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)
He sighs heavily. “Would the people’s princess use that foul language?”
My head falls back with a bellow of laughter that reminds me where he’s still deeply seated.
21
Romeria
I sense a figure standing over me a second before a toe digs into my calf.
“Wake up,” Abarrane snaps.
I grimace into the shadows of my tent. Zander walked me back last night and laid beside me but must have left when I fell asleep because I’m alone now, aside from this brackish warrior kicking me. “What’s going on?”
“Scouts have seen the supply wagons approaching. They’ll be here soon.”
I pause to rub the sleep from my eyes. “And?”
“And Rengard is with them. Do you not think he will ask about your poisonous little pet?”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yes. Exactly. Zander can answer for his decision, but you need to get the witch to mark that imbecile so it appears we’re taking the issue seriously.”
“We are taking it seriously.”
“Seriously would be my blade across his jugular.”
Low voices and rustling carries outside my tent. “Where’s Zander?”
“Too busy for you.”
I scowl as I haul my body up. While my thigh feels mostly fine, my shoulder still aches. “I think I’d rather deal with Jarek in the mornings.”
“I will be sure to send him in next. I’ll tell him you did not get enough in the bathhouse last night.” She throws the tent flap open, allowing me a glimpse of the dawn light and the bustling camp. My cheeks burn. I suppose there was no keeping Zander’s and my reconciliation from her.
I quickly dress and roll up my bed before venturing out. Dense fog veils the farm, hiding the barn from where I stand. It must have rained after I went to bed; the long grass weeps under the weight of moisture.
One of the Freywich mortals sees me emerge and rushes over. With a bow and Your Highness, which I don’t bother to correct, he begins taking down my tent.
I head in the direction of the wagon while scanning for Zander and Pan, but I find neither within the mist.
Gesine is already awake and working on Zorya’s wound again. She’s changed out of the caster’s ruined white gown and back to the beige linen dress from Freywich.
The warrior stands with her vest hiked halfway up her torso, a cautious glower marring her face as she studies Ianca, seated in the wagon, guiding spoonfuls of cold porridge to her mouth with surprising precision. The seer’s sparse white hair seems thinner today, if that’s possible, exposing patches of her scalp.
Zorya isn’t the only one wary. I doubt anyone here has ever seen a seer before, and many nervous glances drift this way. I understand that. I used to watch my father from a distance. People would change course when they noticed him sitting on the sidewalk, as if he might lash out at a passerby without warning, like his enraged rants would lead to ambiguous violence.
Thankfully, Ianca is quiet this morning.
“Nice scar,” I say by way of greeting. All that’s left is a jagged silver mark on her ribcage.
“I am collecting.”
I draw the collar of my tunic aside, where the faint, thin line from my dagger crosses over my collarbone. “Me too.”
“Not bad, but not lethal.”
“I’ll try harder next time.”
She smirks. “Good.”
“There. You should be fully healed now.” Gesine gently pats Zorya’s scar before shifting away.
The warrior yanks her vest down and turns to leave, but then falters. “Thank you, witch.” She meets Gesine’s gaze as if to silently convey her gratitude.
Gesine dips her head with her usual deference. “It is my pleasure. As always.”
“A strong warrior. A protector. She will make a good lover, and not hesitate to end your suffering when the time comes.” Ianca gulps another spoonful of oatmeal, her defective eyes on her bowl.
Gesine’s jaw drops and a nervous laugh escapes, her cheeks flushing. “Do let me know if there’s any more pain or difficulty drawing breath.”
With one last glance at the seer, Zorya strolls away, readjusting the daggers at her sides.
“Ianca! Do not say such things!” Gesine chastises, sounding less like the serene caster and more like an appalled friend. Or more than a friend. I’m beginning to see a deeper connection than simply two powerful casters who were trapped in a jeweled castle together.
Ianca shrugs, unbothered. “I can feel her. The other Romeria.”
“Yes, she is right here.”
I hesitate. The last time I spoke to Ianca, she started screaming. “Good morning?”
“Morning, dear.” She shovels in another spoonful.
Shaking her head, Gesine turns back to me. “You’re protecting your shoulder.”
“Yeah, I must have torn something. It kept me up half the night.” With the help of someone else.
“Allow me to look while you fill me in on all that happened yesterday after we parted ways.” She reaches for me.
I take a quick step back. “I will, but first, I need you to mark the mortal from Bellcross before the supply wagons get here.”