Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 616(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I hear what he’s saying, and it’s not that I disagree, but the Magical Seven keep the portals between Elora and Faerie closed. They’re the reason the fae don’t just go into Elora and snatch as many humans as they’d like. Just because our realm isn’t perfect doesn’t mean the leaders are to blame. “It could be worse.”
“It could be better.”
Something about his words niggles at me. Because even though this is the first I’ve heard about the Magical Seven hiding the true history of our realm, my sister has been railing for years against the evil of those contracts and the way Elora works only for the wealthy.
“Is there a washroom?” I ask, pushing away from the table.
Skylar chuckles and points to the other side of the tavern. “End of the hall. Might have to wait your turn. I think I saw an orc going in there.”
I ignore her smirk and head that way. It’s funny that she thinks I’m so pampered. While I have lived in comfort for my years in the palace, she has no idea what my life was like before that. My sister and I had to work our fingers to the bone to get by. We worked all day, cleaned our aunt’s house all night, and for the few brief hours we got to rest, shared a bed in a tiny windowless room in my aunt’s basement. Because of the very contracts the Magical Seven allow to go unchecked.
“Are you okay?”
I jump. I hadn’t even noticed Kendrick was following me. “Everything I’ve ever known to be true was a lie—down to my own blood.” I shake my head, trying to force my jumble of thoughts into place. My eyes burn. “Now I’m supposed to believe even the Magical Seven, the most powerful mages of the human realm, are behind the very practices that resulted in my sister and me spending our childhood in servitude to a greedy shrew?”
He lifts a hand, and I think he might touch me—think I might want him to—but then he drops it. “Their transition into power was horrendous. For the first couple of generations, people knew the truth, but the Seven destroyed all evidence of the true history of the land and executed anyone who dared speak of it. Two generations later, they’d rewritten history. Everything we’re doing here is to change that.”
I bow my head. “And this Erith you want me to kill?”
“He’s their patriarch. He leads them, and losing his rule would weaken them, but the biggest blow would be that they’d lose their seventh. Their magic—their strength—is tied to that sacred number. That’s why I want to do this now, while they have no trained apprentice in the wings. Once he dies, the Seven fall. Only then can we begin to right the wrongs they’ve done to the realm.”
They want me to kill one of the Magical Seven. I guessed as much from the things they said at the table, but hearing him say it makes my stomach sour. “I need to think.”
“I understand.” He steps back, then looks me over one final time before returning to the table.
When I go to the washroom door, it’s slightly ajar, and I hear a soft whimpering from the other side.
I knock and nudge it open. “Hello?” On the far wall, curled up on the floor between the sink and the toilet, is a delicate female with glowing eyes and pointed ears sticking out of her short violet hair. “Are you hurt?”
She spots me and jumps to her feet. “So sorry. I’ll get out of your way.”
“No, you’re fine.”
She has a split lip and is holding her arm tenderly against her body.
“What happened?”
“Oh. He’s just in a mood.” She smiles but it looks too painful to be real. “He’ll sleep it off and be better tomorrow.”
She looks too young to be married, but it’s hard to tell with faeries. Once they hit puberty, they age so slowly. “Your . . . father?” I guess.
“Husband,” she says in a hush. “My father married me off to him when I hit maturity.”
“You were sold?” I thought that only happened to humans.
She nods. “It was a fair deal, and my father needed the money.”
Sold. Just like when my aunt sold me to Mordeus. What is wrong with these people? “When was that?”
“Two years next month.”
My nails bite into my palms at the sight of her injuries. I make myself count my breaths before I speak again. “Do you need me to find you a healer?”
She shakes her head. “No. He’ll see. He’ll know. And anyway.” She swallows hard. “He’ll be gone soon. His cronies have finally arrived. It’s strange to be so grateful for a movement that you also think is so ugly.”
I frown. “What movement?”
Her face goes stony, and she looks me over. “I need to get back to work.” She wipes her hands on her pants and her tears on her shoulders. “Thank you for caring. You didn’t have to.”