Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Kier’s silver and red banner flutters in the light breeze next to the green and gold of Kettling. There is no mistake who has claimed victory over this massacre.
My molars grind as I regard my faithful Islorian soldiers, dead thanks to the games of those in power and those who angle for it. I should have killed Adley years ago. Someone else would have risen to his place, though. Maybe someone worse.
Still, I should have killed him.
Abarrane wipes the spittle from her jaw. “When I pledged my sword, it was to die in battle, not plummeting to my death from a beast’s grip.”
“Be thankful we had the option. It would have taken days to reach here by horseback. Though I cannot say this sight brings me comfort.” Especially not after the battleground we just left.
I survey the surrounding forests. Plenty of places for enemies to lie in wait within the trees. “Surely, there are scouts watching us this very moment.” Waiting for Cirilea to send in reinforcements so they can slaughter them too. Where exactly Kier’s army is, I would like to know. “I imagine they’ll reconsider an ambush, given our orange friend.”
“Our orange friend is as likely to kill us as our enemies.” Abarrane eyes the dragon warily.
“They do not know that.” Perhaps I should ask it to char the trees with its fiery breath—if it shares that skill with Caindra.
But we didn’t come here for another battle. We came to learn what has become of my brother, Islor’s current king. “I will corral that gelding over there and then make my way among the dead to—”
The ground trembles as the dragon launches itself into the air.
The horse barely has time to whinny before it’s snatched from its grazing spot. Its bones crunch as the dragon devours it, Abarrane and I looking on. The entire spectacle—how quickly a beast this size can pounce on its prey of choice—has me reaching for flame in case I must defend myself. But there isn’t a hint of one anywhere near us to fuel my affinity. I have nothing but my blade—futile against this beast if it decides it’s still hungry.
The dragon returns to its initial spot, casting a wide shadow over the hill.
“You were saying?” Abarrane asks dryly.
I sigh. “We will search the dead on foot.”
“Your Highness!” Abarrane calls out, hovering at a cluster of bodies. We scoured the entire camp and, not finding Atticus among the debris, moved on to a smaller battleground to the west.
My stomach clenches as I navigate toward her. Despite how deeply my brother betrayed me, despite the reality that his demise will make my reclaiming my throne a smoother process, the thought of him dead—by my hand or another’s—does not bring me the satisfaction I once thought it might.
I brace myself as she flips over a male riddled with wounds, including one earned by an ax cleaved into his armor.
A wave of relief swarms me as I note the beard. “That is not Atticus.”
“No, it is Kazimir, which is the next best thing. He is a growth on your brother’s arse. Where he is, Atticus is always near, especially in battle.”
I scan the bodies for the familiar blond curls and polished armor. “And yet he is not here.” I add after a moment, “Which means Kier has likely taken him captive.” An Islorian king in chains is a powerful bartering chip. Though, a usurper whose realm is in the midst of rebellion? Maybe not as valuable as Kier’s ruler hopes.
Kazimir’s eyelids flutter.
“He lives.” Abarrane stoops to check his pulse. “Barely.”
“Barely is good enough for the healers if we can get him there in time.”
“He will not survive the trip.”
“He has survived this long. Let us pray he can hang on. Kazimir may be the only one who can convince Atticus to ally with us, for Islor’s sake.” He is certainly the best one to shine a light on where my brother’s head has been these last days, and how hard he will battle me for the throne once I reclaim it. “The Kiers will not kill Atticus as long as they think he is valuable.”
Abarrane snorts. “Knowing your brother and his silver tongue, King Cheral will believe he is blessed by Malachi himself.”
“So be it. This is where our search for Atticus must end, then. May the fates grant him strength in whichever dungeon they place him.”
“And this Kierish army?”
I scan the sun’s placement in the sky. We’re moving into midafternoon. “As much as I would like to find them and have the dragon blaze a path through their ranks, I have a throne to reclaim.”
7
Atticus
Briny sea air. That’s the first thing I note when I regain consciousness.
The second is the way my body sways with the soft lull of waves, and the jarring pain in my right shoulder. What was it that … oh, right. An ax found its way between the joint in my armor, cutting through my chain mail and nearly cleaving me in half. That’s what toppled me. Why my head throbs, I can’t recall.