Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“You worry about your daughter,” Lena noted, still regarding Ophelia closely.
“I worry about all of our daughters,” Ophelia replied.
“It is too true. None of this will be readily accepted,” Fern said under her breath.
“You mean none of them will be readily accepted,” Nandra declared irritably. “As ever, it is the woman’s wont to seek and build her place with the man. Especially in your land.”
Fern looked away, color coming to her cheeks, but Ophelia spoke.
“We must not be cross amongst ourselves. It will serve no purpose. Fern, of any of us, even the Nadirii, is aware of what takes place in her land.”
Nandra closed her mouth.
“Of the daughters sent forth, yours, I fear, my sister, my friend, will have the most difficult path to walk,” Rebecca remarked to Ophelia. “We, none of us, have blood in this game. It is not one from our own wombs who go forth into this tribulation. Only yours.”
“I am aware of that,” Ophelia responded. “But my Elena will, as ever, walk with shoulders squared to make her sacrifice.” Ophelia glanced amongst her sisters. “They all will. The lore has endured for millennia. The devastation the Beast wrought to this earth and its peoples may have become stories parents tell their children to give them a different type of chill on a cold winter night. But the Go’Doan will have felt it. The witches. The seers. The sorcerers. The veil of magic grows restless across Triton. Not one of them will desist. They will all agree. And it is not entirely a bad hand they’ve been dealt.”
“You are, of course, talking about the warriors,” Lena said tetchily.
“Or the warriors with staffs they only hold in their hands for personal purposes,” Rebecca murmured.
Ophelia drew breath in through her nose as her way of affirming.
“We must toss the tiles, make the matches and be done with it,” Nandra declared. “We all have rulers we must speak with and convince of their futures. And the tossing of the tiles will by far be the least onerous of our endeavors.”
She was correct.
On all accounts.
Including the fact they must toss the tiles.
Ophelia felt her heart clench.
“The Head is already mated with The Crystal, so I shall not toss,” Lena pointed out. “And it would best be remembered that has come about.”
“And why is that?” Nandra asked.
“Because it shares that this is destiny. They were meant to be,” Lena replied. “They mated without our intervention as, it could be, the others if given time would do as well.”
Ah, Lena.
Brusque to the witness, but soft within.
She sought to make Ophelia dread less what might be coming, especially in her current state.
But there was naught which could make Ophelia dread less what might be coming, no matter what the tiles decreed.
She had hoped her daughter would succeed her.
Second born.
But born to rule.
“It’s my understanding Aramus and Ha-Lah detest each other,” Nandra returned. “Has your king even consummated the union?”
“Not for lack of trying,” Lena retorted.
“His seed spent on his stomach is why we don’t feel their growing power,” Nandra observed.
“I’m uncertain when he spends his seed, it’s on his stomach…at least not regularly,” Lena muttered.
“That is worse,” Rebecca uncharacteristically snapped.
“Ah, the Dellish and their quaint customs,” Nandra muttered in return, her full lips quirking.
“Perhaps The Crystal will be more disposed to his charms if she knows mating with him will save the land,” Lena rejoined swiftly before Rebecca could.
“I hear she’s quite feisty, so even that might not work,” Fern murmured while leaning toward Rebecca.
“Bring forth the tiles,” Ophelia bid on a sigh.
Rebecca dug into the pocket of her skirts to find her tiles, her gaze on Ophelia, her tone again gentle.
“Would you wish to go first, my sister?” she offered.
“My daughter’s match will be the last,” Ophelia declined. “She will take what is left.”
They all felt that was wise. If Ophelia tossed the tiles, the magic would make the selection, but it would be direct from her hand where the fates aimed her Elena.
However, before they could decide who would go first—Wodell, Firenze or Airen—Rebecca bumbled the tiles in her hand.
Or…
She did not.
Either way, they burst from her hold and clattered on the slab.
Rebecca and Fern gasped.
Nandra’s eyes grew wide.
Lena smiled.
Ophelia watched intently.
Sparks of cool marine, bright vermillion, leaf green, striking white and deep coral danced as the rectangular cream tiles danced.
The one with the crossed bow and arrow imprinted in black on two sides.
The Warrior.
Signifying Elena of the Nadirii. Princess of the Sisterhood. Daughter of Ophelia.
The one with the diamond shape.
The Crystal.
Ha-Lah of the Mar-el. New queen to King Aramus of the island nation of pirates.
The one with the shroud.
The Shadow.
Silence of the Dellish. Countess of the Arbor. Niece of the king.
The one with the hand with the eye in the palm.
The Sage.
Farah of the Firenze. Daughter to a traitor. Stripped of status and possessions. Living in the desert in exile.