Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
And wouldn’t I deserve that for what I just did? It started as self-defense—and ended with something else entirely.
Closing my eyes, I revisit the violence I wrought and try not to weep. Where is the healer in me? Where is the girl I once was and the woman I was becoming with Merc? Both feel lost in the ugliness I’ve found within me. I was never capable of murder before, and certainly never capable of cruelty.
When I set off on this journey, I knew the world was a hard place, but I still had all my humanity. Now … I don’t know what I am, anymore.
The only good part of this is at least Merc and I will not live long enough to see the downfall when the Dark King is released from the Fulcrum—
I hear a set of doors opening and the smell that reaches my nose is a surprise.
Opening my eyes, I find that we’re in a different tunnel, the terminus of which glows with a peach-tinted light. As we close in on the end, a vista unfurls of white buildings and golden sunlight, of lawns and flowers, of people off in the distance walking.
This must be the Kingdom’s city square. Where the executions are going to happen.
“Merc,” I moan in a forlorn voice.
We break out into the light and I wince and blink. To orient myself, I look to the sky and find the sun. It’s once again at a low angle on the western horizon—
I’ve lost an entire day. All those hours, waiting for the soldier to return … added up to a full day. So they didn’t kill us “in the morning,” after all. Unless they’ve already executed Merc—
“Your husband is still alive,” the advisor informs me with a bored drawl.
And then I hear a familiar nickering call.
I spin around just as a guard brings Lavante around a corner. The instant the stallion sees me, he rears up and paws at the man who’s holding his reins, impatient to come over.
“You have until tomorrow morning,” the advisor announces. “But if I were you, I would return posthaste. There have been certain … attacks that have taken place after dark of late. That is your concern, however, not mine.”
By the tone in her voice, she disapproves of all of this, so I’m not surprised as she tacks on, “I make no representations about what shall occur when you return, even if it is with Her Sublime Highness’s lost jewel. Especially after what you did back in that cell.” She nods at a pair of guards who arrive upon their own horses. “These men will escort you to the gate, and you will be permitted back in, but none will enter upon the Forbidden Land with you. From there you will proceed alone.”
I’m not listening to her. As the guards who have been bruising my arms release their holds, I shoot forward and drape myself around Lavante’s neck. Breathing in his fresh scent, I want to weep.
Instead, I pull back and take the reins.
As I mount up, I cannot ignore the streak of blood I leave behind on his beautiful pale neck. But then I’m up in the saddle and gathering my stallion as he starts to trot in place. My saddlebags have been removed, and I infer from how sprightly he is that he’s been fed and tended to properly. It makes sense. He is, after all, a stallion anyone would want to own.
Just as I turn to the advisor, she nods sharply at someone behind me. “Yes, yes. Your pack.”
My shouldering bag appears and is given to me.
As I slip it onto my back, I feel that its weight is the same. The crown and compass are still with me.
“Again, we have your husband,” the vizare says. “Remember that when you decide whether or not to return.”
The guards cue their horses to walk off, and I glance back at the advisor as I set Lavante to follow. Though I do not meet her eyes, I can feel her glare on me.
Given the chance, I know she’d have me killed in an instant. Merc as well.
I have to hope the Queen who sees no one can nonetheless control her court.
The guards take me down a well-trod lane that is made of packed white shells. As we pass by citizens, the men and women stop and look up at us. They’re in the midst of whatever lives they lead, the laborers coming home from the fields dirty, wrinkled, and tired, the aristocrats striding with their heads held high, the maidens scurrying in giggling groups. A keen eye catches the truth behind the momentary glimpses, however: The laborers look defeated as if their efforts are not producing enough, the aristocrats’ clothes are threadbare, and the maidens are even sizing up the laborers, as if there are not quite enough men to go around for marriage.