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)
Zander’s jaw tenses as he collects my hand and kisses my knuckles. A silent thank-you for saving his life, perhaps.
On the other side of him, Abarrane plunges her sword into a cloaked heap that I’m certain is already dead.
I shudder, recognizing the body as that of a hag—a horrid monster that walked upright as if human, but with the black eyes and gray skin of something undead. When I saw the first one appear last night, its layers of jagged teeth revealed with an ungodly shriek, I screamed and incinerated it with a bolt of fire. Five more emerged behind it, their stench burning my eyes. Zander piggybacked off my flame to dispatch them.
I’d rather face a grif than another of those.
“Most of these beasts prefer the cover of night. We’ll have the day to recuperate.” Jarek saunters over to a nethertaur’s corpse to wipe his blade across it, shedding clinging innards. Where Zander flanked my left, my faithful Legion commander slaughtered without mercy at my right. Now he looks like a movie poster for a wartime battle, his normally blond braids stained black.
“Are you telling me we’ll have to do this again tonight?” I shake my head, a touch of hysteria in my otherwise weak voice. Is there enough time to rest?
“Perhaps not. These beasts do not appreciate the stink of their own kind’s death, so they may be deterred. Eventually, they’ll find somewhere else to climb up.” He winces when he stands upright, pressing his palm against his side, a poor attempt to patch the gash where a beast tore through his warrior leathers and into his ribs.
“Jarek.” I reach for my affinities without thought so I can heal him, but there isn’t a single thread to grasp. The well has run dry after hours of launching flames and icicle arrows and stone bullets and everything else I could think of. At some point in the night, wielding my affinities became second nature, as innate as breathing. Now, without access to them, I feel naked.
“That thing moved faster than I expected.” He juts his chin at a small creature that reminds me of a hyena—only with blue skin and scales lining its spine. “Thankfully, its claws were unimpressive.”
“Impressive enough to cut you open,” I counter. “We can get you to a healer on the Ybarisan side—”
“I’m fine, Romeria. It’s just a scratch. Do not mother me.” Soot-colored eyes pierce me as he uses my first name rather than my title. He’s the only one who dares speak to me that way, especially in front of others. Jarek and I have always had an unorthodox relationship, but I appreciate it.
“There are many others, far worse off.” Zander waves his sword outward, drawing my attention to the gory scene.
With daylight breaking, I can finally grasp the carnage at the rift. Countless beasts lie in still heaps, while blood-covered soldiers—Islorian and Ybarisan alike—wander among them, giving an aimless kick here and a blade poke there as if to ensure the carcasses won’t revive.
There are also fallen soldiers in the mix.
My heart clenches as I scramble to search faces, but it’s impossible to discern people in helmets and blood. “Where is Elisaf? And Radomir? And … and—”
“Elisaf is over there.” Zander points to a single figure surveying the slaughter in an exhausted daze, much like us.
My old nighttime guard meets our gaze then and begins moving for us.
A wave of relief overwhelms me. “What about the others?”
“They will find us soon enough.”
“What if they don’t? What if …” I can’t bring myself to finish that sentence. We started the battle with them surrounding us, but where are they now? I can’t handle losing another person. The fissure in my heart from Gesine’s death is still too raw.
“Then they fought bravely, and we will continue the fight in their honor,” Zander says calmly, as if he can sense my rising panic.
“Your Highness!” Gaellar calls out then, limping forward, a gangly squire at her side.
“Glad to see you, Commander.” Zander dips his head. “The rift army fought bravely.”
“They did. But if not for your presence, I fear the outcome would have been vastly different.” She regards me and where I saw only apprehension before—for a Ybarisan princess turned queen, for a key caster—now I see something entirely different. Something like awe.
What must I have looked like, with my silver eyes glowing while I conjured weapons out of thin air? At least I changed out of that winged dress and crown before Hudem, replacing them with far more practical leathers that Abarrane procured.
“Your Highness.” She bows.
“Do you know how many we’ve lost?” Zander asks.
“Not nearly as many as stand. But that is not why I’ve found you. Riders approach from the south.”
Zander turns in the direction, but the view is blocked by a sea of tents and bodies. “Which banner do they fly?”