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’s right.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but if anyone finds out, they’ll lock him up like Barlowe, or worse—kill him.” I fold my arms.
He lifts his eyebrows and cranes his neck forward. “And there’s not a single, tiny speck of you that thinks maybe they should?”
“No. He’s not evil.” I lift my chin.
“He’s not him, either,” he counters. “That’s why you stepped between us in Hedotis. He’s not fully in control and you know it.”
“Are any of us ever in full control—” I start.
“Don’t do that.” He points his finger at me. “Not with me.”
“He’s not Barlowe. Not even remotely close. He’s never hurt me. He’s only ever channeled to save other people, first at Basgiath, then at a battle across the border, and then when Courtlyn tried to kill us in Deverelli.” I leave out the slight discoloration on my headboard. That’s a line I’m not crossing with Ridoc.
“Holy fuck, he’s channeled three times?” Ridoc’s eyebrows fly upward. “And managed to do it on an isle without magic?”
“I had a piece of alloy in my conduit.”
“Oh, well, good to know you can keep him fed like Barlowe if you need—” He scoffs. “That’s why you’ve been keeping Barlowe alive. Holy shit, Violet, do you have any respect for your own life? Or is it just Riorson we’re concerned with now?”
“He’s never hurt me,” I repeat. “And he’s still an initiate. He doesn’t need to be fed.” The word tastes like ash in my mouth. “As long as he doesn’t do it again, he’ll stay exactly how he is now.”
“A dark wielder, just like the silver-haired one stalking you.” Ridoc starts pacing again.
My head draws back. “He is nothing like her.”
“Bonded to one of the most vicious dragons on the Continent,” he continues, ignoring my defense. “That’s…awesome.”
“He doesn’t control Sgaeyl.” I watch as Ridoc pivots and starts the trek all over again. “In fact, she barely speaks to him right now.”
“I don’t blame her, either,” Ridoc says after a pause, agreeing with Aotrom. “And she’s kept this from the Empyrean—” He stops to my right, then slowly turns to face me. “Who else knows?”
“Other than Xaden and me? Garrick, Bodhi, and Imogen.”
Ridoc blinks. “That’s it? Just the five of you?”
“And now you.”
“Well, at least the club is exclusive,” he says sarcastically, then shoves his hands into his hair. “And they’re all loyal to him.”
“Well…yes.” I shift my weight. “He’s the one we’re trying to save.”
He rolls his eyes at the canopy. “Fuck me. How did we get here with the secrets again?” His finger shoots up. “Never mind, I already know—Riorson. Again. I sense a theme.”
“Basgiath would have fallen if he hadn’t killed the dark wielders’ Sage,” I remind him. “What he did give us—give my mother—was time to imbue the wardstone. We’d all be dead if he hadn’t channeled for more power. The Continent would have fallen if not for him.”
“Only to become the very thing we’re fighting.” He shakes his head. “The irony of it exists on so many levels, especially when you consider that he’s the fucking Duke of Tyrrendor now.” His arms fall to his sides. “He could tear our kingdom—our province—apart from within. He could deliver us to the venin on a silver platter. Barlowe was nothing. We have a dark wielder sitting in the Senarium.”
Is that all he sees him as? Just another dark wielder?
“He’s on our side. Fighting our battles.” I push off the tree. “He killed more venin after the battle than any other rider, remember?”
“How can you be sure he’s not playing you?” His brow furrows.
“Because I know him!” My voice rises.
“All right.” Ridoc nods excessively. “I’ll play along. Let’s say he’s still eighty percent Xaden.”
“Ninety,” I counter.
“Ehh.” He shrugs. “There are four ranks to dark wielders, and your man’s already channeled three times. I think eighty percent is mathematically generous, but sure, we’ll live in your delusion for the purpose of the hypothetical. How long do we have until he’s an asim? Until he’s physically unable to deny the call of a Sage?”
“If he doesn’t channel—”
“They always channel!” Ice forms at his fingertips. “Just because I like to crack jokes doesn’t mean I’m not serious about reading the same shit you do. There are no accounts of initiates just walking away from the power.”
“That’s why I have to find a cure.” My voice breaks.
“They just told us there isn’t one.” His arm swings toward the beach.
“And I’ve had about five minutes to process that information.” Anger and fear war for control of my emotions, and both bring my power to the surface, sizzling my skin. “Everything I’ve done over the last few months, from securing the deal with Tecarus for books to searching for Andarna’s kind, has been in service to the Continent, but also to find a cure for him, and hearing from the most likely source that there isn’t one?” I shake my head as the heat rises within me, growing exponentially with my panic. “I don’t know what to do with that yet. I don’t have all the answers, Ridoc. I just know that I have to find them whether they’re in a forgotten book or some dark wielder’s head, because I’ve lost Liam and now Trager and my mother to this war, and I’m not giving up on the man I love!”