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)
“I would not be surprised if they did. Why do you ask?”
“Just something Lucretia said.” I retrieve the bronze token from my satchel and hold it up. “Just before she gave me this. Also a gift from the nymphs.”
Her eyes widen. “Aminadav’s horn.”
“Yes. But I don’t know what it does.” I repeat Lucretia’s words about using it during the darkest hour. “What kind of relief could it bring?”
Agatha purses her lips as if she’s holding back words. “Raw tokens like this are scarce, and usually tied to a summons. Often, unlocking their power requires sacrifice in the form of a life.”
“Whose life?” Jarek demands to know.
“That is the fate’s decision. The nymphs may have gifted this to you, but they received it directly from Aminadav. He decides the cost.”
“Sofie stabbed me with a large chunk of Malachi’s horn as part of whatever ritual she performed to send me here,” I say, recalling the curved black object in her fist.
“And I believe Aoife claimed Neilina’s life form with her antlers,” Agatha notes.
Lucretia all but confirmed it. I see the picture Agatha is painting. “You’re saying that if I blow this horn, someone is going to die.”
“Someone or more than someone. In our archives, there is a story of Aminadav gifting his horn to a king in the face of war once, many years ago.”
“And? What happened?”
“The king and his entire army perished in an instant. The war ended.” Her smile is wry. “I suppose one might say they found relief in death.”
My stomach sinks with dread as I shove the horn into my satchel and vow never to use it. “Good to know.” I stand to leave.
Agatha holds up a finger. “One other thing I did not mention before but ought to, given your question of the fates’ meddling. The wyvern has long since been considered Vin’nyla’s creation.”
I frown. “You mean, like daaknars are Malachi’s?”
“Precisely, which makes me wonder why one would carry Aoife’s vessel body from the rift. I doubt it is in aid.”
I reconsider what Lucretia said earlier under this lens. “You think Vin’nyla has somehow sabotaged Aoife’s plan to return to this plane?”
Agatha shrugs. “Once can only hope.”
I can’t decide if this is good news. “Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me. I would be lost without you.”
“Of course.” She bows. “I am here to serve the Queen for All.”
My back is to the caster when she calls out, “Your Highness!” She hesitates, fumbling with a locket around her neck. “There is a young scribe. A boy, really. Cahill is his name. Might I ask, if you find him in Nyos, can you bring him here? He is dear to me, and I would very much like to have him at my side.”
My instincts tell me there is more to this story, but I simply nod. “I’ll make sure he comes.”
“Be careful, Your Highness!” She wrings her hands. “Our realms cannot afford to lose you.”
The scene at the rift is far different today from when I descended with Caindra the first time. The two armies that arrived yesterday have doubled our force, their tents stretching beyond the perimeter of the original camp, all the way to the forest’s edge. And despite another night of battle, the camp is alive with activity—smoke from cook fires swirl in the air, fresh stacks of wood await tonight’s burn. If soldiers aren’t washing last night’s battle off in the nearby river, they’re working in teams to heave carcasses over the edge of the cliff.
It has definitely earned its Valley of Bones title by now.
Caindra glides in smoothly, Xiaric flanking her right. The two were entwined and asleep when I emerged from the gates today—Caindra protecting the smaller dragon’s body within her own. Any doubt that he could be her child vanished at the sight.
With a deafening screech, the orange dragon—Valk—propels himself off the stone wall roost, wings spreading as he soars toward us in greeting. I cling to one of Caindra’s claws as she swerves, barely avoiding a collision. They circle each other once … twice … almost as if in a dance.
Below us, horses buck and soldiers struggle to keep them in place, their wary eyes on the sky as we descend. Those in our path rush to get out of the way before the dragons touch down, the ground shaking beneath their weight.
As always, Caindra sets me down with ease, allowing me a moment to gain my bearings so I don’t stumble like a drunken fool. And as always, save for yesterday when she showed gentleness toward a poisoned Jarek, she tosses him like trash. He’s ready for it and lands with a graceful roll.
“You’re getting better at that,” I tease.
“Not a skill I strived for.” He pulls himself up, dusting off his pants. “When can we return to traveling by horseback?”