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)
“Yes, we have been told to escort your party to the gates.” The Shadow’s large russet-brown eyes touch me briefly before ducking.
Abarrane and Jarek hop onto the dock, keeping their backs to the young girl to avoid raising curiosities about which Shadows have returned with Solange.
I collect the skirts of the beige gown I conjured for myself—Agatha’s garb when I met her—and step up onto the dock after them.
Solange dives in, grabbing my forearm. “Allow me to help you, Master Scribe”—she emphasizes her words with a squeeze—“given how difficult it is for a caster of your age to climb out of this boat.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” I curse myself as I hunch my shoulders, mimicking what I remember of Agatha’s stance. “I wouldn’t want to fall overboard before the Prime has a chance to chop off my head.”
Solange’s eyes flare in warning.
Right. Wrong method. “How are the pyres coming along?” It’s a weak attempt to distract from my many gaffes.
“Lead the way, Fatima.” Solange gestures ahead and then waits one, two, three beats before following. “Are you trying to raise alarms?” she whispers.
“I should have warned you. Following instructions is not her strong suit,” Jarek answers from behind us.
I make a point of pursing my lips—a silent promise that I’ll stay quiet from now on.
With a heavy sigh, Solange guides us toward where the three Shadows wait. “One escort will be more than plenty. Fatima, you will accompany us. You two, remain here.” She drops her voice. “And mention nothing of my return to anyone.”
“Yes, Master Shadow,” they chirp in unison.
We fall into step, Solange ahead with the young Shadow, Zander and Jarek flanking either side of me, Abarrane at the rear.
This Fatima steals frequent glances at Solange but says nothing as we climb the steep cobblestone street. The houses are small and quaint, like little cottages, each with thatched roofs and little fences surrounding them and gardens of herbs and tomatoes. The insides are brightly lit for evening, the windows showing families at dining tables or in chairs with books in hand, seemingly oblivious to the world’s turmoil.
“What is it you wish to say, Fatima?” Solange asks suddenly. Clearly, she knows her well enough to drop the caster title.
“How do we fare in battle?” she stammers.
“It is far grimmer than expected.”
“I see.” A pause and then, “Thank you for answering, Master Shadow.”
The great wall approaches ahead, solid and foreboding. “We must pace ourselves for the scribe’s slowness,” Solange says without looking back, halving her speed. “How is the mood in Nyos?”
“Dour.”
“I heard there were executions.”
“Yes. Scribes. There will be more in the morning. It was announced not long ago.”
“What reason does the Prime give?” Solange is pumping this young Shadow for information, and the girl is happy to share it.
“They are saying the scribes have betrayed Mordain and have joined forces with Islor.”
“Who is saying that?”
“The Prime herself. She declared it from the height of the tower, for all to hear. Is it true?” she asks Solange, but she turns her head to glance at me.
“No, it is not true,” I blurt before Solange can answer.
“Queen Neilina is not dead?” There’s hopefulness in Fatima’s voice.
I sigh. “No, that part is true. But the scribes had nothing to do with it.” Not directly, anyway.
“The Master Scribe is rather chatty for someone about to face severe judgment for her crimes,” Solange warns.
I clamp my lips shut.
“The only caster to betray Mordain is the Prime herself, and it is for ignoring Queen Neilina’s own treachery when she ordered Caster Ianca to summon Aoife on her behalf,” Solange explains, laying the accusation bare on the table.
Fatima gasps. “Do the Masters know?”
“We shall soon see, won’t we?”
“The Prime claims the Ybaris throne has been stolen.”
“It cannot be stolen if the heir to Ybaris has claimed it.”
“Do you mean Princess Romeria is still alive?” There’s unrestrained hope in her tone, like a child, seconds from squealing with excitement. I’m having a hard time believing this young and effervescent girl is also a lethal warrior.
“Queen Romeria is alive, and she is still a pain in the arse.” Solange must be smirking with that dig. “What else has the Prime claimed?”
“That the new queen will be the downfall of Mordain.”
“Do the casters believe this?”
“They have no reason not to, Master Shadow. It is the Prime herself who speaks.” She hesitates. “Is it not true?”
The pause lingers so long that I begin to doubt Solange’s stance. “No, it is not true. If anything, Mordain’s future looks brighter than it has in centuries. As bright as can be under the current circumstances, anyway.”
I can’t help the satisfied grin as we approach the line of Shadows at the wall.
“You are returning for your execution,” Zander reminds me, wiping it from my lips in the next moment.
My insides churn.
“Shadows,” is all Solange says, and as one they stiffen, realizing their leader is back. A unified echo of “Master Shadow” slips from their lips before stepping aside.