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)
For all our sakes, I hope they stay put. I need a way out of here, and they need not die tonight.
I watch as the burly bartender saunters over to a small, cloaked figure, hunched over the end of the bar. He leans in and whispers in their ear, then jerks his chin in my direction.
The person doesn’t bother lifting their head. They slide off their barstool and make their way to my corner, stumbling a touch. “What do you want?” The female mortal punctuates her blunt question with a hiccup before peering at me through glossy eyes, half veiled by a heavy fringe of black hair.
She’s small enough to be a child, and yet I would put her in her late twenties.
And she’s drunk.
“Please, join me.” I gesture to the adjacent chair.
She misses it on the first try but smacks her palms on the table, catching herself before she falls. With a mutter in her own language, she drops heavily into the seat. “You are not from here.”
“I am not.”
“That is yours?” She taps my mug.
“Yes.”
“Why do you not drink it?”
“I was saving it for you.” I slide it across the small table and into her greedy little hands. “I am looking for safe passage out of Udrel.”
I wait as she takes a few generous gulps, stealing a glance at our matchmaker at the bar, giving him a “Really? This was the best you could do?” look.
He goes back to wiping the bar with a rag.
“That is simple. Travel seven days north to the ports. The ships leave for Espador once a month.”
I pause. Another distant realm I have heard of but assumed may not be real. “Not Espador. Kier.”
Her eyes widen. She slaps the copper mug down so hard, ale splashes out onto my tunic, and she leans in to whisper, “How do you know about Kier?”
I guess the tale Yidara shared tonight isn’t common knowledge. “How do you?”
She hesitates, glances around, and then pushes her bangs up, just long enough to reveal the faded ink script across her forehead.
I falter. “You are a conjurer.” This, I did not expect.
“Was.” She holds up a finger, and burps. “Not anymore.”
“But your eyes, they aren’t … like the others.” They’re a warm amber, and they don’t make my skin grow cold when they touch me.
At this moment, they’re crossing as she struggles with her focus. At least her speech isn’t slurred. “Because I am an outcast.” Her hood has fallen back, revealing an odd, bowl-shaped haircut. “Did another ship arrive from Kier?”
“Sure. Why did they cast you out?”
“I did not conform. And the red robes did not suit me.” She takes another large gulp. “Ask too many questions, and the chosen becomes unchosen.”
I should focus on my purpose here and press her for information on how to get to these ports while she’s still conscious. But what are the chances of finding another exiled conjurer with vital information about what is going on in that temple? Because I am certain not all is as it seems. Even though Annika made her choice to stay, I wear the discomfort of leaving her there like a jacket full of pins. “What is your name?”
“Destry. What is yours?”
“Friends call me Ty.”
She grins, displaying oversized front teeth that are oddly charming on her.
“What do you know of the kal’ana, Destry?”
She lets out an exaggerated moan that draws attention from a nearby table. “Not you too. That is all I have heard all day long. This new kal’ana that washed up on the shore.”
“It seems important.”
“Sure … sure …” She waves a hand.
“You do not believe she is important?”
“Oh, I know how important she is. I lived in the temple, remember?” Despite her inebriated state, her words are clear, the meaning behind them sobering.
I lean back, folding my arms across my chest to feign a casual pose. Meanwhile, my unease grows. “What do you mean by that?” Because I met a handful of conjurers who bowed to Annika and seemed to readily embrace this world of sea and stars, light and shadow.
“Why do you ask?” Her eyes narrow. “Have the Azyr sent you to search for detractors?”
“No. I am honestly curious. And who are the Azyr—”
The barkeep interrupts us, his voice gruff as he spews words.
Destry twirls her hand in the air. “He is asking what you want for that gold.”
“Information that you are giving me, and safe passage to the port, leaving tonight. When I’m satisfied that I have both, I will give it to him.”
She relays my words.
With another grumble, he ambles away.
I watch him go. “Do I need to worry about him double-crossing me?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Ledric likes gold, and he is grumpy. But he is also smart, and he says you carry yourself like someone who is deadly even without a weapon. Why do you ask about the kal’ana?”