Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
“And you are clean.” He’s more than that, I admit silently. They’ve dressed him in basic but decent clothes. His black hair sweeps back in a wave, showing off his crystal blue eyes. I suppose they don’t trust him with a blade because his carved jaw is coated in scruff that I find more appealing than I should.
He smirks as if he can read my inner thoughts, and my palm itches with the urge to slap that look off his face.
A slight and pretty servant slips out from Tyree’s room.
“I hope you will return later, Ilyth? I am sure I will have needs for you to tend to.” He winks.
“I … Yes.” She curtsies, her cheeks flushing furiously as she darts past us.
“That way.” The guards gesture in the opposite direction, giving Tyree’s shoulder a little push.
“Really? After all we’ve been through, that is what you have on your mind?” I hiss.
“That is what is usually on my mind. And given I was held prisoner for weeks, by both of your brothers, I’d say I’m due.”
I harrumph. My servants didn’t speak a word to me. Meanwhile, he has her name and everything.
“What’s wrong?” Tyree falls into step beside me. “Jealous?”
“Oh yes. Very much so.” I roll my eyes.
“Honestly, though, you look ravishing.” He slips a hand around my waist and leans in.
I stiffen as his plump lips graze my earlobe with a soft kiss.
“Let me do the talking,” he whispers quickly before pulling away. The kiss was clearly a cover to pass along that message and yet his hand remains in place, its warmth bringing me comfort—an unsettling reality.
“Why? So you can give them a reason to execute us?” I throw back, not caring if the guards hear—and understand—me.
Tyree merely chuckles in response, squeezing my side. What game is he playing now?
I fight the urge to shove him away as the guards lead us down a web of gilded hallways and stairs, the air thick with the smoky lemon-pine scent of olibanum.
Finally, we reach a grand hall. Tyree and I tip our heads in unison to take in the extraordinary mural that forms the ceiling above—an artistic jumble of every manner of creature, both mortal and winged, some I have never laid eyes on before.
“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Tyree murmurs in awe.
I shake my head, unsure where to settle my concentration.
“They say it is our history and our future,” a deep, melodious voice calls out, drawing our attention to the right, to a man dressed in black and red finery. “We do not know its origins other than that its construction was before our time. But it remains pristine with no effort from us. Truly a sight to marvel.” The man shifts his admiring gaze from the ceiling to me, revealing the prettiest robin egg blue eyes I have ever seen. “As are you, kal’ana.”
They keep saying that word.
Tyree never removed his hand from my waist. Now, his grip tightens. “Who are you and why do you call her that?” There’s a dangerous edge in his tone, much like the one he used just before he attacked the soldiers outside the gate.
“I am King Hadkiel, and I call her that because that is who she is.” The man smiles, showing off perfect white teeth. In fact, all of him is perfect, from his sculpted square jaw to his full lips, to the way his silver-gray hair frames his handsome face. He stands with confidence, his broad shoulders relaxed, despite there being no guards within the room and himself wearing not a single visible weapon. “‘The new kal’ana will arrive with Azokur, and the people shall be bathed with mercy,’” he quotes.
Tyree’s jaw tenses. “According to whom?”
“The lights of the night sky foretold it,” a female voice laden with the same harsh accent answers a moment before a figure cloaked in red sweeps in. Eight others trail behind her, moving like a pattern of geese. Their skin shimmers with gold paint.
“This is Yidara, my most skilled conjurer,” King Hadkiel introduces as they close in.
Yidara bows. “I am most honored, kal’ana.” She lifts her head and I stare, first at the odd, glowing scripture scrawled across her forehead, and then into soulless black eyes that seem to draw me into their depths, until I feel as though I’m sinking.
Tyree steps forward, putting himself between us in a move I would call protective—if it were anyone other than Tyree. It breaks whatever momentary daze I was caught in, leaving me feeling cold and bare.
“I am not familiar with this term. What does a conjurer do?” he asks evenly, steering the conversation.
Yidara’s lips curve slightly, as if she finds his blatant distrust amusing. “Many things, in light and shadow. We guide, we educate. We assess.” She lifts a hand toward him, revealing fingertips capped with odd gold-metal claws.