Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I lifted my cutlery. “One last thing. If the Sovereigns are weakening, could it be that the other half-bloods are weakening too?”
She did a slow blink. “I didn’t consider that but, yes, it could. If they are, their instinct might be to scrabble for ownership of Deimos before it’s too late. Which would explain why Theseus chose now to attack, and even why the other half-bloods in the Dark Lands have seemingly allied themselves with him.”
“And if that is the case, an all-out war might again break out between them, mightn’t it?”
Grim lines etched into her face. “Yes. Yes, it might. So let’s hope we’re wrong. Because when half-bloods fight, there’s only one certainty: deaths. Many, many deaths.”
Several hours later, I found myself indulging in what had become a regular mental pastime while on a jog: imagining clawing out the eyes of whoever had come up with the concept of Xalbia. Vicious, yes, but so was the ichor-induced headache banging in my skull. The pain seemed to bounce in my head each time my feet slapped the muddy banks.
Jogging was not my favorite activity. Jogging through a swamp? I could literally have gone my entire life without ever having to do it.
The heat was brutal. The humidity was oppressive. The air was as stagnant as the swamp water.
Water that had found its way into my boots, along with mud. Lovely. Just as lovely as the way my sweat-slick clothes were plastered to my skin, sticky and chafing.
Half of the remaining candidates were part of our current party, along with Talon, Ajax, and Quillen. The rest were trekking elsewhere with other officiates.
We’d been jogging for what felt like forever, taking few breaks, and my body was majorly protesting. My feet throbbed, my knees ached, my calf muscles felt tight, and my throat was raw with thirst.
But then, my body was always majorly protesting lately. How could it not, when I was consistently hungry, fatigued, and sleep-deprived? But that was what Xalbia did—it attacked your basic needs as part of putting you through the ringer.
It also gave you blisters on top of blisters.
At this point, I was thankfully used to my feet being all busted; used to ignoring the tell-tale burning twinges on my heels. Mostly because I usually had far bigger things to worry about while jogging or trekking in the Pines—not merely the beasts or the terrain, but the horrific conditions. I’d been exposed to everything from sandstorms and avalanches to earthquakes and hailstorms.
Well, at least I had no mental room to further chew on what I’d earlier discussed with Khalida. Those paths of thoughts hadn’t led me anywhere good.
Spotting a spider web, I ducked. The puffing coming from Bevan behind me said that the Phoenixian had ran face-first into it. I cringed on his behalf.
There were no Laelaps with us today—they apparently detested the swamp; hated the scents of mud, rot, gas bubbles, and brine algae.
While I loathed jogging in these parts, I didn’t despise the terrain itself. The swamp had a certain charm, even if—as Lear had once remarked—there was something ever so slightly morbid about it. The trees were black and twisted. The vegetation was rotten and short. Tall weeds protruded out of the brackish water that was the color of green peas.
Slimy algae seemed to be everywhere. And spiders. And snakes. And mosquitos. And horse flies. And did I mention the snakes? It didn’t matter how often I was subjected to these areas, I never got used to the serpents.
Then there was the quicksand. I’d toppled into it once before, during another jog. It had been not one bit fun.
And gods, there was so much noise. Frogs croaking. Birds screeching. Flies buzzing. Water splashing. Mud slurping.
Now and then, a heavy silence would crash down on us. And I’d know that some kind of apex predator was prowling around.
We had to be very careful to jog on the exact path that Talon took, since there were so many dangers here. Just one wrong step could result in you falling into a bog or sinkhole. He seemed to have the layout of the swamp memorized.
He also seemed not one bit affected by the scorching heat, stifling humidity, or how his boots were weighed down by the clumps of mud sticking to the soles. No, unlike me, he appeared to be coping with it all just fine. Something I literally couldn’t not notice, since making a concentrated effort not to look at him was useless when he was right in front of me.
I’d actually walked to the middle of the line when the candidates earlier gathered at the garrison, ready to leave. He’d moved me to the front like I belonged there.
See, this was the problem with such powerful personalities. You couldn’t really avoid them unless they were content to be avoided. And Talon, it seemed, was not.