Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
She’ll die if Florentius doesn’t return. If he doesn’t do the Wyrd’s bidding.
I storm towards camp. “Take me to Portael.”
Hooves echo on the cobblestones, loud in the eerie silence.
“What are we looking for?”
I keep my eyes straight ahead. “The first dromveske I saw was on the Skeldar ship that brought me to Iskaldir. It was faulty, along with a batch of them bought here in Portael. It caused massive upheaval.”
“Indeed. You claimed you were touched by the healing goddess and cured the poxies.”
I laugh. “Cure poxies? I’m a mere magic-less healer. There was no poxies.” I steer my horse to the edges of town. “Let’s check this lane. The bushes look promising.”
Quin tries and fails to catch my eyes and blocks my path with his horse until I look at him. “You want to fake the plague?”
“It drove Skeldars to kill their own. Wyrds should run for their lives.”
“They’re soldiers. They came to die.”
I shake my head. “This river flows down from here through Harmoria and into the west.”
“How do you know this?”
“In the months you were gone, they were gone too. I wanted to know what kind of life they might be living in Harmoria. I read books. I studied the geography. This river is important for trade.”
“You want to poison the river?”
“I want to end the war.”
Quin squints as he reads my mind. “You want the soldiers rushing back to their borders to block the river and keep the plague out of their kingdom.”
“They’ll race the river. With shortcuts, they’d make it in time.”
“What if they realise it’s not the poxies?”
“That’s why we need to convince them first.”
“How?”
“Poison some of our own. Make it look like we’ve caught it. That contact with us will spread it to them.”
“They won’t believe anything until they see deaths.”
“You’re good at acting, Jarl. Teach them.” I steer my horse to the bushes behind Quin, and he snatches my arm.
“What’s that tone for?”
I remain quiet for a long time, staring at the strawberry-like thistleweed winding around.
“Caelus?”
“I’m just tired.”
He lets me go.
We gather the thistleweed and return to camp. While Quin shares this plan with the other commanders, I tuck some of the thistleweed into my medicinal pouch and under the cover of night, slink to the grave pits.
Among the dead—in a separate pit—are a few Wyrds.
Quin is right. The Wyrds need to see the ‘poxies’ hitting their men. I climb into the pit and strip their bodies. To do it right, we need to get into their camp.
“For someone tired, you’re sure quick to don Wyrd clothing.”
I spin on my heel to Quin, crouched at the edge of the pit with a grim glare.
“Being tired doesn’t negate necessity.”
“You understand, then.” He lowers himself into the pit, breezes pushing out the stench of death and keeping him upright. “What’s your plan?”
“The healers have a reprieve thanks to the blocked pass. I’m not needed here.”
He lowers his head toward mine. “What’s your plan, Caelus?”
I swallow down the sudden jolt at my name and the dangerous way he says it. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“And once you’re in their camp?”
“I’ll figure it out. I’ll use poxy herbs to make some seem sick.”
“And save your Akilah and Florentius, and skip out again?”
I swallow.
He plucks at my Wyrd clothing. “Someone else will go.”
I grab his hand, holding the blue Wyrd cloak in place. “What stormblade will care for my Lumin friends?”
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?”
“I can’t leave them.”
His eyes flash in the dark. “I can’t let you get hurt.”
“But I need— I must . . .”
“All death from now until he comes is on us. You know whose death will destroy me the most? Hm?”
The weight of all this darkness is pressing down on me so hard I can’t breathe. “My choices killed his brother. His death is on my shoulders and it’s paining me. I can’t carry more. Not stormblades’, or the people of Ragn, and especially not my friends’.”
He looks wretchedly towards the stars, breathes heavily. “I’ll get them back.”
I stiffen.
“Now you’re scared?” he murmurs.
I look up at him and nod.
He laughs softly and looks towards the dead Wyrds. I pause. “On one condition: I come with you.”
He pauses. “Yes.”
“After all that. So easily?”
He throws me a dirty look. “You’ll chase after me if I leave you behind.”
We share a look, a moment teetering between the dark and the light.
“You know me well,” I say.
“I’m in charge.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“That means I get the last word.”
“Of course.”
“Caelus . . .” he says warningly.
“Understood.”
He goes to flick my forehead, but I dodge the touch, and our short reprieve ends. He sighs and swiftly changes from his leathers into the blues of Wyrds. At my motion, he reties his hair into a single braid.
Commander Kjartan’s face appears over the lip of the pit. “You read my mind.”
Quin inclines his head smartly. “We’ll infiltrate and sow the thistle.”