Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
An eerie wind swirls around me, wrapping around me and lifting me from the floor before returning me to my feet.
“Look how pretty you are. A face that will win over the masses.” His smile is so patient, almost grandfatherly. I struggle but can’t escape the hold of the wind.
I’m wearing my ring. How could I forget my greatest strength?
“Back down,” I command, infusing my voice with every bit of the Enchanting Lady I can muster. “Let me go.”
“Not yet. We should talk first.”
Why isn’t it working? Is it because I’m so injured? Why would the magic work any differently now? I hold his gaze and try again. “Drop your shield for me. I need you to listen to what I have to say.”
His lips quirk and he chuckles. “Do you think I would create a magical ring and allow it to enchant me as it does others?”
Create. This male created my ring. He’s responsible for this curse. “Who are you?”
“He promised you would bring me that,” he says, nodding to the Sword of Fire blazing in the corner. “I’ve been waiting.”
I don’t know who he is, but I recognize his voice from my memories. No. Mordeus’s memories.
“Erith,” I whisper. I don’t know how I’m so sure or what memory this knowledge comes from, but I know the male smiling at me is the Patriarch of the Seven. The male Kendrick needs me to kill.
He cocks his head to the side. “I’m dying to know, though, how you overcame the effects of the ring—how you have the strength to be standing before me now.”
I only fortify my mental shields and glare in response. I’m not about to tell him about the wolpertinger or Fherna.
“Fate is a slippery beast, and sometimes you need to go to extreme measures to make it work in your favor.” He glances toward the sword and smiles again. “It’s been a long journey, but it’s all proving worthwhile.”
“You helped him return and now you’re protecting him.” I look to Mordeus and then back to Erith. I knew Erith was evil, but what does he stand to gain from making my ring? “All for the Sword of Fire?”
“Don’t worry yourself, little princess. You don’t need to know the details.” He lowers me back to the floor and flicks his wrist. A doorway appears. On the other side of it is my childhood bedroom, the place my mother tucked us in each night before the house was burned to the ground in a fire. “Don’t fight it. You deserve to rest.”
Everything will be better if you come home, it seems to say. Step this way and the pain will fade. The fear will melt away. You’ll be safe here.
“No,” I breathe. I came here for a reason, and I’m not leaving. I’m not giving up. I won’t let the people I love pay the price for my mistakes.
I tighten my grip on the iron-and-adamant blade in my hand, and I charge at Erith.
It’s only as the blade plunges into his chest that I realize he didn’t even dodge the blow.
“Do you really think I would’ve let you keep that blade if it was a danger to me?” he asks as we stand there, eyes locked, connected through this blade I refuse to release.
“How?” I say the word on an exhale, my body growing weaker by the moment.
“Isn’t it fun when prophecies come to pass?” he asks, eyes dancing with nonsensical delight. “Make sure you tell your friend who fancies himself the king of Elora. He’s been waiting for the moment you’d put this blade in my chest.” Then, as calmly as if he were brushing crumbs from his shirt, he wraps both hands around mine and removes the blade from his chest.
I let my hand drop to my side and stare. There’s no blood. No wound.
Is this a trick? Perhaps Erith isn’t here. Perhaps this is some enchantment Mordeus set into motion to protect his corpse from harm? Am I dreaming? Maybe I’m curled up in the blacksmith’s cottage, delirious from the pain, and all this is a hallucination.
I’m too weak to think straight and drop onto the floor, clutching the dagger as if it can protect me. This isn’t real. I need sleep. Sleep and then I’ll be able to understand what’s happening. Sleep and then I’ll wake up and make sense of everything.
“That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice the soothing melody of an old lullaby. “Rest now. Go to bed like a good girl, and I will make the pain go away.”
And with that, a blast of his magic shoves me toward the door. I stumble but fight my way back to my feet. I feel the bedroom’s tug pulling me away, but I know that if I surrender to it, I’ll never come back. If I let myself sleep, this will be the end.