Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73154 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
He raises an eyebrow. “I wanted to see what she’s like.”
“So,” I say. “Peeking.”
Before I can accuse him further, my knee slips and I tumble forward, crashing into him. We hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, his nose nearly brushing mine.
“That’ll teach you,” I mutter, grinning sheepishly.
“Remove yourself.”
I scramble off him and offer a hand, which he ignores. He straightens with a wince, brushing dirt from his pristine robes before turning to march deeper into the forest.
I shrug and head north. Halfway up the hill, a flicker of red catches my eye.
My stomach twists.
I glance longingly toward the northern path, but my feet betray me. I double back, weaving through the trees until I catch up. He’s striding along the trail, oblivious.
“Psst!”
He doesn’t hear me.
“Redcloaks,” I whisper harshly, grabbing his wrist and yanking him behind a trunk.
He glares at me, brushing at his sleeve. “Shouldn’t you be running, then?”
“I couldn’t just leave you.”
He arches an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Together, we crouch in the shadows as the soldiers pass.
“We should cross the river,” I murmur. “There’s a swing bridge nearby.”
He hesitates.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
His hand brushes invisible lint from his cloak, as if searching for composure. “Nicostratus,” he says, slow and deliberate.
“Nicostratus,” I repeat, tasting the name. “I’m—”
He interrupts quickly, his eyes darting away. “Aklo. I heard.”
I pause, then nod. “Right. Aklo.”
We move quietly, damp earth soft beneath our feet. I glance at him again and again, curiosity gnawing at me. Finally, he catches me.
“Why do you keep looking at me?”
“How old are you?”
“Older than you.”
“Not by much.” I gesture at his pristine robes. “Why are you spying on Veronica anyway?”
He halts, fixing me with a sharp look. “I’m with the royal entourage. A . . . friend of the princes.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Then why run from redcloaks?”
He grimaces. “They might be the high duke’s.”
His words carry a weight that chills me.
I straighten, glancing toward the path ahead. “We should hurry.”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “I’ll loop back through the front gates.”
I tug on his sleeve, and after a long moment, he finally looks at me. “What are the princes like? Why are they here?”
He shrugs free and keeps walking. “Why does it matter?”
“So you’re not that close to them,” I press, skipping to keep pace.
He glares over his shoulder, his expression stiff. “Water wyverns are kept in Hinsard’s rivers. The princes come to train their magic and practice controlling them.”
“Are they any good at it?”
“Have you ever seen a water wyvern?”
“Pictures,” I admit. “They’re on all the banners.”
“They’re the royal family’s emblem for a reason. Only those of royal blood can control them. To anyone else, they’re wild beasts—stronger than a wolf, faster than a horse, and ten times as dangerous. Only the bravest hunters would face one willingly.”
I shiver and glance around the woods, suddenly less sure of our surroundings. “Have you . . . seen one here?”
“Of course.” He keeps walking, the leaves crunching under his boots as though the topic doesn’t bother him at all.
Spooked, I grab his sleeve again. He pauses briefly to glance at my hand but doesn’t brush me off this time.
“I watched the king teaching his sons to command them,” he says, his voice quieter now.
“And could they?”
He sighs. “Like with anything, it takes practice.”
I frown. “How far can wyverns go from rivers?”
“Miles,” he replies. “The big ones can climb cliffs and trees. They travel in packs.”
I swallow hard. “What do you do if you meet one?”
“You hope there’s a royal nearby who can control the pack leader.”
“Just the leader?”
“Control the leader, and the rest will follow.”
“And if there’s no royal?”
A loud crack snaps through the forest, stopping my breath.
We both look up as a huge branch tears free from the canopy above, crashing toward us.
I yelp and grab onto Nicostratus, but he calmly raises his hand. A burst of golden light erupts, forming a dome around us just as the branch smashes into it, splintering harmlessly against the shimmering barrier.
Nicostratus sways under the effort, his breathing tight. I steady him with a hand on his arm.
The dome glimmers; through its filter the forest is a warm gold. I reach out to touch it—it feels cool and solid, like polished stone. “That’s . . . incredible.”
“Any linea can do that,” he mutters, his voice strained. With a wave of his hand, the shield dissipates.
“I’m only par-linea,” I admit as we continue walking.
“Simplex spells are basic,” he says dismissively.
“I know other spells too,” I huff. “I wish I could learn more.”
“You shouldn’t.”
I bristle. “Why not? Anyone is capable, given the chance to learn.”
“Bold words for someone who doesn’t know the risks.”
“They’re not just words,” I snap. “It’s what my grandfather says.”
The mention of him sours my mood, and the silence between us grows heavy as we tread onward.
It’s Nicostratus who breaks the quiet. He glances at me, his dark eyes probing. “Who is he? Your grandfather?”