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)
We are truly caught. This time, there is no way out.
The next sword blow will kill me.
The redcloak lurches, gurgling. A spear is buried in his throat.
A roar. A rush of air.
The other redcloaks whirl around, facing a new threat.
Crusaders.
Purple cloaks. Spears flashing.
They tear through the redcloaks in seconds. Then their eyes land on us.
Queen Veronica, wielding a branch like a blade.
Olyn, exposed.
A child, sobbing in my arms.
Me—my shield flickering, magic draining.
The crusaders raise their spears again.
I dump my healing bag onto the ground, spilling it open. “Wait!”
They don’t lower their weapons.
I dig through the mess. My heart pounds.
A spell blasts into them. They stumble. Nicostratus lands before us, Bastion at his side.
Bastion immediately rips off his cloak to cover Olyn. Nicostratus prepares another spell.
I grab the chain and leap up, holding it high. “I am friend to Lykos and your leader’s son, Zenon.”
Beneath the mountain on the west side, a labyrinth of streets sprawls inside a vast, hollowed-out cave, its walls swallowing the light in jagged, uneven gulps. My companions and I are marched into a vine-choked hall.
We’re ordered to kneel. I comply. Olyn, Queen Veronica, and the young king do the same. The moment my knees hit the damp stone, heat rushes beneath my skin, pressing with a throb behind my skull. The air is thick with damp earth and something bitter—an attempt to purify the depths, perhaps—but all it does is make my already constricted lungs work harder. I suppress the urge to exhale too sharply, forcing my hands to stay still on my thighs.
Only Bastion and Nicostratus remain upright, their jaws tight. The crusaders don’t ask twice. The dull thunk of spear shafts forces them down onto all fours. Nicostratus’s fingers twitch out the corner of my eye, magic stirring with his temper. Don’t, I warn him with a glance, and he exhales with a grunt of displeasure.
Laughter slithers through the hall. A shadow sweeps forward, the weight of its presence alone commanding silence. “Gave them this, did he? Call him in.”
The man steps into view, broadly built, carrying the kind of presence that makes others step aside without a word. The resemblance to Zenon is uncanny, though where Zenon is all keen edges, his father is carved from stone.
He swings the chain idly between his fingers before catching it in his fist. His gaze cuts straight to mine, sharp, knowing. Like he could feel me watching him.
“My son wouldn’t give this to just anyone.” He grimaces, nostrils flaring at the scent of magic still clinging to me from my shield, weak, flickering. I need it replenished soon, or I risk infecting everyone around me.
But there’s something else. A scrutinising look that has me holding my breath, as if he might sense the symptoms I’m trying to hide. Dizzying warmth sneaks up my spine and intensifies. The fever. It’s coming back.
Day two can be worse.
I will myself to stay calm. No matter what happens, I have to make sure Queen Veronica and Quin’s son will be safe.
“Father!” Zenon barrels into the room, all gangly limbs and determination. “Please.” He turns to me, nodding once. “This is the man who saved Lykos and me.”
Silence holds for a beat too long. Then, laughter. Rough, unexpected. Zenon’s father waves his crusaders off and tosses the chain back to his son.
“Then they are no prisoners, but most welcome guests.”
Zenon releases a breath so deep it almost topples him.
His father chuckles, waving us away. “Prepare rooms for them. And since you and Lykos owe him so much, invite him to the wedding banquet.”
Zenon practically throws himself at his father, arms tight around his neck. For a moment, the man stiffens, but then his shoulders ease, the gruff exterior fracturing just a little. He clears his throat and shoos us off, already retreating into authority once more.
The crusaders are ruthless. They’ve destroyed families, shattered spiritual meridians—including my own. And yet, beneath the violence, they stand for equality. They love fiercely.
We’re shown to our rooms, but Zenon lingers at the doorway, grinning. “Stay put. I have a surprise for you in just a minute.” Then he’s gone.
The moment I’m alone, I grab a strip of fabric and tie it over my nose and mouth. My fingers fumble the knot—not from haste, but from the fine tremor in my hands. I shake them out. Ignore it. Then I push through the door and hurry to Nicostratus’s chamber.
The corridor swims for a few pounding heartbeats. My vision tightens at the edges, and my breathing shallows. I reach out towards the wall, steadying myself on the stone and vines before stepping away, forcing each step to land evenly. No one saw that. I keep moving.
“Please. Strengthen my shield.”
Nicostratus sets down his teacup with a quiet clink, his brows pulling together. “No one here seems sick. We’re far enough away from—”