Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 205594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1028(@200wpm)___ 822(@250wpm)___ 685(@300wpm)
Using my fingernails, I pry the lining up and snatch the letter inside. It’s folded and sealed with Erynne’s scented wax, the impression of House Vestalin’s symbol staring back at me. I flick a finger under the wax and unfold the letter.
A small pouch flutters into my lap as I do.
This time, the message is brief.
Candra,
I am told the Fellian yet lives in the tower with you. The war goes badly and we need to send a message. I’ve sent you the tools. Do not be a coward.
For Lios,
Erynne.
I stare at the letter and read it again.
And a third time. Because I cannot believe what it says. Erynne knows I didn’t kill Nemeth and now she’s demanding that I do so? She’s sent poison along? I push the sachet off my lap in horror and skim the message again, looking for more hidden messages. There is nothing I can see, no strange letters more pronounced than others.
The writing is unmistakably Erynne’s, as well.
They know he’s alive…how? There must be a spell of some kind that tells her of our doings. If she gave me a magical knife that answers questions, it stands to reason that she would have a second for herself. She can’t see inside the tower itself, I don’t think, or she would know that Nemeth and I share every meal. That he takes care of me. That the idea of killing him is unthinkable.
For the first time since I’ve arrived, I don’t feel helpless guilt over my sister’s commands.
Instead, I’m enraged.
How dare Erynne ask for this? How dare she demand that I kill my only company? The man who has been nothing but kind and protective to me? Who saved me from those men below? My cheek still throbs from the smack across the face I was dealt. I think of Nemeth’s poor wing, and how distraught he was over the wound. How he didn’t want to show it to me because he felt responsible for his wing’s destruction.
How wings are useless in a tower.
My heart hurts. Here I’ve been so focused on my own struggle that I’ve failed to acknowledge Nemeth’s. However hard it is for me to be here, it’s equally difficult—or more so—for him. I can’t imagine having the freedom to fly and then being trapped here in the tower. I’ve always been forced indoors due to my illness, never very far away from a nurse or an assistant who can administer my potion.
A potion that I have to administer to myself tonight, since Nemeth is probably going to be unconscious for the remainder of the day, drunk and relaxed.
I head for the garderobe, and I toss the packet of poison in without hesitation. Then I’m going to start a fire to cook a meal, brew my potion…and burn my sister’s letter.
The gods can take Erynne’s plans and send them straight to the Gray Lands. I’ve got plans of my own and they don’t involve killing Nemeth to send a message of any kind. She thinks I’m a coward? I’m going to show her a different sort of bravery and do the very thing I’m terrified of.
I’m going to marry Nemeth.
Provided that’s still what he wants, of course. But I know a sure way to find out.
Chapter
Forty-Four
While Nemeth sleeps off the pain, I try to stay busy. It’s a warm day so I set the fire in the kitchens and watch as my sister’s letter burns. I feel nothing but anger towards her. Anger and a hint of resentment. She’s telling me I’m a coward? Asking me to put my kingdom first? Haven’t I done that by my presence here in this tower? Aren’t I giving the next seven years to my dragon-shite-loving kingdom?
Well, they get no more than that from me.
I set my potion’s ingredients to boil over the fire and then head for the doors. Curiosity—and a little worry—drive me to go and stand in front of them. The knives I’ve wedged into the doorjambs remain in place, the ropes around the handles tight. I’ve brought a broom with me and shove the long handle of it through the metal of the door handles to act as a bar. It doesn’t feel like enough, though. Even now, I can feel a hint of air blow in at the hinges and light leaks in from the tiniest cracks.
Pressing my ear to the door, I wait to hear the sound of voices, of more men coming back to attack the tower. It’s quiet outside, but that doesn’t mean someone won’t return again. If they come back with enough men, no doors in the world will stop them. This is merely a stopgap, and not much of one. Without the bricks on the other side, the tower feels open and oddly vulnerable. Anyone could get in.