blanket up and give us a modicum of privacy.
“What earns such a rude invasion, Commander?” Zander drawls. “I do not hear any roaring beasts.”
“The Shadow leader has sent word to meet with you. Dire news arrives from Mordain.”
Zander rolls out from beneath me and sits up, reaching for his breeches. “About what?”
“Dire usually means one thing.” Abarrane notices me glaring pointedly at her and averts her gaze as Zander stands to pull up his pants, though not without rolling her eyes first. “Someone has died or is about to.”
Panic flares in me. Lives there were under threat to begin with. “I have to get those scribes out.”
“We have to get those scribes out. You are not going to Nyos alone,” Zander corrects, yanking his tunic over his head.
“But you can’t get through the gates.”
He freezes. “What exactly does that mean?”
“They’ve been warded against Islorian immortals ever since Rhionn took Farren.”
He stares at me with incredulity. “Who told you this? When were you going to tell me?”
“Uh … now?” I gave him only topline details yesterday and we haven’t seen each other since.
“But that means Jarek and Abarrane can’t either. So … the dragons will protect you.” He nods, as if satisfied with that solution.
I bite my bottom lip. “Actually, they can’t fly there either.”
Zander looks at me like I’ve gone mad. “You are not going into Nyos alone, Romeria. That is not an option. I forbid it.”
“I’m sorry, you forbid it?”
A sliver of light flashes as Abarrane ducks out of the tent without a word. For once, she senses a fight brewing and wants no part of it.
I toss the blanket off and collect my clothes. “I won’t be alone. Solange will be with me.”
“Solange is a caster. And Mordain’s second-in-command.”
“Who has been nothing but helpful.”
“Who could decide to trap you within a city I can’t enter.” He shakes his head fervently. “I do not trust her.”
“You don’t trust anyone.” It’s been the common theme since the night I met him.
“Fine, then let Solange and her Shadows free the scribes without you. There is no need for you to go there.”
“But I can take them through the stone, directly to Ulysede.”
“All hundred of them?”
“I’ve done it before.” Except this time, I can’t make multiple trips as I did from Cirilea. There’s no in-and-out privilege.
He shakes his head. “We will figure out how to defeat Malachi with Agatha and Lucretia’s help.”
My mouth drops as I grasp what he means. “I am not leaving all those scribes there to die!” Many of them had no involvement in this prophecy scheme to begin with. They’re as innocent as the priestesses Atticus slaughtered because of Wendeline.
“So that you can die? No, this is too risky.” His voice rises. I’m sure anyone within a ten-foot radius of our tent is listening to this fight.
“You know what was also too risky? You going to Cirilea yesterday!” I throw back, yanking on my pant legs. “You, taunting Sofie! She nearly killed you.”
“But she didn’t.”
“And they won’t kill me either. Have some faith in me.”
“It has nothing to do with faith in you.” He pinches the bridge of his nose as if pained. “You don’t even have a viable plan.”
“I might.” I rush to fasten all my buttons and ties and tug on my boots. It’s a scrap of a plan, really. I spent the flight over considering it.
He pauses, watching me dress. “And? What is it?”
I pull my tunic over my head, not bothering to tuck it in. “I’m still working out a few details.” Mainly, how not to get killed.
That earns me a flat look. “Am I going to like it?”
“Probably not. But it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your permission.” I fling the flap up and storm out of the tent, my fancy vest in my clenched fist.