Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“I am a Freelander,” she says boldly. “I will always have a choice.”
“And I’m a Norlander,” I tell her, moving the syclesaw over to my other hand and back again, rubbing the smooth claw under my thumb as I do. “We also have a choice, as does Sorland, and Vesland, the rest of the wide world. All the more reason to get out of your goddess-forsaken realm. See how everyone else survives for a change. See how we live. Are you afraid you’ll like it?”
She doesn’t move, her gaze continuing to hold me. Her eyes are so dark and determined. I know I’ll win, but I might not walk away unscathed.
“Or are you afraid you’re not worthy of a better life?” I add.
There. Something shifts in her eyes, just for a moment.
I hit a nerve.
I decide to switch tactics. “You really think your shoddy armor will last you over time? You think ash glass can stab through the hide of a deathdrage? I’ve been watching you, Brynla Aihr. You’re one of the best, but you’re also the luckiest person I’ve ever come across. I’ve never even seen a dragon get close to you until today, but look where that got you. Had I not been there, you and your magic dog would be dead.” I pause. “People say you’re a force to be reckoned with, that you can fight your fellow man, but after today, I’m not sure how you measure up against the dragons.”
“I do just fine,” she practically growls, her grip on the swords’ hilts tightening. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Because of luck. But tonight, your luck has officially run out. Two botched raids and you almost died twice. If you come with me, we can give you your luck back. We can take your thieving to another level entirely. You’ll be unstoppable. Perhaps one day finally get your revenge against the Soffers. Isn’t that what all Freelanders want?”
I let that last sentence dangle in the volcanic air.
She hesitates for a moment.
“I don’t know you,” she eventually says. “And I sure as fuck don’t trust you.”
“Nor should you,” I admit, my brow rising at her language. “I don’t trust my family either. But I’ll repeat what I said earlier: you don’t have a choice.”
I put the syclesaw back in my other hand and her eyes go to it, taking in the sight. I know she’s never seen a weapon like this either, crafted from the ten-inch curved claws of the sycledrage. “If you don’t come with me tonight, you’ll be delivered right into the arms of the Black Guard and your own execution.”
Her nostrils flare, fear finally sparking in her eyes. Just what I wanted to see.
“And so what?” she says, starting to slowly move around me in a circle, swords still drawn. “If the Dalgaards find out I went with you, it will be the same fate for me.”
“Except we can protect both you and your aunt,” I tell her. “We can get her out of the Dark City. So either you come with me right now and join our side, or you die the same way your father did, hanging from the gallows.”
She gives her head a small shake, eyes narrowing into something so cold I feel it in my chest. She’s a marvel, this one.
“There’s a third option that you’ve forgotten about,” she says quietly.
“And what’s that?”
“That I kill you.”
She grins. Sweet and deadly.
Then she’s at me faster than I can blink.
Chapter 4
Brynla
I’m not going anywhere with this syndikat thief.
I do my best to catch him off guard. I launch myself low, knowing to kick him out beneath his center of gravity.
It works too, for a moment. My boots strike his shins at enough of an angle that his knees buckle, and I have both my swords raised, ready to pin him down to the ground.
But instead of collapsing, he rolls over the craggy volcanic rock, his armor protecting him from the jagged ground. He gets up on his feet just as I’m coming over him and he quickly twists at the waist and raises his fist, knocking my arm off-balance. My hands instinctively grip my swords, unwilling to drop them, though the impact makes my bones vibrate.
I quickly spin and move out of the way, trying to regain my footing, expecting the sharp claw of the sycledrage that he so flagrantly showed off to slice into me. But he’s sliding his weapons away into the inner folds of his cloak, as if he knows he doesn’t need them.
He thinks I’m some backward Freelander, I think as I hold out my swords. That my skills are so lacking he barely needs to fight. He’s trying to prove something.
My wounded pride becomes my fuel.
I fake a stab to his left shoulder before I drop to the ground, the rocks digging into my palms as I pivot on my upper body, swinging around and kicking at his ankles. It’s enough that this time he does fall back and I dive over him just as he makes impact with the terrain.