Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“He has reservations, yes.” She wipes the washcloth across her brow. “But now that his eyes are open, Aoife’s manipulations have far less power over him. She cannot force him to love the princess.”
“Just like Malachi can’t force me to take the stone.” Because the fates can’t create will. Wendeline said that. And now that I know Malachi’s plans, I’ll never do it.
“The king will make his decisions for himself.”
I peer out the window as Gesine climbs from the tub and towels off. “I think he already has.”
“Do not assume Zander does not care for you. But it is often easier to wield anger than to drown in sorrow. He is in a difficult position. The idea of a key caster roaming these lands has been feared for two millennia. That fear—and the risk—will not dissolve simply because of your good intentions. And any choice he makes will have consequences. He cannot make those decisions based solely on his heart. That is not the way of a good king.”
“He’s committed to getting his throne back.” Even if he admitted he doesn’t want it. And I am now a tool for him to accomplish that, a reality that stings more than his previous plan to leave me behind.
“You cannot find fault with him for that. It is commendable. They are his people and his responsibility.”
“Why are you defending him? Since we met you he’s been nothing but an asshole, but you keep deferring to him every time.” I think back to the formidable wind she unleashed to push us across the water. Something tells me Gesine could strike all of us dead if she wanted to, but she’s too busy bowing.
“There will be a time to make a stand. This is not it.”
I watch from the window as another group of young women arrives with a keeper. Horik has ventured closer, bending his massive frame to stroke a stable dog’s ears while he sizes up his options.
They’re all the same, these Islorian immortals—tall and lithe, their movements graceful. Dressed well, finely polished. And all the tributaries seem the same—wide-eyed and shrinking away from the Legion, afraid of them.
Maybe rightfully so. I think back to how those savage nobility attacked the Ybarisans at the royal repast. Will these warriors treat their tributaries much differently?
“I should get out there before they get impatient and take needless risks.” Gesine peers out from beside me, dressed, her lengthy black hair still wet. She’s tied a silk scarf around her neck to hide the gold collar. “While I’m gone, practice removing the token from your finger and breathing through the discomfort. You must learn to compartmentalize your caster affinities first before you can wield them.”
I fumble with my ring. “How long will it take for me to get a handle on all this?”
“That, I cannot say. Some manage it within days, others take months. Years. But you must practice. The sooner you have a hold on it, the sooner I can teach you how to channel the immense gifts bestowed upon you.” She collects an apple, tossing it into the air once before pocketing it. From Danthrin’s prized orchard, I’ll bet. I saw the tops of trees behind the stables before it grew too dark. It must be somewhere out there.
“I will be back as soon as I can.” With a bow and a murmured “Your Highness”—because she can’t seem to help herself—she ducks out.
I watch from my hiding place as Gesine emerges from the house a few minutes later and strolls across the grounds toward the tributaries. She turns the heads of warriors on her way past. They don’t seem as openly hostile toward the caster as they were yesterday, a few tipping their heads in a subtle greeting when their eyes meet. I suppose taking away agonizing pain can forge relationships.
Jarek has joined Horik by the tributaries. Judging by his stern expression, he’s saying something to the newly arrived keeper that the immortal does not appear to like.
I ease open the window.
“… are you calling us savages?” Jarek’s tone is casual, amused, but his hand is resting on his dagger handle, as if primed to draw and drive it into the other male at any moment.
The keeper swallows but then pulls his shoulders back. “We have honored the king’s request for the use of our tributaries as a matter of need for his soldiers, but we will not have our property defiled by their wants.” His nasally voice grates.
He’s agreed to let the Legion feed, but he’s drawing the line at fucking. Fair enough. And good for him for standing up for them. Maybe the keepers aren’t all scum like Danthrin.
Jarek takes a step forward. Even his stance, his feet squared off with his shoulders, is menacing. “The Legion is bound by honor and duty to the king, and it does not take things that are not offered.”