Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry?” This is a trick. It has to be a trick.
He moves closer, and I lift my blade. My heart stumbles, the beat irregular as fear floods my system.
“The neck-snapping first-year who’s very publicly vowed to slaughter you,” Xaden clarifies as my blade presses against his cloak at the level of his abdomen. He reaches under my own cloak and slides one blade into the sheath at my thigh, then pulls back the side of my cloak and pauses. His gaze locks onto the length of my braid where it falls over my shoulder, and I could swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he slides the remaining dagger into one of the sheaths at my ribs. “He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.”
This is…this is…bizarre. It has to be some kind of game meant to confuse me, right? And if so, he’s playing it really fucking well.
“Because the honor of my murder belongs to you?” I challenge. “You wanted me dead long before your little club chose my tree to meet under, so I imagine you’ve all but buried me in your mind by now.”
He glances at the dagger poised at his stomach. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club?” His eyes meet mine, and there’s nothing but cold, calculating death waiting there.
“No,” I answer truthfully, suppressing a shiver.
“Why not?” He tilts his head to the side, examining my face like I’m an oddity. “It’s illegal for the children of separatist officers to assemble in—”
“Groups larger than three. I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” I lift my chin.
“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling?” His gaze narrows on mine.
My stomach twists just like it did before I stepped out onto the parapet, like my body knows that whatever action I take next will determine my life-span. “You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.” It wouldn’t be fair to him or the others. Was their little meeting illegal? Absolutely. Should they die for it? Absolutely not. And that’s exactly what will happen if I tell. Those first-years will be executed for nothing more than asking for tutoring, and the senior cadets will join them just because they helped. “I’m not going to tell.”
He looks at me like he’s trying to see through me, and ice prickles my scalp.
My hand is steady, but my nerves tremble at what the next thirty seconds might bring. He can kill me right here, toss my body into the river, and no one will know I’m gone until they find me downstream.
But I won’t let him end me without drawing his blood first, that’s for damn sure.
“Interesting,” he says softly. “We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” Then he steps away, turns, and walks off, heading back toward the staircase in the cliff that leads up to the citadel.
Wait. What?
“You’re not going to handle me?” I call after him, shock raising my brows.
“Not tonight!” he tosses over his shoulder.
I scoff. “What are you waiting for?”
“It’s no fun if you expect it,” he answers, striding into the darkness. “Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”
“What?” I gawk after him. “You’re my wingleader!”
But he’s already disappeared into the shadows, leaving me talking to myself like a fool.
He didn’t even ask what was in my satchel.
A slow smile spreads across my face as I tuck my arm back into my sling, sighing with relief as the weight is taken off my shoulder. A fool with fonilee berries.
There is an art to poison not often discussed, and that is timing. Only a master can properly dose and administer for effective onset. One must take into account the mass of the individual as well as the method of delivery.
—Effective Uses of Wild and Cultivated Herbs
by Captain Lawrence Medina
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The women’s hall is quiet as I dress for the morning, the sun barely peeking above the horizon in the far windows. I take the dragon-scale vest from where I left it to dry on the hanger at the end of my bed and slip it on over my short-sleeve black shirt. It’s a good thing I’ve gotten pretty adept at tightening the laces behind my back, since Rhiannon isn’t in her bed.
At least one of us is getting a few much-needed orgasms. Pretty sure there’s a person or two scattered with their partners among the full bunks in here, too. The squad leaders talk a good game about enforcing curfew, but no one really cares. Well, except Dain. He cares about every rule.
Dain. My chest tightens, and I smile as I finish braiding my hair into a crown. Seeing him is the best part of my day, even the moments when he’s anything but personable in public. Even in the moments where he’s consumed with trying to save me from this place.