Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I take a lantern and charge down the road, towards the southern gate and into the towering trees beyond. Night is thicker under their shadows but it’s not as haunting as the faces flashing through my mind. Pale and fevered and dying. There might be danger ahead, but there will be death if I don’t go on.
I race towards the mirroring pool, stumbling on mossy rock and scratching my face on a thorny branch along the way. Ahead, up a steep rise, nebulous haze and beckoning fingers of poisonous fog. I begin the climb, grappling with tree roots and vines to pull myself up.
My shouted name comes from behind and I slip a few feet. I jerk my head around. A lantern appears from behind tree trunks, Olyn’s horse and Quin in its light, with a sword strapped across his back—no, not a sword. His cane.
He moves to the base of the incline and slides off his horse, looping the reins around a low-hanging branch. His cane comes out to steady him. He stares at me, unimpressed, and starts moving. “Let’s go.”
My gaze keeps flickering to him as we climb to the small clearing and the moonlit, serene pool. The stench of sick and decaying wyverns is gone, replaced by a cool, earthy breeze and the trickle of perfume on the tendrils of fog.
My steps feel as heavy as my chest. The eerie mist shifts back and forth with a foreboding, beckoning curl. Quin halts before it and faces me grimly, gesturing with his free arm. “After you.”
My breath shudders. I step forward, the air shifting around me like a living thing. A sharp pain blooms at my acupoints, and I crumple, the ground rushing up to meet me.
It’s the same move Quin used to leave me once before. Inside, I scream at him to release me, but no sound comes out of me. Just a whoosh of air.
Quin folds towards me, gaze dark and intent on mine. “My people. My responsibility.”
My heart pounds with another cry for him to listen to me, to stop, to forgive me for leading him here. You’re the king. You can’t risk yourself. The miasma—
He strokes my cheek with a touch so light it feels like a question. His fingers catch my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. His dark eyes search mine, peeling back every shield I’ve built. “This fear,” he murmurs. “For me. For what I might face.” He leans in and whispers in a tortured voice. “Do you think I didn’t feel it for you?”
His words break something loose inside my chest. I can’t move, can’t speak, but I want to. I want to pull him in tight, beg him to stay, to let me go instead. My life is inconsequential.
Not even my finger twitches.
He leans closer, a sighed breath against my ear. “You are my biggest responsibility, Cael. You are mine to protect.”
Then he flicks my forehead, the fondness in the gesture so achingly familiar it brings a lump to my throat. He’s saying goodbye. His eyes hold mine for one heartbeat longer, as if to memorise me. “Stay here.”
His words are a soft command. And then he turns with purpose and steps onto the wispy path.
The fog swallows him, greedy tendrils clawing at his figure.
Only the soft click of his cane remains.
Then, not even that.
The ground beneath my knees feels like I do, like something will give way and I will fall forever. I strain my eyes, trying to glimpse him through the curling mist.
A heavy cry has a thousand birds flying from their perches into the air and I fight against my blocked acupoints. Heat pools at my eyes, my chest aches.
Come out. Please come out. Make it. Make it.
Time seems to slow. Falling leaves are suspended in the air and then float towards foggy tendrils. Animals come up to me, sniff me, leave again. Shadow and moonlight play chase over my face.
I stare resolutely towards the caves.
Please.
I concentrate on moving my fingers first. All my energy is trained to one hand, to one finger, to the tip of it. If I can make this one twitch, and then another . . . There must be a way . . .
A pearl of sweat worms down my temple, a tickle I can’t wipe away, but—
There. One finger bends.
I shut my eyes and focus on more movement. Any. The forest shivers around me, time creeps by, pained groans catch on the breeze. With all my determination I shove at the invisible chains holding me still.
Gradually, my limbs regain life. My arms and legs are heavy, as if made of stone, but with a surge of will and a gasp, I push to my feet. Stagger a step towards the miasma, and the caves, and Quin, beyond. Another step.
Please.
Please—
A dark form appears, the fog veiling him light enough to make out his shape, the pain with which he moves. He’s hunched around his cane; each step seems to jolt through him like he’s being stabbed. His cloak is a bundle at his side that he grips hard.