Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Her attacker dropped the blade. Both males covered their ears. But just as soon as she quieted, they recovered.
Spots withdrew a sharper dagger from a side sheath. “You’re gonna pay for that, girl.”
Shaking off the last of the toxin, Viori scrambled back and prepared to run. The next thing she knew, something whizzed past her, snatched up the fallen weapon, and stabbed Spots repeatedly in the face. The groin. His hindquarters. No part of his body was safe.
That something was... Drendall. Viori could only gape.
Before Tallest realized what had transpired, the blood-soaked doll stabbed him too. Rivers of crimson flowed from a wealth of wounds, forming a macabre pool around their corpses.
Sweet Drendall dropped the blade and smiled at her. “I did it, Momma! I did it! Did you see me? Huh? Huh?” She hurried over and nuzzled her wet cheek into Viori’s throat. “Are you so happy now?”
“H-happy. Such a g-good girl,” she stammered, clutching the doll close as shock engulfed her from head to toe. Her doll had come to life with a scream—a song of fear?
Her glamara didn’t mirror her brother’s, did it? Kaysar had been wrong. But he’d also been right: her voice was a container. A seed loaded with everything necessary for life. Like a farmer, she could grow whatsoever she planted. And she could do it in a matter of seconds.
Viori glided her gaze over the males who’d thought to harm her.
Perhaps speaking wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
CHAPTER ONE
Not quite present day
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD MICAH spun slowly, his jaw slack. What is this place? Spears of lightning forked across a dark sky heavy with darker clouds. Glowing silvery orbs hung from tree branches, illuminating a forest clearing he wished he hadn’t discovered. The eeriness of it all boggled the mind.
From the outside, thick white fog had enveloped the interlocking trees set in a wide circle. From the inside, however, he had an unobstructed view of the dried blood that stained the bark—and the faces carved within. Fierce expressions projected everything from dread to malice, and he shuddered.
Someone had gone to great trouble to make the gnarled giants resemble belua. Monsters of unimaginable strength, somehow birthed from the elements themselves. Able to live and breathe and walk among fae.
Micah tightened his grip on a makeshift dagger—a twig he’d sharpened with his teeth and what remained of his nails.
Beady eyes seemed to track his every movement as he trod deeper into the clearing. A large, moss-covered stone with a wide base and a flat top occupied the center of the ring. An altar?
A chilled breeze blustered past, rousing goose bumps on his skin. Scanning... The vibrant moss provided the only foliage here. There were no animals or insects. No other life whatsoever.
Death reigned here.
A crack of thunder boomed, punctuating his thought, and he almost jumped out of his skin. The next lightning bolt charged the atmosphere; electric currents pricked his spine. Micah dragged in the scent of ash and... What was that? Sweetness itself? A unique fragrance brimming with all the glories of the Summer Court. Sunshine, flowers and citrus.
His mouth watered, and his empty stomach protested. When had he last eaten?
Twig at the ready, he approached the stone and gathered a fistful of moss. The first bite proved bitter, the second more so. But as the greenery settled in his stomach, some of his pains faded; he only desired more.
He shoveled another fistful into his mouth, then another and another, unable to slow himself. For over a year, he’d wandered the wastelands of Astaria alone. Originally, he’d traveled with his guardian. A great warrior named Erwen. A great man, period. He’d found baby Micah inside a basket, and saved him from being eaten by trolls.
He bit his tongue, tasting blood. Erwen had died in battle with a belua. A massive snow beast in the Winterlands.
Micah had expected to perish alongside his guardian. A part of him had hoped to die. How he’d loved Erwen, his sole companion—the only person willing to be near him.
Like his guardian, Micah was a chimera. A rare fae born with dual glamaras that were constantly at odds. The clash created a negative force field around them. Unwanted by fae and humans alike. Feared by everyone. Known for scarring—outward evidence of weakness and a badge of shame.
Chilly wind rattled branches. Lightning peppered the sky, spotlighting—Micah froze, his breath hitched. Were their limbs untangling? Had the one to his left narrowed its eyes?
An illusion?
Genuine belua? Had he stumbled into a nest?
He dropped the newest handful of moss, preparing to bolt. But, from the corner of his eye, he perceived an array of color. Smooth gold. Vivid pink. Gleaming scarlet. He meant to glance, nothing more. A quick peek to ensure no one sneaked up on him. Instead, he stared and reared back, his eyes going wide.