Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
But if he’s dead, where does that leave me?
Where does that leave our baby? I grab the front of my dress, wanting to touch my stomach to comfort myself, but knowing I don’t dare. Saemon watches me too closely already. My lower lip trembles. I don’t want to leave.
I don’t know that I want to even live if Nemeth has been killed. I can’t do this alone.
“Get on the horse, princess,” Saemon says again. “Whoever you’re waiting for isn’t coming back.”
That’s exactly what I’m worried about. I’m glad it’s raining, because it hides the tears that fall down my face. Stupid, dragon shite tears. I can’t cry right now. I shouldn’t cry. Nemeth would want me to be strong and go on. I clench my jaw, gazing up at Saemon’s hated face. He extends a hand to me to help me mount, and I see the gleam of my pretty, jeweled knife in his belt.
My knife.
It could tell me where Nemeth has gone and if he’s still alive.
My new goal in life is to get it back, no matter what it takes. So I smile sweetly and take his hand, letting him help (or rather, shove) me up onto the horse’s back. I sit up there awkwardly, the leather saddle and the blanket underneath it making a wet squishing sound when I’m seated. A moment later, Saemon is behind me, and he locks an arm around my waist.
I stiffen, because his touch is far too casual.
“Don’t worry, princess,” he says, and leans in close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my skin. “If you need someone to warm your bed at night, I’ll volunteer.”
Disgusting. I say nothing. Instead, I look down at the bite on my hand, the bite mark from when Nemeth promised to love and care for me always.
If he loves me, why isn’t he here?
The entire day passes without a sign of Nemeth, and my soul feels as if it’s shriveling in my body.
Nemeth would come for me if he could. That he hasn’t tells me that something is wrong. I picture him with a wounded wing, unable to fly. I picture him melting into shadows, only to disappear forever because of some spell backfiring. I picture him slain by the very men that hold me captive right now, and my insides are ice. It doesn’t matter that Saemon gropes me and whispers lewd things in my ear, things that he’d like to do to sully a princess. It doesn’t matter that the rain doesn’t let up for an instant, and the entire world feels like one endless wet landscape of mud. It doesn’t matter that my stomach growls and the lack of food—combined with the swaying of the horse—makes me dizzy all day long.
Nothing matters anymore. Nemeth—my Nemeth—is gone. I picture his face as he reads one of his boring war poetry books, and my heart feels like lead. I think of him, the heated look in his eyes as he pushes his knot into my body. The you can take it he always whispers to me when I squirm against him because it’s too much, the best kind of too much. I picture him a thousand ways, and they all make me hurt so badly that I can’t bear the pain.
And yet I have to, because I’m carrying his baby and our child deserves better than his mother giving up.
We pass through another deserted village, and I’m forced to stay on the horse with Saemon while Jarvo and Corlath search the town for supplies. They find nothing, but I’m not surprised. If this world is nothing but a swampy, muddy mess because of the goddess’s wrath, how can anything grow?
“We’ll find something at the capital,” is all Saemon says, and pats me on the shoulder as if I’m his answer to everything.
That night we bed down in a stable, and at the far end of the stable is the carcass of a dead, rotted horse. It smells so bad my eyes water, but it’s dry in here so they won’t leave. I vomit twice, then hunt my bag for an ancient sliver of soap that I packed and keep it under my nose, the thick perfume of roses drowning out the stench of decay. The men don’t seem to be bothered by it, and I get sick a third time when Jarvo pokes at the dead animal, trying to see if it’s edible.
The next day is even worse. The coastline starts to look familiar, and the villages get closer together. They’re all empty, and my heart hurts for the people of Lios. Did the war end them or was it the lack of food? What’s the capital going to look like with so many refugees flooding it? Erynne must be beside herself with stress. I picture my sister, but thinking of her makes me think of her orders to kill Nemeth, and it fills me with bitter anger instead. I think of Riza and Nurse instead, of their smiling, sweet faces, and I miss them both dearly. They raised me more than my mother did, and I long for my family.