Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I stitch up his chest wound. “Stay away from the stormblades for now.”
“Can’t.”
“You must, or you’ll rip open your wound. If they don’t hurt you worse.”
“Stormblades delivered my boy to a Skeldar ship. I must get him back.”
My fingers pause. “The terrified boy you forced to fight?”
The large man bows his head, a silent sigh skidding over my wrist.
I pull back. So, he knows how to regret.
My wrist tickles.
He uses the tree trunk for support, heaving himself to his feet. I rise and press crushed elderleaf over his stitches while blocking his path. “What will you do? Fight your way onto the ship?”
He flinches at the press on his wound.
“Skeldars have rituals this time of the month. This area is sacred to them.”
Megaera hums, a reminder she’s been quietly watching, judging. She twists the spear in her hand. “If they leave their ships to congregate . . . you may have a chance.”
A grunt of confirmation.
“But they’re not foolish enough to abandon their prisoners without guards. How will you get past them? What if he’s injured?”
My stomach clenches. A young boy, imprisoned, frightened . . . not sure if he’ll live another day. Maybe he’s humming to keep calm.
River’s frightened face flashes in my mind.
“An innocent child,” she says.
I glance sharply at Megaera. She’s recalling the court case too. She’s reminding me of my failure . . .
“You—” I croak over the thundering guilt in my heart.
She holds my gaze. “For a boy’s untimely death.” She glances away, shrugging. “I suppose I can assist.”
I stare at her. Is this another trap? Or could she be sincere? Could she feel some of the blame? Could she be trying to right it?
I square my shoulders. Either way, a boy needs saving, and everything in me compels me to go, hurry, make it right this time.
The tall crusader spares us unimpressed looks. “You can heal, but what can a beauty do?”
Megaera casts a spell at his feet, the earth rising and rolling under him, toppling him back to the foot of the tree. She tosses him his spear.
I answer him. “Don’t underestimate her.”
He looks from her to me, back to her, a brow quirking. He could easily destroy her meridians.
Megaera turns her back on him, casting a teasing look over her shoulder. “You have a choice. Me, or your son.”
To lessen the temptation, I step between them in the shadowed forest.
“What do we call you?” I ask.
“Are we close enough for names?”
Something darts out from behind the trees, and Megaera swiftly conjures a transparent dome around us. The wolf is knocked back, snarling, as more of its pack emerge from the undergrowth.
We move cautiously, the dome shielding us from each rushed attack until the wolves, with pitiful whines, retreat into the darkness.
The crusader scowls at the dome, and a laugh escapes me—hollow, sharp.
Two pairs of eyes narrow at me. I thump the crusader’s back. “You despise magic, yet now you must rely on it.” I nudge Megaera. “You . . . you have to perform with a killer at your back.” I shake my head, the irony bitter on my tongue. “And I . . .” I trail off, the words too heavy, too raw. I have to hold hands with both of you. The one whose father I killed, and the one who killed a part of me.
My laughter doubles, but it’s empty, pained. I steer the crusader until he faces me, and point. “Cael. Megaera.” I gesture to him, my brow raised expectantly.
His mouth presses into a grim line. “Lykos. Like the river. The boy’s name is Zenon.”
“A right trio we are, Lykos.”
Megaera grabs a handful of our cloaks and yanks us down. “Stay low.”
Crouched in dense foliage, we inhale the salty air, peering through the bushes toward the rugged coastline. The view is a wash of navy and black, the silhouettes of ships barely visible under the clouded sky. Sails unfurl as vessels glide toward a row of anchored ships in the bay.
Officially, the water is neutral territory—a trader’s path between kingdoms. But not everyone stepping onto Lumin soil is here for business.
Danger lurks in every shadow.
One misstep . . .
I recall the escaped slaves I’ve treated—backs crisscrossed with scars, their movements impaired by wounds left untreated for so long that only unaffordable spells could heal them. Even for the few who received those spells, they never forgot the agonising pain of years under barbed whips. Years later, they still flinched at any sudden movement.
I swallow hard, focusing on the image of River in my mind. His head on my shoulder in the cold cell. Are we going to die?
Faint footsteps clomp over wood, followed by a flurry of shadowy movement on the decks. Torches flare to life as golden-haired Skeldars march toward the hills, axes and shields strapped to their backs.