Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
“The Shadow leader’s name is Solange. She is a Second in Mordain’s guild, below only the Prime, and she has an impressive affinity to Malachi.”
“Will she use it?”
“If Queen Neilina orders her to, yes. But she despises how little autonomy Mordain has, and how the guild constantly bends to the queen’s will. She has long since wished to break free of Ybarisan rule, but it is impossible with this queen.”
Wendeline once explained the complications around their union, how Neilina has held caster babies hostage in exchange for elementals and loyalty. “And you know this how?”
“The Shadows train with the elven warriors sometimes. Solange has been my opponent more than once.” His gaze flitters to Abarrane, telling me all I need to know about the kind of sparring they’ve done. “Convincing her of the queen’s treachery may carry some weight. Perhaps.”
“I will keep that in mind. Thank you for the input, Kienen.”
“Your Highness.” He steps away.
And I can’t help but marvel that not one but two unlikely allies have proven themselves invaluable during this journey.
Finally, the stone wall gives way to an opening and the path beyond—a bridge about forty feet wide that remained after Aminadav’s smite. It’s as if even in his fury, he left us an olive branch.
In the far distance, four rows of Mordain’s Shadows ride in formation toward us, their black armor unmistakable even from here. Glints of gold gleam every so often, hints that Neilina is tucked in there with them.
I don’t hide behind the Legion as we approach, remaining front and center, clinging to the nearby torch flames. Little good it will do if Neilina’s elementals have a shield up.
High above on both sides, the vigilant spectators watch, searching for any hint of betrayal. Not that arrows or affinities could reach us in the center of the bridge, over the endless chasm.
The trek to the middle is long, with riders avoiding getting too close to the edge. Below is the Valley of Bones—an assumed resting place for all those who have tumbled into the rift during battle, though we cannot see the bottom from here.
“What is your plan?” Abarrane twirls a dagger between her fingers.
“To see what she knows of Romeria and to seed doubt in those around her.” I will never be able to kill Neilina, but if I can convince her casters of her duplicity as we convinced Kienen, maybe we can win ourselves more unlikely allies on the other side.
“And do you really believe you can sway the Shadows?”
“I honestly have no idea, but this isn’t a battle we can win alone.” We may very well be heading to our deaths. But maybe I can stall them with the truth of what is coming.
The finer details of the lethal warriors are more recognizable now—the muted steel armor over black garb, the metal masks that cover all but their line of sight.
“They haven’t changed much,” Abarrane notes.
“Their uniforms have not changed, but the casters within them have.” The ones we fought last died long ago from old age. Many of these will be young and inexperienced. None of them will have even seen war. Still, I wouldn’t dismiss their skill. “Halt!” I call out ten feet from a center line carved into the stone.
The Ybarisans match the distance.
Both lines watch the other, waiting.
“Which king are you? The exiled one or the usurper?” a female at the front calls out, her husky voice hinting at humor. “We hear Islor can’t decide.”
I can only imagine what they’ve heard through their spies—a medley of lies mixed with some truth. “You must be Solange.” I watch her eyes flare. She’s wondering how I knew that, and what else I might know about her. “I did not realize the queen needed people to speak for her. Is she incapable or afraid?”
The taunt works. The line of Shadows shifts and Queen Neilina guides her white stallion forward, her metallic dress shimmering gold and silver in the sunlight.
My breath catches. Romeria—the old version—once told me she looked a lot like her mother. That was an understatement. Romeria is a nearly identical replica, only youthful. It’s as if Aoife created a second version of her. In appearance, anyway.
Golden antlers are strung around her neck like jewelry. I’ve never seen a token so large before. What purpose it serves, I’m not sure I want to find out.
A caster came forward with Neilina, the telltale collar around her neck marking her an elemental. I can’t see the emblems on her forearm to discern her affinities, but her blue eyes glow. I can only assume she’s placed a protective shield in front of the queen.
“You must be Zander.” Her cold, piercing blue gaze dissects me. “Have you come to negotiate the surrender of Islor?”
I laugh. “Only you would be foolish enough to think so.”
Her returning smile is vicious, and I change my mind—Romeria looks nothing like this wraith. “Where is my beloved daughter? What have you done with her?”