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)
A guilty gesture.
His reasoning was sound—commendable, even—but still … How could he keep something like this from me? He and Gesine, conspiring since Gully’s Pass while burying me in the dark. Shrugging off my questions, steering me away from the truth, even when I was trying to piece together Ianca’s gibberish.
Not so much gibberish after all.
Zander might not want to admit it, but what if Gesine is right and there is no other way to rid them of this blood curse? What if I must do the very thing I’ve sworn I never would? What is a bigger risk to Islor—the poison slowly tearing it apart, or Malachi and his Nulling army?
Either way, it feels like I’m the one dooming these people.
The same woman from last night is perched on her stool at the bottom of the steps. When she looks up and sees us descending, she offers, “Can’t say we’ve e’er had a king stay here before. Or a queen, for that matter.” No salutations, no bows. Either she didn’t have a teacher like Corrin to berate her into learning proper etiquette, or more than likely, she doesn’t care for custom.
Her eyes flip to me, filled with a new hint of caution. “I see you found yourself a room after all.”
“I guess I played my cards right.”
She pauses a beat and then snorts. Her frizzy hair sways with her curt chin jerk toward the tavern doors. “There’s some oats and links waitin’ if you’re hungry.”
“You’re open?”
She stares at me like I’m an idiot. “People need to eat.”
“Right. Of course.”
“Thank you.” Zander leads me away, his hand on the small of my back. “They’re an interesting lot up here.” If he’s bothered by her lack of etiquette, he doesn’t let on, though something tells me he might appreciate it.
The Greasy Yak is quiet this morning. About a third of the tables are occupied by people digging into a hot breakfast, and in a few cases, a morning ale. One group of weathered patrons looks like they might have been here last night and never left.
It’s surprisingly clean, considering the body count it boasted only hours ago. The corpses have all been cleared out—to where, I’d rather not know—and three gangly teenage boys are on their knees, scrubbing the floor with a bucket of soapy water and wire-bristle brushes.
Maybe it’s because I know what happened, but the smell of death clings to the air, overpowering the melding scent of ale and sizzling pork.
And everyone is staring at me.
Or it could be Zander they’re gawking at. I’m sure word of the king’s arrival has spread to every nook of Norcaster by now.
Or it could be both of us drawing attention because it’s quiet enough that a rather noisy activity from two floors up might have carried. My cheeks burn at the thought.
From a far corner, a willowy young woman offers me a tentative wave.
I frown. Do I know her…
It’s the sobbing girl from the pillory. I scan the faces around her. They’re all here. Dressed and healthy, though visibly nervous, several of them stealing frequent glances at the intersecting crescent moons marked on their hands.
“Their keepers were poisoned, and many of them have tainted blood. No one will take them in. Elisaf told them to come here until we can decide what to do with them,” Zander says, answering my unasked question.
“We already know what to do with them.” I offer the girl a small smile.
“Why do I suspect you have dug your heels in on this matter?”
“Because you’re more than a good lay? And by lay, I mean you’re good at—”
“I understand.” He flashes an exasperated look, but the corners of his mouth curve.
Two legionaries linger nearby, waiting. It’s obvious they want to speak to Zander.
“I will bring you something to eat.” He ushers me in the other direction, where Gesine, Abarrane, Jarek, and Elisaf sit. “You can be angry with me if it makes you feel better, but do not take it out on Gesine. She had no choice.”
“I thought we all have a choice,” I mutter, heading for the table, my stomach tense at the sight of Jarek. The truth is, I’m not really angry with Zander. Annoyed, yes. But I think it’s disappointment that overwhelms me. I’d convinced myself that this prophecy was true. I wanted it to be true.
But now I appreciate Zander’s warnings about Mordain and casters, and the half-truths they deliver that may as well be blatant lies. If Gesine had told us from the beginning that I needed to open the nymphaeum door to end this blood curse, we might never have left Cirilea together.
“… not understand how two legionaries have utterly vanished from this town, and no one can tell us anything.” Abarrane punctuates her anger by stabbing her sausage link with a fork. “It does not make sense.”