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)
But I grit it away, raise my chin, and force out a dark laugh. “Your regent is nothing but a coward. You’ve dedicated yourself to the whim of a sad, selfish man—”
“Let me go!” The yell is frightened. The yell is behind me. The yell is from Akilah.
It comes at the same time as another ringing slam to my face. My vision spins, my head rattles, and I collapse to the floor. But where I promised to let go of this life, I find myself clawing to it. They have Akilah. Why? What will they do to her? I cling on through stuttering vision and weak limbs and stagger to my feet. Her form comes in and out of focus. She’s straining against redcloaks that have her bound tight.
“Found her shouting after him. Must’ve followed.”
“What do we do with her? Get rid of her?”
No! I stretch out an arm, clawing the air, lurching unsteadily through it toward her.
“Caelus!” she cries, and then snarls. “Let. Me. Go!”
She jerks her arm free just enough to scratch at the redcloak’s face. A short, vicious strike.
They curse, tighten their grip. Then a spell flares between them, and she goes still.
Another redcloak, murmuring thoughtfully, “Seems like he wants to protect her.”
Magic binds my arms, yanking me away from her, and then a voice sails past my ear. “Take her too. She could be leverage for our regent.”
I lunge, blind with panic—
The next blast slams into my back.
The last thing I see is her limp form; the last thing I hear is an order for Skriniaris Evander to inform dead-walking Constantinos.
Then—nothing.
A surge of vitalian magic slams through me, yanking me from the void.
I splutter awake. I’m crumpled on a slick, gleaming floor. My limbs shake as I push myself onto my knees, taking in the sight before me—the grand luminarium of the royal city. The dome glows brightly today, too brightly, and under it, the branches of the violet oak unfold, stretching in all directions across the circular hall. Under that, the regent sits on his throne. Through the haze, I make out a figure in bright robes. Magic hums in the air and sharp metal nails hover—waiting, shifting, aiming.
Akilah!
She dangles from a branch, wrists bound in twisting magic. Her head slumps forward, her feet twitching—a final protest before unconsciousness swallows her.
I lunge forward. The nails snap toward her—fast, predatory. A warning.
I freeze. So do they.
The regent coughs, a wet, rattling sound, and slowly turns toward me. My vision sharpens. His face is pale, waxy, his breath laboured. Scales coil up his throat, creeping, strangling.
But his eyes burn with something that refuses to die. “So eager to save an akla.”
I grind my teeth. “Her name is Akilah.”
The regent smiles, his cracked lips curling. “I have the akla in my hands, you’ll do best to follow my instructions.”
“Instruction! You only need me here until he arrives,” I snarl. I know his game. I know I’m a pawn in his hands, for his easy disposal.
“Don’t undersell yourself, healer. In fact,” his eyes flash with anger, “I’m to congratulate you on finding a cure for the plague.”
“I’m also here to be rewarded?” I laugh, knowing well this is not the case. “If so, let Akilah go.”
He waves a hand and the magical binds stringing her up sever. She crashes to the ground. The slam has her yelping to life and scrambling, afraid, to the tree trunk where she curls her knees to her chest and shakes.
The regent’s nails snap back to his palm. His voice gentles. “I can be merciful. Work for me, and I’ll ensure your loved ones live long, peaceful lives.”
A slow coil of dread knots in my stomach. I grit my teeth and say nothing.
The regent dances his nails casually around me and back to him. “I know he gathered men. I know they scattered again. He’ll come today all alone. Your only real chance to save yourself and”—he glances at Akilah—“your loved ones is to pledge allegiance to me.”
Never in a million years. I squeeze my fists. “I’m a healer without magic. You have the best vitalians in the kingdom.”
“But you have the cure.”
“There is only protection. No cure.”
The regent narrows his eyes. “You saved all those lives in Kastoria.”
“The disease—left by the wyverns you manipulated—has altered. You should have prioritised finding all your sick dragonettes and stopping this plague before it started. You were warned!”
The regent’s eyes flash. “Are you telling me”—he gestures to his scaled throat—“this is poetic justice?”
“I don’t need to tell you. You already know.”
The nails fly—too fast to dodge.
Pain erupts, searing through my upper arms. I hit the floor hard, knees buckling, my breath ragged as I shake beneath the weight of it.
The regent yanks his nails back, spraying my blood across the gleaming floor.
He exhales a slow, rattling breath. “Let’s try this again.”