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)
He has an hour, according to Dad, and it hasn’t been—
Garrick sputters, spitting some of the slurry out, but his eyes flash open.
I sag in relief as Xaden yells at him to wake the fuck up and drink it. It takes him four big swallows before the cup is drained and he falls back, his head landing in Trager’s lap.
Xaden’s worried gaze snaps to mine.
“Give it time,” I say gently. “We’re under the hour mark. He’ll be all right.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, making the bruise ripple, but he nods.
“Now is when you pray that Garrick wakes in the next few minutes,” I whisper to Faris as Roslyn cries softly on the floor. “You pray to Hedeon, or whoever will listen, that you were not as clever as you thought you were, because that’s the only way he’s going to let you out of this alive.”
Faris’s purple eyes narrow up at me. “Why would I pray for him to wake and kill me?”
“Not Garrick.” I shake my head. “Xaden. Sgaeyl is widely known as one of the most ruthless dragons in Navarre, and she chose him for a reason.”
Fear streaks through his gaze.
I sit back and wait.
Three minutes later, Garrick groans and opens his eyes. “This is my least favorite isle.”
A relieved laugh bubbles through my lips, and Xaden’s head falls back like he’s giving thanks to Zihnal, or perhaps Malek, for not claiming his best friend.
“You didn’t win,” Faris snaps.
“You’re dying. I think that qualifies you as the loser.” I slide off the table.
Xaden jumps to his feet and barrels past me, yanking Faris from the chair and shoving him against the wall.
Oh, shit. And here I thought I’d been bluffing. My stomach hollows as Xaden hits Faris with a bone-crunching right hook.
“You poisoned him?” He slams him into the wall again. “You tried to poison her?” He draws a blade from his thigh and sets it at Faris’s neck.
“Whoa, whoa.” Ridoc walks toward them. “We can’t kill potential allies, even if they suck.”
Xaden turns a glare on Ridoc that freezes the blood in my veins. That isn’t him.
“No.” I move without thinking, stepping between them and pushing Ridoc back with a hand against his chest. “No.”
Ridoc lifts his brows but steps back, and Dain’s eyes narrow as I turn to Xaden.
“Look at me.” I take hold of his forearm, but he doesn’t back off Faris’s throat. A thin line of blood appears at the blade’s edge. “Look. At. Me.”
Xaden’s gaze drops to mine, and my stomach flips. It’s like I’m staring at a stranger dressed up as the man I love.
“Get off the ice,” I whisper. “Pull your shit together and come back to me because I need you. Not this. You.”
His eyes flicker with recognition. A second later, he pushes away from Faris, lowers his blade, walks past me, past Ridoc and Aaric and Dain, past his own mother and Garrick and Trager, to lean against the wall by the door. He sheathes his blade and folds his arms, staring at the plate in front of my seat.
“You have a plan here?” Dain asks, his gaze swinging from Xaden to me. “Or are we winging it?”
“I have a plan.” Sort of. That plan is just rapidly deteriorating the longer it takes Faris to buckle. Killing the triumvirate isn’t going to secure the alliance we need, and naturally, Faris knows that. “Can you get everyone ready to fly?”
Dain nods. “Aaric, help Trager with Garrick and start moving him toward Chradh. Ridoc, let’s pack everyone’s shit.”
They all move, leaving Xaden and me with the triumvirate and his mother.
“Sit,” I order Faris, pointing to his chair, and to my utter surprise, he does. “What should I charge you for the antidote?”
“Meet Malek,” he snarls.
“It’s a shame you don’t know more about Tyrrendor, seeing as your wife lived there for ten years.” I move to the edge of the table. “Arinmint of all things. Ironic that it’s your ignorance and not mine we discovered tonight.”
“You’ll never make it out of here alive,” he swears.
“We will.” I put the four glasses in front of me, then pull four vials from my left front pocket. “It’s only a question of if we leave here with an alliance, an understanding, or a newly elected triumvirate.”
He growls, but his gaze tracks my motions as I pour the vials into the water, one per glass. The clear liquid quickly turns black and grows sludgy.
“What’s it going to be?” I ask Faris.
“My staff knows what’s happened here. The city guards will shoot your dragons from the sky,” he warns.
“I highly doubt that.” I take Aaric’s unused fork and stir the slurries. “Because in a minute, my sister is going to bring one of your guards in, and you’re going to tell them to let us go, as we have a newfound allyship rooted in”—I glance at Talia, who has tucked her knees to her chest as she writhes in pain—“bloodline. Guess someone’s contract marriage worked out as intended, because your wife’s son is the Duke of Tyrrendor. Naturally, you’d want to nurture that relationship.”