Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“Good idea. I could use a snack.” Andarna’s tone is indecently excited.
“We do not eat our allies,” Tairn lectures.
“You never let me have any fun.”
I crack a genuine smile. “I appreciate the offer.”
We walk into the library, and I breathe in deeply. The scent in the two-story room is different than the Archives. Parchment and ink still smell the same, but there’s no earthy undertones because we’re aboveground, with light streaming in through the windows. Only the shelves of the first floor are filled with books, but I’ve made it my personal mission to see that the second floor looks the same within the next decade.
Stone may not burn, but books do.
“What are we doing here, anyway?” Ridoc asks as I swing my pack off my shoulder, picking the first empty table I see to rest it on. He gestures at Sawyer, who is scanning the back of the library. “I mean, we all know what he’s doing here.”
“Finding my center.” My answer earns me two very perplexed looks. “Tecarus sent some books back for me with Xaden after the weapons run yesterday, probably still hoping to get on my good side.” One by one, I remove the six books he gifted, stacking them on the table and placing the protective bag with Warrick’s journal on top. “Krovlish is not my strong suit.”
“Krovlish isn’t anyone’s—”
I grin as Sawyer cuts off mid-sentence at the sight of Jesinia.
“Good morning,” he signs at me. “Is that right?”
“You’ve got it.”
He takes off in her direction.
“Would have been more fun my way. She’s got a great sense of humor,” Ridoc mumbles.
“He’s learning to sign!” Rhiannon smiles and sits on the edge of the table. We shamelessly turn to watch Sawyer greet Jesinia.
“And he’s already coming back?” Ridoc’s brow furrows.
I glance at the clock. “He only knows about four phrases, but he’s catching on.”
“So is Krovlish Jesinia’s specialty?” Rhi asks, picking up the top book, which is an accounting of the first emergence of the venin after the Great War. At least, I think it is.
“No.” I shake my head as the library door opens exactly at seven thirty. Right on time as always. “It’s his.”
“Seriously?” Ridoc mutters as I walk away from the table.
“You asked to see me?” Dain folds his arms across his chest. “Of your own volition? No orders or anything?”
For a second, I hesitate. Then I remember that he stabbed Varrish, he called the formation to split the quadrant, and when the truth came to light, he chose exile with a group of people who despise him because it was the right thing to do. “I need your help.”
“All right.” He nods without waiting for an explanation.
And just like that, I remember why he used to be one of my favorite people on the Continent.
“That’s not the word for rain,” Dain says the next day, tapping a symbol in Warrick’s journal with the bottom of his pen as we sit in the wardstone chamber, our backs against the wall, our legs stretched out in front of us. The noon sun beats down on us, but it’s still cold enough to see my breath.
“I’m pretty sure it is.” I lean in, studying the journal that’s equally balanced on his leg and mine.
“Did you ask Jesinia?” he asks, turning from the ward-centered entries of the journal back to the beginning.
“She thought it was rain, too.”
“But she specializes in Morrainian, right?” He tilts his head and studies the first entry.
My eyes widen, jumping to his profile.
“What?” He glances at me, then abruptly turns his attention back to the journal. “Don’t look so shocked that I remember Jesinia’s specialization. I listen when you talk.” He flinches. “At least I used to.”
“When did you stop?” The question leaves my mouth before I can catch it.
He sighs and shifts his position slightly, just enough to tell me he’s nervous. Two years in the quadrant couldn’t rid him of that tell. “I don’t know. Probably when I said goodbye to you on Conscription Day. Mine, of course, not yours.”
“Right. You said hello to me on mine.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Actually, I think you asked what the hell I was doing there.”
He scoffs, then leans his head back against the wall and looks skyward. “I was so pissed…and scared. I finally made it to second year, gained the privilege of visiting other quadrants so I might be able to see you, and instead of being tucked away safely with the scribes, you show up dressed in black for the Riders Quadrant on your mother’s orders, so dizzy that I still have no idea how you made it across the parapet.” His throat works as he swallows. “All I could think was that I’d just survived a year of hearing my friends’ names called on the death roll, and I was going to make damn sure yours wasn’t. And then you hated me for trying to give you what you’d always told me you wanted.”