Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
An axe flies.
Lykos curses, pulling Zenon into a protective hold.
I toss my belongings, deflecting the axe away from them.
Megaera’s shield rises around us.
Skeldars swarm up the hatch onto the deck. Rushing footsteps approach from behind.
They glance past us, their focus shifting, and straighten. We turn slowly to gauge the new threat.
My stomach churns. A neat circle of armed Skeldars is forming around us.
Lykos spits out a curse. “Any way to poison them all?”
“Only some. I’d have to drop the shield to do it.”
“Don’t!”
“Now you like my magic.”
He huffs. “What about you, healer?”
I grimace toward my sack, now lying behind armed men.
“Well, aren’t you caught in Sylgja’s tides,” comes a thickly accented voice.
In front of us, the blonde, leather-clad men part, making way. The captain. He gestures to two of his crew, who scurry off at his command.
Torchlight flickers against his stoic, broad-shouldered profile and his golden mane. Like most Skeldars, his beardless cheeks give him a deceptively youthful appearance. Along with their renowned attractiveness and tall, large frames, Skeldars are difficult to calculate. They look strong, but too beautiful to be truly dangerous.
That’s how they trap their enemies.
Even Megaera sighs. But not me. I grip her arm tightly. “Don’t be fooled.”
She stiffens.
Behind us, Lykos mutters.
The captain laughs, his brilliant blue eyes locking onto me. “Ah. You’re part Skeldar.”
Megaera snorts lightly beside me. “Finally explains what everyone sees in you.”
I elbow her.
The captain removes his weapons, passing them to his men, and whisks off his fur-lined cloak, revealing a reinforced leather breastplate adorned with intricate patterns, imagery of Skjaldur, their God of war, and runes for bravery, victory, and protection.
“You were too eager. If you’d waited longer, we might’ve been too far into the hills to see you scurrying over our deck.”
I grit my teeth against the urge to deflate. We can’t give up now; we have to find a way . . .
Gravity shifts as the boat rises and falls more deeply than before. I glance sideways—
We’re already drifting away from the dock. The briny tang of the stirred sea grows stronger.
My heart pounds wildly. This ship will sail over the channel to Iskaldir. I want to get there, but as a free person. Not as a slave. Megaera notices the movement too; her shield quivers before she regains her composure.
The captain smiles, leaning toward our dome, lowering his voice. “Nice shield.”
His unspoken challenge: You’ll be drained of spiritual energy soon enough. Then what?
Megaera speaks first, her tone light, unaffected. “We acted out of familial duty. This prisoner is young, a child to us. Let us go, and in our retellings of this adventure, you’ll emerge as merciful, honourable.”
Lykos seizes his moment. “Let me and my boy go, and you can have these two. Along with valuable information about our king.”
I stiffen. What does he know? What would he dare tell these enemies? I can’t let that happen.
“Drop the shield.”
Megaera hisses at me.
“Drop the shield or let the captain in.”
“I could kill you in one sweep,” the captain says.
“You won’t.”
A curious laugh.
“The gods are watching.”
His gaze sharpens.
I roll up my sleeve. On the inside of my forearm, there’s a dark mark.
The surrounding Skeldars gasp, weapons lowering as they whisper to one another.
The captain stares hard at the mark, the pulse at his neck ticking faster. Suspicion and caution glimmer in his eyes. “Lindrhalda’s touch.”
I bow my head slightly, the knot in my stomach tightening. It’s shameless. If Quin were watching, he might laugh, but—
If it saves your life, do it. I command you to.
The mark is roughly flower-like in shape, the shape of one flower in particular. Lifebloom—the sacred plant of Lindrhalda, Iskaldir’s goddess of healing.
“Drop the shield,” I say softly.
Megaera hesitates, but I catch the flicker of understanding in her gaze as she sweeps over the birthmark she helped me create.
The captain steps forward, pinching my chin upward.
His lips curve into a thoughtful smirk as his gaze bores into mine. Without looking away, he calls out to one of his men, who comes forward with my belongings.
A man—Nordr—lies on a low cot, clutching his lower back and moaning in pain. Half a dozen others, including the guard I paralysed, crowd into the room, murmuring urgently. The captain passes by in the hallway, his sceptical gaze lingering on me.
I take Nordr’s pulse, analysing his pained movements and noting the sporadic twitch of his right leg.
I unroll my set of fine silver needles, a parting gift from Quin, and select one.
A wave of curious murmurs.
I must keep up the act. “Lindrhalda gave me the gift of understanding how best to heal my patients. I choose this needle with her guidance.”
I carefully insert four sharp needles into the acupoints around Nordr’s tailbone. “Wait fifteen minutes. He’ll walk to his cabin on his own.”
And fifteen minutes later, to a chorus of amazed gasps, he does.