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)
“Guess we follow,” I say to the others.
We walk as a line across the field, and I stifle a yawn. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can find our beds. I can’t remember the last full night of sleep we had without pulling watches. Deverelli, maybe?
“I don’t care if she hands you a steaming pile of goat shit,” Mira lectures down the line. “No one complains. Got it? Smile and thank her. This is our last real chance to secure an army.”
“What if it’s cow shit?” Ridoc asks. “That’s considerably heavier.”
“No complaining,” Drake snaps from the left.
“Fuck, it’s like traveling with my parents,” Ridoc mutters.
“What are you thinking?” I ask Xaden as the table is set on the field about twenty feet in front of the crowd.
“They’d better have an army worth handling cow shit for.” His gaze continuously moves over the area. “And I’m not a fan of it being two thousand to eleven, even with dragonfire at our back.”
“Agreed. Let’s get this over with.”
“Excellent idea. I’d like to find lunch,” Tairn says.
Three of the furniture carriers scatter, leaving Calixta facing us in the chair behind the table and two men off to her right. The closest holds the cone.
“Stop,” Calixta says, holding out her hand when we’re about six feet from the edge of the table.
We stop.
I wave a bug out of my face and glance up at the sky, hoping for some form of approaching cloud cover to shade us from the heat, but there’s none to be found. Guess Zihnal has decided we’ll bake in our leathers while we wait.
Calixta reaches into the canvas bag, then pulls out a stack of cards as thick as the width of my forearm. They’re the size of my face and have a bright-orange pattern on their backs. “Each card represents a gift,” she says, mixing them with a skill that speaks to practice.
The closest man translates for the crowd, his voice booming through the cone, and the taller one to his right signs.
Calixta spreads the cards face down in a long arc across the table. “You will pull the card Zihnal inspires you to choose and receive your gift.”
The men translate, and the crowd murmurs in anticipation.
“There’s no way two thousand people gather to watch us open presents.” My stomach turns at the looks of rapt fascination among the crowd.
“Don’t pick the shit card,” Xaden replies.
“Step forward and choose.” Calixta points to Mira.
Every muscle in my body tenses and a wave of dizziness makes me brace my feet apart. Not right now, I beg my body.
Mira walks to the right edge of the table and plucks a card without pause.
Calixta takes it and smiles. “Zihnal gifts you wine!” She shows us the painted wine bottle, then rotates it for the crowd as the men translate.
The applause is instant, and a middle-aged woman with curly brown hair runs forward from the left front row carrying a bottle of wine.
“Thank you,” Mira says as the woman hands it to her, and Calixta translates.
The woman bows her head, and Mira mirrors the gesture before turning toward me.
“I’m going to fucking need this,” she says with a fake smile, then falls back into line as the woman hurries to her seat.
One by one, Calixta calls us forward, moving down the line.
Maren receives two orange tunics from a short, smiling man with a shiny bald head.
Dain’s card reveals a hand, and when he offers his to the woman who walks over to him, she slaps him across the face so hard his head turns in our direction.
I swallow my gasp and force a blank expression onto my face when I catch Calixta glancing my way. Message received: we can’t complain about anyone else’s gifts, either.
Dain blinks twice, then thanks the woman and inclines his head.
Ridoc barely stifles a snort, but quickly schools his features when I glance sideways at him.
“Do not laugh,” I warn Xaden, fighting off another tide of dizziness.
“I’m more worried about the implications of that hit,” he answers without losing his professionally bored expression. “And a little jealous of the woman who delivered it.”
Garrick is given a rusted steel bucket.
Aaric receives a fractured hand mirror that immediately cuts his thumb when the man hands it to him top first.
My heart pounds like I’m on the mat as Xaden chooses his card.
He’s given an empty glass box the size of his foot, with pewter hinges and edges. “Better than getting slapped.”
A smile tugs at my mouth, but it doesn’t calm my racing heart as I step forward. I choose a card on the far left end of the arch, then hold my breath as I hand it to Calixta.
“The compass!” she announces and the men translate.
A tall man with bronzed skin and short black hair comes forward from the right, and I turn to face him. His dark eyes study me for a moment that quickly becomes awkward.