Total pages in book: 201
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 955(@200wpm)___ 764(@250wpm)___ 637(@300wpm)
“I caught you!” Eden declares, encircling the child in a hug, earning another shrill scream of glee.
The corner of Jarek’s mouth twitches, and I doubt it’s on account of the child. My lady maid is the only one who seems capable of dulling his razor-sharp edges.
Upon seeing us, Eden releases the girl and bows. “Your Highness!” Her innocent blue gaze rakes over the black breeches and tunic I dug out from the expansive and stocked closet, and her forehead furrows. “Was the gown I laid out not to your liking?”
“She can’t train in skirts,” Jarek answers before I have a chance to respond.
I roll my eyes. He’s been relentless in his demand that we spend time each day in the castle’s sparring court. Of all the things I still need to learn, throwing a dagger doesn’t seem vital, but I am improving. The blade no longer bounces off its target. “It’s a beautiful dress.” The closets of the queen’s chambers are full of them, and they all fit as if custom-made with me in mind. “But”—I gesture at my outfit—“this is way easier for moving around, in general.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Eden bites her lip, her focus flitting to Jarek. Where their interest in one another has landed, I can’t say. The only time he leaves my side now is when I’m behind my bedroom doors with Zander, and even then, Elisaf has seen him roaming the halls late into the night.
The little girl has tucked herself into Eden’s skirts, her attention shifting from me to Jarek. I remember her, peeking out from the gaps in the wagon outside of Kamstead—the tiny village with air that reeked of burning flesh. Where before she wore tattered clothes and smears of soot, now she’s freshly washed and donning a sunny yellow pinafore.
I wonder which of us scares her more—the warrior with countless blades strapped to his leather-clad form, or the Ybarisan princess turned Ulysede queen with poison in her blood and untold magic coursing through her limbs?
I offer her a gentle smile. “What’s your name?”
“Betsy, Your Highness.” She attempts a curtsy and loses her balance, stumbling a step. It could be her age—she can’t be more than five—or that she’s had little practice in formalities, coming from the north where the idea of bowing to royalty is shunned. Either way, Corrin would be appalled.
“Do you like it here so far?”
Her head bobs in fervent agreement, but then she falters before throwing a pointed finger upward. “Is that really a nymph?”
I follow her aim to the stone statue in the center of the great hall, the creature at least ten feet tall, clothed in spiked armor, as if ready for battle. Its jagged wings appear designed as much to spear opponents as for flight, the claws on its hands primed to gouge enemy flesh. When I first laid eyes on it, I mistook it for a daaknar. “We think so.” There are countless versions of these winged creatures throughout Ulysede—from fearsome gargoyles to dainty, humanlike figures and a myriad of forms in between. I assumed the latter were the true ones, the nymphs who speak to me through their childlike laughter that only I can hear, but Gesine warned me to not assume anything. The seers have seen this terrifying version hovering over us just as readily, and so far, their visions have not steered us wrong.
Betsy tips her head back to study the menacing creature. “How could something so dreadful make a city so beautiful?”
Eden hushes her, stealing a guarded glance upward as if the stone can hear the harsh judgment.
Maybe it can.
While stepping through those gates has brought a sense of safety and hope, I can’t shake the spine-tingling sense that we’re not alone and that this place is not all that it seems.
I take a deep breath to calm the dash in my heartbeat that comes every time I acknowledge that looming worry and smile to hide my apprehension. “I don’t know, but I’m glad they did.” It’s the haven we so desperately need, as Zander decides the right next move to save Islor, and I embrace these newfound key caster abilities.
Footfalls sound, drawing our attention up the grand staircase where Elisaf trots lithely. No one would guess that my night guard was torn apart by a beast only a week ago, moments from closing his eyes and never reopening them. He stalls on the landing when he sees us, a slight head dip in greeting, and I know Zander must have sent for me.
“Is there anything else you require at the moment, Your Highness?” Eden asks.
“I’m good, thanks.” It doesn’t matter how many times I push her to drop formalities, she slips into them as readily as a person breathes.
“In that case, I heard Mirren found ingredients for bread pudding.”