Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I grip the balustrade, a soundless cry tearing from my throat.
“Without hesitation, the runaway king dove after him, roaring with a voice that could’ve deafened Iskaldir.”
My knees buckle.
“He caught his brother by one hand. Even as strike after strike rained down on him, he never let go. He pulled the prince out, threw him onto a horse, and sent him galloping to safety. Then he turned, picked up a fallen comrade’s sword, and fought his way through half the redcloaks before he could be subdued.”
Quin.
I retch.
“That king was handed over to us in exchange for one hundred days of peace at the border.”
From below, a voice roars: “Cut off his head!”
“Parade it through every city!”
“Too quick. Make him a slave!”
Rurik raises his glass. “The prins will decide.”
Outside.
I stagger to my feet, my aunt calling after me, but I’m already moving—down the stairs, ignoring the crash of a toppled tray and the startled gasps.
The cold air bites at my lungs as I race past lantern-lit carriages, dodging strollers and slipping on patches of ice. Ahead, the stormblades march, their armour gleaming in the lamplight.
My feet pound against the cobblestones. The wedding party still roars in the square, masks and music blurring as I push through, emerging into quieter streets beyond.
The stormblades press on to the bridge, stopping midway. Prins Lief’s guards approach on horseback, and I duck behind a massive runestone at the bridge’s edge.
Through the iron bars of a cage, I glimpse a figure. Even in shadow, the shape is unmistakable.
I press my veiled forehead to the cold stone, my hollow laugh catching in my throat.
It’s him.
The bark of a stormblade has me hurriedly setting on my curacowl and facing the suspicious soldier. I keep my voice quiet, between us, signing my hands in a symbol that means I’m one of Prins Lief’s guests.
Out the corner of my eye, the cage holding the captive king moves forward, following Prins Lief’s mounted guards.
If the cage is headed towards the temple, Prins Lief is still there, waiting. And if he’s still there, I must see him again.
“Prins Lief is expecting me,” I say.
The stormblade squints, “Why were you hiding behind the runestone?”
“I . . . didn’t want to disturb . . . this. Wanted to wait until you’d passed.”
“Finally someone with common sense. A tiring job, shooing away onlookers. Took us twice the time it should to get this far.”
I feign a sympathetic nod.
“Come with me,” the stormblade says, and I accompany him at the back of the procession. We’re too far behind to glimpse the captive; I can only watch as the cage bypasses the ceremonial grounds and disappears behind the temple.
I wish I could follow, but am instead ushered to the main temple. I wait in the shadows as guards and stormblades take their turn with Prins Lief, until at last my presence is announced.
He’s exactly where I left him hours ago, warming his hands over spiritual fire, but his shoulders have sagged and his face is pensive.
“You really are bold.”
Desperate.
I come forward. “You know why I’m here.”
“Could it be more painfully obvious?”
I quietly continue until I feel the flickering warmth of the fire.
Prins Lief narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to find the answers he needs within the flames. “This gift . . . the people crave his humiliation.”
“You’ve been known as one who mediates; who convinces his father not to rush into war. What will you do with King Constantinos?”
“Let me be clear: I don’t care for the person; I care about what he represents. More precisely what the consequences of harming him might be.” Prins Lief turns his hands as if weighing something. “There is a growing undercurrent of support for this runaway king. Somehow, he’s won the respect of the vespertines. Their network is extensive.”
I’m thrown back to Kastoria. Quin’s declaration. “As your king, I can promise to be with you until the end. I will eat only after all of you have eaten. I will listen to your cries and will answer them. I will wait until you have all received treatment before receiving my own. Trust in me, and I will help return your freedom.”
He followed through with his promises.
That’s what won him vespertine support.
Prins Lief casts his concerned stare to the impressive ceiling far above. “If there’s any shift in Lumin politics and we’ve humiliated or killed your king, I fear we cannot afford the repercussions.”
“Then let him go.”
He levels me a sharp look. “How did you find out about our captive?”
“I overheard—”
“Word has spread faster than the plague. Storytellers will be sharing the news of this delightful gift in inns, in public squares, sharing with their neighbours. Our people know of King Constantinos’s capture. They crave to see him pay for denying our people access to our spiritual land; for killing us without mercy when we try.”