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)
“Abarrane!” Zander’s deep voice cuts into my panic, pulling the camp’s attention from the coming massacre to the tent. He fills the doorway, his hand pulling the flap open. “Come. Now.”
I can practically hear her teeth gnashing as she reluctantly pivots toward the tent, water dripping from her clothes and braids.
I sag against the tree trunk.
Zander searches the camp, quickly finding me. His chest lifts with a deep breath, the seriousness of his expression only stirring more anxiety. What has Gesine told him?
He jerks his head, beckoning us to come, before vanishing inside.
I pull myself to my feet, longing for a hot bath, clean clothes, and some of Wendeline’s salve for my chafed thighs. All things I suspect I am a long way from ever seeing again.
“While I am sure we will one day laugh at that, perhaps you can refrain from doing it again.” A hint of annoyance laces Elisaf’s tone, his sword still in hand as we head for the tent.
My nerves churn. Plenty of hostile eyes are on me, but the ones I feel most acutely are soot colored and paired with a smirk. What amused Jarek, I can’t guess—was it dousing Abarrane, or that I’ve managed to make her hate me more?
I do my best to ignore the warrior as I duck into the tent.
Inside is absent of luxuries. No couches to lounge on or rugs to tread upon like those from tents at the king’s hunt. There’s nothing but a single skin off to one side. But I guess that’s to be expected. This is the tent of a military commander who ran from battle with nothing but the weapons on her body. She doesn’t seem the type to demand comforts.
But, for as vacant as it is, the way Zander paces around the space, his hands clasped at his back, his face stony, it doesn’t feel sparse or empty at all. The moment his eyes touch mine and I see the indifference that hides the man I’ve come to know behind the shield of a king, it’s clear something monumental has shifted.
Hovering near him is Gesine, unharmed by all appearances.
Zander gestures toward the tree stump centered in the tent, his voice calm. “Abarrane, take a seat. We will discuss plans while Gesine heals your leg—”
“I will heal on my own,” she spits.
“You can barely stand. And that was not a suggestion.” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The icy command is enough.
And he’s right. The obstinate warrior sways slightly, her complexion sickly.
Abarrane eases herself onto the stump, sparing a warning glare at Gesine as the caster kneels before her.
But Gesine’s attention is on Zander, waiting.
He nods once, and she settles her hands on Abarrane’s wounded thigh, her eyes closing.
Abarrane’s chest heaves with a sigh, as if even a second of unwanted magic is already providing much-needed relief from her silent agony.
“We will go to Venhorn,” Zander announces. “All of us.”
All of us, meaning Zander is keeping his promise to get us there. Despite everything, my heart skips a beat. He’s not abandoning me … yet.
Abarrane’s mouth opens, but she falters on her words. Clearly she wasn’t expecting these plans, and by the way her face pinches, she isn’t impressed by them. “You mean to scurry away and hide from your brother?”
A muscle in Zander’s jaw ticks. “When have you ever known me to scurry and hide?”
Technically, we just did, but I bite my tongue. Now is not the time to poke holes in his claims.
Abarrane smooths her expression. When she speaks again, it is more conciliatory. “Why Venhorn?”
Zander paces again. “Because we know the terrain well, and the caves can provide us suitable protection from any army hunting. And, according to Prince Tyree, Ybarisan soldiers have concealed themselves somewhere in those mountains with their vials of poison to distribute across Islor. We need to find them.”
Her laugh is mirthless. “I spent hours familiarizing him to my blade, and I obtained nothing but blatant lies. You trust that lech to tell you the truth?”
“He did not tell me anything. He told Romeria the day she went to him in the dungeon.”
“When he shattered her face against the bars?” Cold eyes flash to me, and I’m sure she’s picturing herself doing the same. And enjoying it. “You told me that visit was fruitless.”
“I lied,” he says without hesitation. “I did not know who to trust with the information, so I trusted no one. But those lies end now. You are my loyal advisor, and if you are to follow me down this path, you deserve to know what cause you are fighting for. You deserve to know what Romeria truly is.”
My stomach sinks with cold realization. He said to keep that secret to ourselves, that telling Abarrane would be too risky. Based on her reception of me so far, I’d argue he was right.