Total pages in book: 248
Estimated words: 236909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1185(@200wpm)___ 948(@250wpm)___ 790(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1185(@200wpm)___ 948(@250wpm)___ 790(@300wpm)
“I do think it will be okay,” he continued quietly, his gaze catching and holding mine. “We’ll find out how to remove the embers, and we’ll be successful. I believe this.”
I inhaled sharply, wanting to believe that, too, but the dread was there. It had been there when I awoke and was now nestled deep, along with the embers. For once, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the anxiety, but I nodded. “I guess it’s time to go scare some people.”
He chuckled roughly. “I think so, too.”
Fallen needles crunched under our feet as we started toward Cauldra Manor—it was the only sound to be heard. Tipping my head back, I searched the heavy branches for birds, but they remained quiet and hidden. There were no signs of life. No wind. The Pinelands were still, holding their breath. It was like nature recognized that a Primal of Death walked the realm and had gone quiet, wary, and watchful as we left the forest.
Sunlight bathed the rocky hill that Cauldra sat upon, reflecting off the bronze armor of the guards who patrolled the land around the manor. Unlike Wayfair, no inner walls separated the royal estate from the farmlands and those who tended the swaying cornstalks and other crops. As we climbed the hill, as yet unnoticed, I looked down at the sweeping valleys dotted with modest, stone homes and the fields full of those working at the end of harvest. Irelone was a part of a vital shipping chain with its capital serving as the port, but my mother and King Ernald had also sought a union with Irelone for the lands full of rich soil, untouched by the Rot.
Cauldra Manor came into view, the gently swaying ivy clinging to the ivory stone stilling as we crested the top of the hill. From the nearby stables, horses whinnied nervously.
“Halt!” a guard near an open set of doors shouted, striding forward, steel sword drawn. Several guards at the stables turned, and I imagined it wasn’t often they came across people strolling out of the Pinelands. “Announce yourselves!”
I glanced at Ash.
One side of his lips curved up as he continued several more steps, something the guards coming from the stables didn’t appreciate. They, too, drew their swords. “I am the Asher, the One who is Blessed. The Guardian of Souls,” Ash said, and I swore even the clouds above stopped moving. “The Primal God of Common Men and Endings, the ruler of the Shadowlands. I am Nyktos, the Primal of Death, and this is my Consort.”
Silence.
About half a dozen guards stared in utter silence.
Then the one who’d spoken first laughed. “And I’m the fucking King of Irelone,” he scoffed, his declaration met with raucous laughter.
“Well,” I said under my breath. The guards were too far away to notice anything off about his eyes. “That didn’t go as expected.”
Ash smirked as he turned his attention on the guards. The embers in my chest suddenly vibrated, responding to the charge of power hitting the air around us.
Behind us, a rush of birds took flight from the pines in a flurry of wings. They flew over in a wave of black, startling the guards. Tiny bumps spread across my skin as I glanced at the Primal. In the distance, from the valley below, dogs howled, and the horses’ whinnying increased.
Ash’s chin dipped as his skin thinned. Shadows blossomed beneath its surface, spreading and churning as eather-laced midnight poured out into the space around him, billowing above the grass.
The air near his shoulders thickened and sparked. A rush of wind tossed tendrils of hair across my face as the faint outline of wings arced high above us. “Then you must be the King of Irelone,” Ash said, eyes filling with churning wisps of eather. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The guard had gone slack-jawed and as pale as a corpse. I would’ve laughed, except he and the others looked close to passing out. Several of them stepped back. None ran, though. Or screamed.
They dropped to their knees like dominoes. Swords clattered off rock and earth as heads bowed, and they pressed shaking hands to the ground and against their chests.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” One spoke above the murmurs of…prayers. “We didn’t know. Please—”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” Ash interrupted. The charge of energy faded from the air as the rippling shadows vanished around us. The howling stopped. Horses quieted. Ash’s grin had spread to a smile. “Rise.”
The guards clumsily stood, eyes wide with fear and bodies trembling. I couldn’t blame those whose lips still moved in silent prayers, but it struck me—what had been said about how mortals felt when near Kolis, the true Primal of Death. How they reacted to him.
How Sotoria had reacted to him.
It was the same as those who stood before Ash now—those who would have likely wept with joyous tears if it had been Kolis who’d walked out of the Pinelands. They would have rushed to greet him and worship at his feet. They’d welcome a monster who presented himself as a savior, all because they believed him to be the Primal of Life.