Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Just like that?”
“For a few coins that I got out of the river. People like tossin’ money in for wishes.”
“That’s why you were at the river.” Of course, someone would look for ways to make a profit. I can’t blame them. They’re taking a huge risk, an instant death sentence if they’re caught. “They’re mortals, Merita and Colgan.”
He nods. “Probably long gone now, though, after the whole thing in the square.”
If they have any common sense, yeah; otherwise they’ll be executed. Zander should probably send word to Rengard with those names, anyway.
“You knew it was poison. They told you the truth about that.”
“Yeah …” He scratches his head. “But I didn’t know about the whole screamin’ thing.”
“And what were you planning on doing once Oswald fed on you?”
He shrugs. “Hightail it outta there and pray I didn’t get caught.”
This is how the Ybarisans are spreading the poison. Tyree said they were targeting anyone tired of losing family, and they’re using mortals to focus on people who might not be the brightest but have been mistreated by their keepers.
The fact that at least some of these poison dealers are charging money for it might work to our advantage. I would venture a guess most of these mortals can’t afford the price and might not have a wish river to steal from. It won’t stop them forever—where there is a will, there is a way—but it could slow down the distribution.
If the poison made it to Bellcross, there’s no way Norcaster isn’t already full of it, along with plenty of valuable information someone like me could get.
There’s no doubt in my mind anymore.
“Were you heading to the horses?”
“Yeah, I always check on ’em at night.”
“How close is the guard?”
His boyish face furrows with deep thought. “Maybe forty paces?”
That’s not too close. “Can you saddle a horse quickly and without notice? In the dark?”
A cocky grin stretches his mouth. “Standing on my head. Why?”
An idea forms, likely a stupid one. “I have to get into Norcaster tonight without the Legion knowing, and I need your help to do it.”
His grin buckles into a wince. “Does the king know?”
I smile sweetly. “He’ll find out soon enough. And Pan? Put on some gloves. You glow in the dark.”
They can’t see me.
I need to get to Norcaster.
A familiar adrenaline fires through me as I hurry across the camp, stealing a peek toward Jarek’s tent. If there’s one legionary whose eyes I won’t be able to pull the proverbial wool over, it’s him.
Thankfully, he’s still preoccupied.
They can’t see me.
I need to get to Norcaster.
Those words play over and over through my mind, my hood pulled over to conceal my face. Another layer of deception, though who knows if any of this will work. Aoife’s ring is secure in my pocket, leaving my caster affinities free for wielding, and my hope clings to Gesine’s claims that I can twist what people see, that I’ve done it many times already without realizing it.
So far, all sentries remain focused outward, into the dark.
Ahead, I can see faint movement beside Eros, the mop of curly brown hair hidden under a dark cloak. The leather saddle is already strapped to the horse’s back. I allow myself a small smile of satisfaction as I move in. Pan keeps surprising me.
He sees me and grins, displaying a thumbs-up.
I press my finger to my lips to remind him and then mount Eros’s back.
Pan climbs up behind me, his slight frame like that of a child as he curls his arms around my waist.
We need to get to Norcaster.
With a deep breath, I guide Eros forward, out of the camp, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
No one stops us.
No one shouts.
No one so much as glances our way.
Gesine was right, after all.
This intense rush, the swell of emotion inside my chest … It was never simply adrenaline—it was my caster affinities protecting me all along.
My confidence soars as we pick up speed. I hold on tight as Eros gallops across the vast expanse of darkness.
30
Zander
The Greasy Yak is as I remember it, right down to the stench of grimy bodies and sour ale, barmaids in revealing dresses offering more than pints, and a drunk fiddler in the corner playing a spirited tune. Even the charred beam above remains, where a candle once ignited a fire that was quickly doused. It’s an unsightly mark, but the structure still holds, and in a town like Norcaster, that’s all that matters.
While the rustic tavern may be the same, the cloying tension in the air is new. We felt it the moment we passed through the main gates, and it intensified when we reached the square and spotted the ten rotting corpses swinging from the gallows. Mortal corpses. It was a moment of relief for Abarrane, whose hand was already reaching for her pommel.