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)
Jarek’s frown makes me realize my mistake.
“That I remember,” I add, cursing myself for my mistake. We’re back to this game. I’m so sick of it.
If Jarek thinks there is more to that, he doesn’t let on.
“He’s beautiful.” I hadn’t considered this horse much beyond knowing he was one of Freywich’s, and he’s been riderless since those two mortals left. Now, I study his slender head and near-black eyes as he chews.
“He’s a rare breed from Kier. Fast and strong, with exceptional stamina. Even the concave shape of his neck is unique.” Jarek strokes his mane. “Very few can be found in Islor.”
“How did a lowly nobleman from Islor’s west side end up with him, then?”
“Good question, but not important. What is crucial is that you both get used to each other before we start on this next stretch. Mount him.” It sounds like a command he might give the Legion warriors.
After so many days of this, I hoist myself into the saddle without difficulty, collecting the reins as I’ve watched others do countless times.
“We’re going to start slow.” Jarek holds the harness and leads the horse around in a circle, his footfalls measured and steady, his deep voice even and conversational. “Keep a tight hold of the reins at all times but give them some slack for his benefit. Your posture is key. Shoulders back, sit up straight.”
“I know all that already.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t know anything.” He glances back at me. “Do you want to learn or not?”
For the next half hour, Jarek walks me through various commands, tips, and warnings—how to use my legs and heels to signal directions, the right way to use the reins—and he does it with surprisingly minimal attitude. When the wagons roll again and our procession moves forward, my mind swims with new knowledge.
“Look at you.” Elisaf sidles up next to me. “You’re a natural.”
“A natural pain in my arse,” Jarek mutters, slipping into his usual abrasive demeanor. It doesn’t bother me as much, though. I’ve seen another, less prickly side beneath all that leather and steel.
I hum as we move toward the mountains, feeling like I’ve accomplished something today. Leading a horse, I can wrap my head around.
Creating balls of water out of thin air and a seer who shares bad omens in the middle of the night is another story.
28
Zander
“Could she be right?”
Gesine studies the crop of firelight in the distance that marks Norcaster. A hub for the villages that speckle the flatlands between the east and western ridgelines of the Venhorn Mountains, a rustic town with a well-fortified wall and a lord who, according to Theon, talks as though he rules the north and has no use for a king.
“Yes.”
Her frank answer catches me off guard. I scan the activity around us as the camp unfolds, ensuring we are not within earshot of anyone. “About what, exactly?”
“About everything. As the hidden texts from Shadowhelm alluded, the last time Aoife and Malachi walked among us, they did it by assuming the forms of kings and queens already on the throne. I see no reason why Malachi could not possess the physical form of one who walked out of the Nulling instead.”
“And then take the throne as a commoner? An outsider? Would he not be better suited to claiming Atticus’s form?” Or mine? A worry stirs inside. Would mine not be more appealing, given the power that courses through it? His power?
“Perhaps. But do not forget he will also have an army of Nulling creatures and a key caster as his bride.”
I smooth my palm over my mouth to smother the groan. “Of course, there would be another key caster.” One who is far more skilled than ours.
“Romeria will likely have a score to settle, after what Sofie did to her. But this Sofie has been through much. I wonder how she will handle coming this far to rescue her love from the Nulling, only to lose him to Malachi’s aim for a throne?” Gesine ponders this out loud, but I sense she already has an opinion.
“Not well would be my guess.” And an angry key caster is dangerous. “But you speak as though we are opening the nymphaeum door and unleashing this upon Islor, which is not the case. Unless you know something? Have you gained any more insight from your seer?”
Gesine’s face pinches. “She does not remember any of what she said last night. She does not believe me that it even happened. But now you must see the value of a seer beyond simple ramblings. You see why I was so adamant about taking her from Bellcross.”
What I have seen is that Ianca and Gesine were far more than friends. The gentle touches, the flinches of agony that Gesine can’t hide every time she looks at or mentions the other woman. “Perhaps. Though dire warnings delivered in incoherent riddles hold as much risk as they do worth. I cannot have Romeria’s head filled with these distractions.”