Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
The door opens behind Faris again, and a server leans in. “Sir, are you ready for dessert?”
“We are,” Faris answers, and the man returns to the kitchen.
“Please tell me you’ve done something with all that chocolate Talia has been stockpiling for weeks. I swear, she’s bought every shipment that’s come in, and you know how rare it is,” Nairi teases, but a second later, her mouth purses and she adjusts in her chair. “Though I’m not sure I’m feeling up for sweets tonight.”
“Me either,” Roslyn agrees, holding her stomach.
“What kind of information?” Faris prompts me, his smile sharpening. “A weapon to destroy them, perhaps?”
“She already is one,” Xaden remarks as the door opens, and Faris’s eyes narrow on me slightly.
Servers stream in, then place our dishes on the table in front of us.
Oh…shit. A silver fork rests beside a perfectly sliced piece of chocolate cake.
Xaden’s hand goes lax on top of mine.
“Is it still your favorite?” Talia’s voice pitches up with excitement. “I know your birthday isn’t until the end of the month, but you’re here now.”
Xaden stares at the cake like Halden stared at Anna’s head.
“Phyllis,” Faris calls out to one of the servants as they file back into the kitchen. “It seems the four of us are missing our forks.”
“Of course. I’ll fetch them immediately,” the woman replies before the door shuts.
“Please, don’t wait on our account.” Faris waves at us. “Chocolate’s an uncommon treat this far from Deverelli.”
And she’s been hoarding it for weeks. My mind begins to race.
Weeks. She knew we were coming.
I prefer a Deverelli approach to an alliance. That’s what Queen Marlis said.
Courtlyn must have informed the other isles.
Talia knew Xaden was coming.
“If you don’t like it anymore, that’s all right.” Talia’s smile trembles. “I’ve been away from you longer than I was with you, and I know tastes can change. You’re an adult now, after all. But just in case yours hasn’t, we tried four recipes, and I think this one is closest to what we had in Aretia. You used to sneak into the kitchens when the cooks were baking—”
“I remember.” Xaden drags his gaze to meet his mother’s. “And it’s still my favorite.”
That scene on the beach where she acted so surprised was all…fake. My stomach sours. This is wrong. Something’s wrong. I’ve missed a detail I shouldn’t have.
Her smile brightens, and Faris wraps his arm around her shoulder.
“You did well, my love.” He kisses her cheek.
My gaze moves to Mira’s, and her brow knits. She slides her hand backward on the table, and my heart begins to pound. We’re being played. Talia knew Xaden was coming, which means Faris knew…and he’s more shrewd in his approach to testing us.
The four of them conveniently don’t have forks.
Something’s in the cake.
Xaden reaches for his fork, and my fingers dig into his knee. His gaze snaps to mine, two lines forming between his brows.
I shake my head, then whip out my right and snatch the fork from Aaric’s grip.
Cat drops her silverware, and it rattles on the plate.
“This tastes just like home,” Garrick says, lifting another bite to his mouth.
Oh Amari, he’s already eaten a third of it.
“Stop!” My heartbeat trips over itself.
Garrick pauses, then sets the forkful on the plate. “He said we could start—” He blinks once, then wobbles. “I feel…I feel—” Time seems to slow as his eyes flutter shut and he collapses, falling toward the table.
“Garrick!” Xaden shouts, shoving away from the table as Aaric lunges, catching Garrick’s head before it can hit the surface.
Aaric’s gaze swings wildly toward Xaden. “He isn’t breathing!”
The citizenship test for those wishing to reside in Hedotis reminds me of the entrance exam for the Scribe Quadrant, but our test is designed to measure how much a potential cadet has learned, and theirs reads as though to prove how much one has not.
—Hedotis: Isle of Hedeon by Captain Asher Sorrengail
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Chairs screech against the stone floor as Mira, Cat, and I stand. “Get back here!” I shout down the bond, and panic wraps its sharp-nailed hands around my heart and squeezes.
“Already en route,” Tairn replies.
“Is Chradh—”
“Enraged but not suffering the loss of his rider from what I can tell.”
“He just set part of the forest on fire,” Andarna adds.
“Riorson, he’s not—” Aaric starts to repeat.
“I heard you the first time.” Xaden hooks his arms under Garrick’s shoulders and hauls him from his chair, then lays him out on the floor and kneels by his side.
“What did you put in it?” I ask Faris, rounding the table.
His smile shifts from playful to cruel, but he doesn’t answer.
“Get Trager!” Mira orders, and I hear a door open and shut behind me.
Xaden presses his ear to Garrick’s chest. “Sluggish but beating.”
“We need to get him to breathe—” Aaric starts. “He’s fucking blue.”
“Well aware.” Xaden pinches Garrick’s nose shut, then seals his mouth over Garrick’s and exhales.