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)
“It’s not that. It’s just, this won’t be enough.” A decision skitters across his face and then his hand drops to his hip to unfasten the scabbard that holds his merth dagger. The one he had thrust into my hand in those few frantic moments after Atticus declared the throne his and me the enemy. I returned it to him as we were leaving the castle.
Zander affixes it to my hip. “This will seriously maim or kill any immortal in your path.” Collecting my hand within his, he closes it over the hilt. “It is now yours. Always keep it with you.”
He could have given me any of the dozen blades he just strapped to his body, yet he’s given me the one I’ve always sensed holds value to him beyond its deadly composition. Warmth blooms in my chest at the gesture.
Whatever else he might think about me, he still cares for my safety. He wouldn’t have shielded me from the arrows on the boat if he didn’t. And maybe that water shield I created to protect us—him—wouldn’t have been so strong if I didn’t care deeply for him.
But why is he giving me this dagger now? Is it a token to ease his guilt before he abandons me?
What’s going on inside that head of his?
He studies me, and I know he’s trying to get a read on me too. The problem is, he’s far more skilled at it than I am. I’ve always thrived at hiding my pained thoughts behind a veil of indifference. I can’t hide them from him, though, and I hate it.
“Thanks for the dagger.”
He dismisses the act with a shrug. “It suits you better, anyway.”
I smooth my thumb over the black stone on the hilt. “I thought so too. That’s why I tried to steal it that night in the tower.”
“Yes, it certainly wasn’t to slit my throat so you could escape,” he murmurs dryly.
“Even if I had succeeded, I wouldn’t have killed you. I’ve never killed anyone,” I admit.
“By the way, what manner of larceny did Romeria Watts partake in, back in her world?”
I can’t help my sly grin. “Jewel thief.” My truth may be unsavory to some, but it’s still my truth, not that of this wicked Ybarisan princess I’ve been forced to play.
“Why am I not surprised?” The corners of his mouth twitch. “Dare I ask how good you were?”
“Very good.”
“I imagine you were.” His gaze drifts down over my lips where it lingers a moment before he seems to catch himself. He steps back, his expression hardening. “Are you strong enough to walk, or shall I carry you?” he calls out. The set of his jaw tells me he might enjoy throwing the caster over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
Gesine lifts her head, her bleary eyes blinking several times, struggling for focus. She pulls herself off the boulder, and smoothing her palms over her damp, soiled cloak, takes wobbled steps forward.
The morning sun is a blessing. By the time we reach the road, the chill from sitting in wet clothes for hours is gone and a thin sheen of sweat builds under my collar.
Elisaf leans against the trunk of a weeping willow. Two horses graze on a lush patch of grass nearby. The second he spots us, he pulls his lean body upright. “I was beginning to think you’d taken a nap.”
I can’t help my genuine smile. I’ve always felt safer with Elisaf at my side, but also I can’t fathom how Gesine is still on her feet, aside from sheer determination to avoid being tossed over Zander’s shoulder.
She sways toward the brown horse closest to her, her fingers fumbling with the reins. “Would you be so kind as to help me mount?” Her request is breathless, her eyes half closed as her boot digs for the stirrup.
“Certainly.” Elisaf grasps her slender waist and hoists her into the saddle.
Gesine slumps forward, her body sprawling against the horse’s caramel-colored mane.
“I suppose this one is ours, then.” Elisaf swings himself up and behind the exhausted caster, surveying her draped form from various angles, as if assessing how likely she is to tumble off.
Zander greets the black horse with a gentle stroke across its muscular flank. “What news from Cirilea?”
“Nothing that has reached the village yet.”
“And that?” Zander gestures toward Elisaf’s forearm.
I notice the hastily wrapped strip of cloth, soaked in blood. He didn’t have that when he left.
“Oh yes. This.” Elisaf studies it a long moment, as if deciding on his answer. “I had an interesting conversation with Saul’s keeper.” The dangerous gleam in his brown eyes is so contrary to the kindness I have seen. But it’s a reminder that, for all the gallantry my night guard has afforded me over the weeks, he is deadly with a blade.
Zander sighs with resignation. “Come.” He beckons me with a hand. “Our pace will be hard, and I need full control. You will ride behind me.”