Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Silence.
She raised her key but hesitated. Was Inkletter right about her? Did nothing matter to her except completing job after job until she eventually died with a useless fortune of gold? Would even a queen’s treasure never be enough?
Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
She unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it behind her. Outside, clouds obscured the moon, and light rain fell. The windows remained open to the night to let in damp air; torches flickered across the silken chamber, casting shadows over red-draped walls.
“Service for the room,” she tried again.
Still nothing. Coștin hadn’t returned in days, not since he’d lost Neculain’s favor for failing to find Emilia. Rumor held that the prince spent most of his time outside the kingdom.
She checked the bathing chamber. Empty.
Good.
She moved to the safe, pulse spiking. She knelt before it and examined the small sigil in the middle of the door. A golden needle with a small basin awaited an offering of blood. The gateway to his secrets.
Nadje unstoppered the vial and shook out a few viscous drops into the basin.
Nothing.
She grimaced. So help her, if this didn’t work because she’d waited for Inkletter…
She spat into the vial and shook it until the sludge loosened. Would Coștin’s essence still be strong enough to activate the sigil?
Holding her breath, she poured.
Heartbeat.
Heartbeat.
Heartbeat. Too much spit, not enough blood. The story of my life.
Click. The sound was small and enormous at once.
She exhaled a shaky laugh as the door swung open. Inside: no jewels, no documents—only a battered leather journal. She retrieved it with her brows raised. Coștin? A journal?
She flipped pages. He’d laid out military diagrams and maneuvers, but he’d depicted thousands of soldiers deployed on a battlefield.
Bloodreach’s army consisted of possibly a handful? The General of Nothing was crazier than she’d thought.
She flipped another page and read, frowning at the words. When comprehension struck, the journal shook in her hands. She whispered, “The quake beneath us. He is the epicenter—”
“What is this?”
A voice cracked the air. Coștin had suddenly appeared in his room as if conjured.
“You?” he grated. “The Badlander? What are you doing here?”
“You can trace?” she breathed.
“And you can’t.” A predatory zeal lit his red gaze, and his fangs sharpened, slicing his lips as he smiled.
Her gaze darted for a weapon. None. The only escape was a window overlooking the Scarlet Shallows, ten stories down. She began to creep backward, ready to take her chances with all the sea monsters. At least they’d make it quick.
“How did you crack my safe?”
Brazen this out. Show no fear. “Cracked harder ones.”
He snapped his fangs. “The inquisitor said you were too stupid to help steal my Bride. But you’re not stupid, are you? You worked with that Berserker to capture my Lia.”
Nadje shrugged as if bored, kept backing toward the window. “And you have big plans yourself.” She tossed his journal to the bed with an unconcerned air.
“How much did you read?”
“Enough. But killing me won’t help you,” she said, her throat burning on the lie. Biting back pain, she said, “Powerful immortals already suspect you.” Surely. “Neculain suspects you.” She had to believe this.
Coștin’s eyes blazed. “Then my timeline accelerates.” He stepped toward her. “I’ll warm up with your murder. Fair warning: you won’t go easy. Your kind never do.”
She couldn’t make it to the window before he reached her. But she had to try.
A fist suddenly hammered the chamber door. “Open up, Coștin! The king wants you. You can’t avoid his summons forever.”
She lifted her brows. “Not a lot of respect in that guard’s tone,” she pointed out, still easing back. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”
He turned toward the door, irritated—and she dove.
He traced, intercepting her midair, slamming her to the floor. Pain shot up her side.
“I don’t have time for this right now! But a quick death is too good for you.” He snatched her arm, and the castle faded as he teleported her away.
Moonlight blazed, and she blinked to adjust her night vision.
“Welcome home, Badlander.”
Her mouth went dry, heart seeming to stop. They stood in…Strigoi Gorge.
Sand cliffs bowed like broken ribs. Quicksand pits yawned open. Strigoi prowled the valley floor, wings making slow sweeps, talons glinting in the moonlight.
Her lungs seized. The ash smell. Her mother’s grip. That last scream.
Nadje fought for control, forced air into her chest. “I can be useful,” she rasped, thinking fast, knowing she must live by her wits…or die by the fang. “I have information about many in the kingdom. Trace me back and imprison me, and I’ll tell you secrets as you’ve never known. Secrets that can help you with your father.”
Coștin’s grin was cold. “And let you spill mine? No.” He looked over at the circling strigoi. “Besides, I won’t need help with Neculain much longer. Everything is in place.” He gave her a mocking bow. “Enjoy their dinner.”