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)
“Only two of you?”
“Any more will make us too obvious.”
Kjartan’s gaze lands on me and lingers. “You’re always at the centre when it comes to ruses.”
“I’m just trying to stay alive.”
“By going into the enemy camp?”
“It’s not only the body that has to survive.”
“What was that?”
“I can get into their healing tents.” I jerk a thumb to Quin over my shoulder. “He can roar.”
Kjartan’s brows lift. “You seem to know this jarl well.”
I straighten. “I stitched him up. That’s why he chose me to go with him.”
“You saved my men, and then your own in Hinsard.” Kjartan’s eyes settle on Quin. “You’ve chosen well.”
Quin speaks bluntly. “I know. No one can persuade me to change my mind.”
I whip around on an unsteady breath, but Quin is looking resolutely ahead. Commander Kjartan calls me, and I pull myself over to him. He hands me a sheathed dagger. “Come back alive.”
When it’s just Quin and me again, when he’s about to fly me towards the blocked pass, I briefly halt him. “We have our mission. Plant poxies. Save Florentius and Akilah. Get out again.”
“Why are you reminding me?”
“That’s a lot to concentrate on.”
Quin leans closer. “What are you saying?”
I poke his arm and narrow serious eyes on him.
He raises a challenging brow.
“‘No one can persuade me to change my mind’.” I poke him again. “We’re in the middle of a mess of our own making and you haven’t learned anything.”
“On the contrary.” He lightly pokes my shoulder. “It’s someone else who’s failing to understand.”
I bat his finger away. “My head is pounding. I can’t be trying to read between lines while we’re out there.”
“I’ll speak clearly then.” He leans in. “No one can persuade me to change my mind.”
My chest seizes and I have to clench my teeth against it. “Just. No more of that until we’ve won.”
“I have a rule too,” he says.
“If you abide by mine, I’ll abide by yours.”
“Do you promise?”
“I’m not unreasonable, your majesty.”
His laughter curls softly around me. “I won’t talk about us. And you . . .” He tucks a finger under my chin; I try to dodge but he grasps me anyway. “You won’t avoid my touch.”
I press my lips firmly together and glare at him, but I’m frustratingly pliant when he slings an arm around my waist and hoists us into the air.
I concentrate on our mission. “How will we get in?”
Quin already has a plan. He infuses the cliffs with just enough magic to make them shake, and the Wyrds digging their way through the blocked pass make a hurried retreat. While their backs are to us, we descend to the fallen rocks. A gust whips us with fine dust until we’re covered and Quin slings us between boulders, carefully placing rocks over us to make it seem like we were caught in the landslide. I dig into my pouch and pull out a tonic. “This will weaken us.”
Quin stares uncertainly, fingers slowly curling around it.
“Quick,” I murmur under the quick-shuffle of approaching footsteps.
He eyes meet mine as he snaps the tonic to his lips and pours it down. With a shaky breath, I do the same and cast the bottle away into the shadows.
Darkness creeps into my mind, and—
Iwake, as expected, to magic. Magic, and Florentius working it. His face hovers over mine and his eyes are piercing. His expression is one part barely stifled shock, and two parts unresolved pain. His jaw is tight. He makes a small motion with his head to tell me not to speak.
Out the corner of my eye is the outline of another figure. A healer perhaps. I flutter my eyes shut again, and Florentius clears his throat, speaking to the figure. “I’ve restored both to health, but I must oversee things as the spell is absorbed, in case of complications.”
The figure hums and I feel a wake of air as they move away. I ping my eyes open, and Florentius holds a “wait” finger against my chest, his gaze following the figure out of the tent. He removes his finger and whispers, “Are you insane? What are you doing? Who did you bring along?”
“That’s . . . under the jarl mask is . . .” I whisper. “Your king.”
Florentius stiffens and bows his head in respect. I’m relieved to see Quin is stirring on the mat beside me, a palm pressed to his forehead.
“The Wyrd will slaughter us all otherwise,” I rush out quietly. The tent is full of mats with injured soldiers and walled with snake baskets—poisons, one of the primary methods of Wyrd healing. “We’re here to end the war, and do it quickly.”
Florentius’s gaze sweeps towards the canvas doors and once again his finger presses on my chest. He clears his throat. “You’ll experience some tingling in your hands and feet over the next hours . . .” His gaze finally comes back to mine and his voice is a hush. “What are you talking about?”