Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“This is true,” he agreed as the girl’s mother lunged at him, wrapping him up tight.
“She’s very strong,” he gasped, and I smiled for the first time since I woke up.
Ingrid, the mother, made sure Cirillo and I had warm, heavy boots. She showed us how the jute wrapping went through the sewn loops on the sides to tighten them around our legs, and she wrapped us in wool hats and scarves. I remembered what Sorin had told us—that there were no cattle in Ophir, but there were sheep and goats the iceni kept on the lower levels. In warmer months, it was November now, they would take the sheep and goats out into the valley to graze. But now they were fed what had been farmed during the spring and summer and early fall, corn and barley. There was no hay, and I was thinking that would be one of the things we could get shipped or flown in, whatever had to be done for these people.
I was right earlier: there were fisheries on the lower level where we’d started. I shared a simple meal of cheese, bread, nuts, and dried apricots with the family while Cirillo graciously declined, and listened as they explained that the fishermen lived farther toward the edge of the lake, near the rapids. Vidar, the father, said that the fishing camps were visible from the north courtyard of the castle. I wondered if that was where Zev had seen them. I was betting Zev had never left the castle because that was where Leda had been kept. He thought he’d had the full run of Ophir, but his world had actually been very small.
Not wanting to overstay our welcome and put them in danger, we were taking our leave when Cirillo pulled a hair fork from a secret sheath near his hip and passed it to Hilda, whom we’d saved. When she took it from him, her eyes went round, and I realized that if she held it in her hand like a claw, her middle finger in the space between the two sides, it was a weapon. It was very sharp.
Taking it back from her, he twisted his long hair up and put it in, where it practically disappeared in his voluminous waves. He then pulled it out and returned it to her. She did the same, and when she moved her hair, in her own tresses, it was unnoticeable as well.
He smiled at her and then turned to her sisters, pulling out two hair picks, just single silver sticks. When he twisted them, sharp points appeared and they became skewers. All three girls hugged him, and Hilda made sure to hug me before we left.
“My hope is,” I said as we resumed our walk, me with a waterskin now hanging from my shoulder, “that once Varic works with the people of Ophir, there will be real law here so no one will feel confident to hurt little girls.”
He nodded.
“And to me, she needs therapy, she needs to talk about what happened, but here, in the world she lives in, she’s supposed to deal with her fear and trauma and go on.”
“See, to me, giving her a weapon, that’s the most powerful thing I can do for her.”
“But it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be like that at all.”
“You’re right,” he agreed and then stepped in front of me as ten men blocked our way. All were dressed in heavy leather, knee-high boots, shoulder pieces, and robes over that, with black fur-lined hoods.
Slowly, one of the men moved from the back to the front, stepping forward so he was facing Cirillo. Instantly, Cirilo stepped back, bumping me. Since I knew he didn’t scare easily, I assumed it had to be something else.
From what I could see around Cirillo, the man’s leathers were trimmed in gold, and instead of black, his furs were white. I had no idea what kind of animal it was—and honestly, I didn’t want to know; I was very pleased that the king had never been a fan of fur, preferring thick quilted silk and brocade instead. Varic was all about the vestments for official business being lightweight, allowing movement. One never knew when, and if, you would need to take up a sword.
Patting Cirillo’s shoulder, ready to address the man, I tried to steel my reaction so I wouldn’t take a step back.
The bottom of the man’s face looked like his skin was slowly drying out, withering so it was almost sinking into the bones of his face, his jaw and cheeks. The top of his face, his forehead, around his eyes, was sunken in, tightened, as though he were emaciated. He looked like he was in the early stages of decomposition. Like he was dead.
“I am Balon Maedoc, brother of the Lord of Ophir, Ødger Maedoc,” he said with a smirk.