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)
“How …,” I hear myself ask, enthralled.
“Time is limited. Use it wisely,” Solange says curtly. “Perhaps allow them their tongues. I would love to hear what our new Second’s excuse is for sitting idly by and allowing the Prime to declare herself above a queen.”
However Fatima is doing it, she eases her hold. Grunts and wheezes and a few exclamations of outrage erupt.
Solange ignores them all, her focus solely on Barro. “What do you have to say for yourself, Master of Whispers? How many times have you ignored truths and curiosities that arrived at your door, biding your time in hopes of landing in this very seat one day? How long ago did you first hear of Queen Neilina’s summoning?”
If he’s at all guilty or fearful, he doesn’t show it. “What do you hope to achieve for this treason, Shadow? A ring for yourself?”
Her head falls back with dramatic laughter, though there’s no mirth in the sound. “If it was a ring I wanted, I would have secured it long ago. And I am a Second. You will address me as such.”
“I will address you as nothing but the traitor you are—”
His words cut off with a gargle as Solange’s dagger embeds itself in his throat.
“Would anyone else like to accuse me of betraying Mordain?”
The Masters around the table gape as the light extinguishes from Barro’s eyes, his body still frozen in place.
The Prime is stirring, her eyes blinking repeatedly. “What is the meaning of this?” She struggles to pull herself to her feet with a wince.
“You have reached too high, Lorel, and you will pay the price for that.” Solange’s hand settles on her sword. I’ve seen how quickly she can strike another down.
“Agatha, your eyes … since when …” Even stupefied, the Prime fumbles for the band on her finger, her lips moving with inaudible words.
“Trying to bind me? You can’t.” I slip off my mask.
The Prime’s eyes widen with horror. “Fates, it’s you.”
I hold up the silver token. “Thanks to a gift from the nymphs who’ve returned, just as prophecy foretold.”
She struggles to regain her composure. “What have you done with Caster Agatha?”
“She’s safe in Ulysede, not that you care.”
“Well then … what do you want? Why are you here?” Her gaze flitters from me to the table of powerless Masters, stalling on Barro. Her eyes flare.
“You know what I want. If you had given me the scribes I’d asked for, instead of burning them in the square, we would not be having this conversation.”
“Fine. Take your scribes and go.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I will not stop you.”
I almost laugh. This is almost funny. “I will be taking the scribes with me, as well as Allegra, who I am naming Mordain’s Prime.”
“She is a traitor.” Lorel sets her chin. “And Ybaris will no longer dictate Mordain’s will.”
“Something you and I agree on. But right now, we need Mordain’s help, and since you’ve proven you are unwilling to give it, I am replacing you.”
The Prime glares at her council. “An impostor queen is seizing control of Mordain and no one has anything to say about this?”
The silence in the room is deafening.
“I think that says a lot, don’t you?” Though it might have more to do with the corpse at the table with them.
“I would not waste time with this one, Your Highness,” Solange warns, and I know it’s as much a reminder of Fatima’s ability to hold the Masters in place—the glow in her eyes is waning.
If Zander were here, his sword would be aiming for the Prime’s neck. But, despite everything, I can’t bring myself to reach for a dagger. “You can either take off that ring, or we can remove it from your body. You decide.” I hold out my hand, palm up.
The Prime glares at her Second. “History will name you as Mordain’s downfall.”
“That’s funny, I thought I was going to be Mordain’s downfall,” I quip.
“Only if you hold the quill, Lorel. But you will not be here to witness it either way,” Solange sneers, drawing her sword. Her arm is poised to swing down when suddenly she drops to her knees, the weapon clattering to the stone. Blood blossoms on her skin like tiny drops of sweat—first a few, then a few more, and then too many to count. Whatever she is doing, she is killing Solange.
I blast the Prime with a silver coil of my affinities. Not with the same rage I felt for Boaz, which incinerated him and everything in his surroundings. Just enough to see the look on her face as her heart stops and her body collapses in a sickening thud. I rush to where Solange lies.
“Took you long enough.” She pants, her face coated in a layer of her own blood as if someone painted her in it.