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)
My shins press down on his thighs as I hold one sword against his throat, the other at the soft leather along his side, a weakness in the armor.
“I should kill you right now,” I tell him, pressing the sharp edge of the ash glass up into the crook of his chin. My voice is eerily calm, though inside I feel as if I’m caught in a whirlwind.
His amber eyes stare at mine for a moment and I think I see a shred of fear in them. Then he blinks. “My gods, you’re a stubborn little thief, aren’t you?”
I narrow my gaze. “You should be begging for your life.”
“On the contrary,” he says. His mouth curls up. The bastard is smirking at me. “You should be begging for yours.”
“You’re the one with two blades ready to end you.”
“And you’re the one I’ll be delivering to the Black Guard for your very public execution.”
I don’t want to kill this man, this arrogant product of House Kolbeck. I’ve never killed anyone before and I don’t want to start now.
But if it means saving my own life, I’ll have no choice but to slit his throat.
He grins at me, egging me on, and before I can react he moves with a sudden burst of energy that knocks me backward.
I go flying onto the hard ground, stunned, the air knocked clear from my lungs, and I’m trying to take in a breath just as he comes around me and puts his forearm across my windpipe, yanking me upward and into his lap, the back of my head against his chest.
“You can’t fight me and win, Brynla,” he says gruffly, my throat burning. “Now what will it be? Your execution? Or your servitude?”
I make a move for my swords, which fell when he sprang up from under me, but he holds me even tighter, the strong muscles of his forearm flexing against my throat.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he says in my ear, his breath tickling me, and I feel myself growing weaker with lack of oxygen, the glow of the volcano seeming to become blotted out at the corners of my vision.
I’m losing consciousness.
Slowly but surely the darkness seeps across my eyes, into my brain, my heart, and everything goes black.
* * *
—
I wake up to hear the sloshing of water by my head, the creak of timber.
I’m lying on cold wooden planks in the fetal position, my limbs heavy as stone. The world spins. I try to move, to open my eyes, but the pain in my throat is immediate and my head feels full of soft cloth, making it hard to think.
But I have to think.
Where am I?
What happened?
Last thing I remember was…
Oh fuck. I was on Fjallen Rock, fighting someone, some man from House Kolbeck. He strangled me, I…
My eyes fly open into a darkened room, my vision foggy for a moment before daylight starts to seep in.
“Lemi!” I manage to cry out though pain ravages my throat, as if I can still feel the man’s arm against it. I sit up and the room whirls enough to make me list to the side, my head in my hands, nausea rolling through me. A dry chuckle fills the air that smells of seawater and brine.
“You should take it easy. You’ve been out cold.”
I look to the corner of the room where that man—Andor—is sitting on a barrel, elbows on his thighs as he peers at me with a half smile.
“And your dog is fine,” he adds. “Before you start worrying.”
I growl at him and immediately regret it, my eyes pinching shut in a wince as the sound burns me from the inside.
“Sorry about that,” he says, sounding reluctant as he gestures quickly to my neck. “I needed to take you alive. I had no choice.”
No choice?
I let out a pained cough. “You could have let me be.”
“I couldn’t do that. You had to come with me one way or another.”
“You nearly killed me,” I whisper hoarsely.
“I know what I’m doing,” he says as he straightens up. “And it’s become very apparent that you, lavender girl, do not.”
If only I had the strength to wipe that smirk off his face. I’m still dizzy, though the more the seconds tick by the more I realize that the room is actually moving in addition to what my head is doing.
We’re on a boat, in some sort of storage room belowdecks. Faint light creeps in through a porthole window that’s so scoured by salt that I can’t see anything outside.
“Where are you taking me?” I manage to ask, adjusting my seat. I may be on the floor but at least he’s put sheepskins underneath me. I spot a copper canteen beside me, swirling carvings of delicate foliage engraved on the surface giving it a feeling of opulence in this dirty cabin.