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)
A noblewoman with a curtain of shiny black hair bows before our table then. “Your Highness, I am Lady Saoirse. I wish to thank you for bestowing upon me the gift of governing Kettling.”
Ah, yes. The city whose lord Malachi beheaded. And here is his daughter, grinning for her father’s executioner.
“Lady Saoirse.” Malachi regards her. “I am certain that whatever the previous ruler conspired to accomplish, you had no involvement in.”
“Certainly not.” Her hair swings with her vehement headshake. “I was betrothed to King Atticus and intended to be queen. For what reason my”—she falters—“the Lord Adley chose to plot is beyond me.”
I clear my throat. It took me all of half an hour to learn the deep-rooted hatred between Cirilea and Kettling, and that all the accusations against those thrown into the tower were likely true.
Her eyes flitter to me for a second before plowing on. “If I might be so bold as to ask about the eastern armies that King Atticus sent to the rift. The Kierish soldiers have invaded my lands, and they are still there.”
“You wish me to send them back to the east.”
“If it is feasible. I worry for the safety of my people. I received troubling news today of a large enemy encampment claiming the village of Baymeadow.”
“From what I’ve heard, the encampment has as many Islorian soldiers as it does soldiers from this enemy realm.” I recall addressing a letter to Kier’s king. I don’t imagine he appreciated Malachi’s closing line.
“They are traitors to Islor and a threat to you, Your Highness.”
Malachi twists his lips in thought. “Have no fear, Lady Saoirse. My Saur’goth warriors will decimate them soon enough.”
“Of that, I am sure, Your Highness.” Lady Saoirse dips her head again.
Between the beasts crawling out of the Nulling and his warriors, there will be no one left to rule over soon enough, but I bite my tongue.
“But I appreciate your concern for my kingdom.” He leans forward on his elbows. “You are even more exquisite up close.”
The fool beams. “You honor me greatly, Your Highness.”
My insides churn with disgust, the single carrot in my stomach threatening to reappear. “I seek fresh air. I will be outside in the garden if you require me, though I’m sure your guards will remain dutiful.” No one would attempt anything with these fucking demons ready to pounce.
“Leaving your king at dinner is rude, my love. It will cause talk.”
The last thing Malachi cares about is gossip, but I hear the underlying disapproval in his voice. If I were smart, I would remain where I was, shovel my dinner into my mouth, and smile like a good little queen.
“As you have said, I have much to learn about ruling a kingdom.” I rush away before he can stop me.
My heels click on the stone pathway as I meander through the garden, igniting cold lanterns with flame as I pass. This must have been a lovely place once. I suppose it still is, save for the hideous scar that splits its center. The bodies have been removed and mortals tinker away at the stone fountains day and night, preparing to rebuild. But the swath of damage from dragon’s fire cannot be fixed by any mortal with their cart of tools.
I glance over my shoulder at the castle behind, half expecting to see a cohort of Saur’goths marching to drag me back to face Malachi’s wrath. But he is suitably occupied by all the preening idiots who stroke his ego, allowing me a chance to breathe out here.
I pause by a vine that reminds me of our beloved wisteria, though this one boasts flowers in fuchsia and violet hues of a tropical beach sunset. At least it did. Only a few blooms remain now, while the rest wear a coat of ash. It will die without help.
I weave strands of Aoife and Aminadav together and channel it into the roots of this poor, abused plant. Moments pass and then the ash flakes off, revealing new wood beneath. Fresh buds erupt on it, promising another burst of blooms.
I move on to the next vine.
This, I can do.
The last threads of my affinities flutter, frayed and dim, as I climb the steps to the queen’s chamber. My legs wobble from the exertion. I should not have drained myself so thoroughly for the sake of trees and vines, and yet once I began, I could not stop, the simple act of healing as satisfying as it was therapeutic.
Two guards hovering at my door step forward in unison. “You must attend His Highness in his chamber,” the one on the right says.
Oh, fates. I barely stifle the groan. There is only one thing this could be for, and I am spent. “I am far too tired to—”
“He insists,” the one on the left cuts me off, collecting my elbow, the metal of his gauntlet digging into my skin.