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)
“What is your name?” I dare ask.
She pauses, her back to me. “Tuella.”
“Thank you for the visit, Tuella.” For what reason she came, I can’t figure out. Assessing me for the king, I’m sure.
She speaks to the guards in their language as they lock the door behind her.
The guard on the left pulls a lever and suddenly, the chains relax.
I fall to a heap on the ground.
Whispers wake me hours later as I lie sprawled on the cold stone floor. It’s the most comfortable I’ve been in days.
I crack an eyelid to find the same servant who offered her vein before standing over me now. “I was having a lovely dream.”
“Up your feet,” the same guard who released my chain barks, his choice of words almost comical.
“Yeah, that’ll be a minute.” Or an hour.
He charges toward the lever, and I brace myself for the pain of having my arms ripped from their sockets. But the servant says something to him in their language and holds up a hand, as if asking for pause.
He falls back, dipping his head in a bow.
Interesting. I’ve yet to see a guard listen to a servant so. Aside from Gracen, when gossip spread about our relationship, that is.
She waits patiently as I struggle to pull myself to my feet, my legs wobbling as if made of that vile fruit-filled jelly my sister loves so much. The temporary relief Tuella granted my aches and pains didn’t last long. “We must dress you for presentation to the king,” she says, her words stilted as if she’s searching for them.
“Already met him. Remember? You were there.”
“But to stand before him within the palace, you must be acceptable.” She nods to another guard, who hands her a tidy stack of white linens. “Remove his chains.”
He responds in their language, and she rattles off a retort that sounds sharp.
“Do not try thing,” the guard warns, glaring at me.
“He is still very weak, and he is not a fool. Right, Atticus?” She peers up at me, giving me a good look at her eyes. They’re not just green, as I quickly dismissed before, but a kaleidoscope of emerald and jade and aqua, with flecks of gold sprinkled through. They are as beautiful as she is, her features feminine and delicate.
Not a hint of fear radiates from her.
“Many would disagree with you on that front.” I smirk, but then add, “I know when I am beat.” I also know how to bide my time for the right opportunity.
I sigh with relief as the biting metal cuffs slip off my wrists and fall to the ground.
“Leave us,” she says to the guard.
He opens his mouth to argue, but with a single look from her, he spins on his heels and marches out, followed quickly by the other. They station themselves outside of the doorway, within earshot.
“What is in that metal?” I ask.
“Something strong.” She drops to her knees, holding the linen pants in her hands.
“I can manage this.”
“But I am already here.” She tips her head back and, I swear, the grins she flashes me is laced with impure thoughts. It’s a good thing I’m starved and in pain. Otherwise, this delicate mortal kneeling in front of me might stir baser needs.
“If you insist.” I grab hold of the cage wall for balance as I lift first one foot, then the other. “A woman visited here earlier. Tuella, she said her name was.”
“The conjurer from Udrel.”
My eyebrows pop. “Udrel?”
“Yes. Have you not heard of it?”
“I have heard of it, but honestly I thought it was a fable created by the seers.” Along with Espador. That would explain the accent, though, so different from anything I’ve ever heard.
“It is no fable, but it is very far away. His Highness’s men traveled there on an expedition twenty years ago. They were away for more than twelve moon cycles—so long that everyone assumed them lost at sea. But they returned with the conjurer. Tuella has served as advisor to the king since.”
“What can she do?”
“Interesting things.” The servant climbs to her feet, drawing the linen pants up with her. “Some, I am sure you will see soon enough.” Her fingers fumble with the ties on the loin cloth, loosening them until the material falls away. She takes a long, unabashed look at me before fastening the buttons.
I can’t help but chuckle. It’s been a while since I’ve faced a mortal so brazen. “What is your name?”
“Satoria.” Her eyelashes flutter. She’s flirting and making no effort to hide it. Collecting the tunic, she orders, “Bend forward.”
I lean down toward her, inhaling that fragrant blend of jasmine and lemongrass again as she slips the gauzy shirt over my head.
“Will your people try to rescue you?” she asks.
“My people? I do not know who is left.” Kazimir’s was the last face I remember seeing as I fell.