Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“Ja. One.” She motioned to the exit the griffin had just taken, and I noticed another sister peeking through a crack in the two doors.
Bronwyn the Graceborn, aka the Pirouette Princess, aka the Swan of Ashmorra, aka the Mistress of Motion, middle child, entered, wringing her fingers, the soft layers of her petal pink gown flowing behind her. Her flaxen hair swept to one side, delicate flowers woven through the waves.
She was a famed ballerina, known for her incomparable elegance and ability to dance both on stage and in the air. Offstage, she was infamous for her blushes. They came constantly. In fact, one of those blushes seared her cheeks even now.
“H-hello, Olyssa. Sister. Your Majesty. My Queen,” Bronwyn stuttered, giving an awkward curtsy. She darted her gaze to Adelaide, who heaved a sigh more exasperated than mine.
“Bron,” I said. “I love you. Formality isn’t required. Tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of it.”
Eyes of ice blue brightened. “Well, the dragon ambassador stationed in Krakenströnd has reached the end of his service contract, and he doesn’t wish to renew. He requested a return to Ashmorra. If you agree, you’ll require a new ambassador there. I…I would like to sign on.”
“Why?” I burst out. There was no one less qualified. I sent decorated warriors to other berserker factions. Those who represented the queendom with strength, courage and unflinching resolve in the face of brutal combat. “No one enjoys living among the kraken.” The worst of all the berserkers. Especially the king, Sebastian Morrissey.
“Well, um.” More finger wringing. “Because?”
The reason crystalized, and I was the one to flick my gaze to Adelaide. You’ve got to be kidding me.
She shrugged, clearly certain of the reason, too.
“You have a crush on a kraken?” I said with a cringe.
“It’s worse than that.” Adelaide winced. “She thinks the king is her firebrand.”
Poor Bronwyn.
The ballerina flushed in a hurry. “Well, it happened when you sent me in your stead to cast the dragon vote on marriages between different berserker factions. As soon as Sebastian appeared, I knew. Maybe? It could just be a ridiculous attraction. Because, you know, he’s gorgeous. I just…I need more in-person meetings to be sure, and an ambassadorship is the only way for a dragon to enter kraken territory.”
“But a dragon and a kraken? And that particular kraken.” I ran a hand over my face. “The service contracts last three years, and I won’t shorten it for anyone, not even you. If he’s not your firebrand, you’ll be stuck in his sunken waterworld until time runs out.”
“That’s okay,” she said with an eager nod. “It’s worth the risk. I can’t live not knowing anymore. I just can’t.”
That I understood. “You’ll undergo a mandatory crash-course battle refresher.”
“Deal!” Grinning, she raced up the dais steps, hugged me, then rushed out. Along the way, she called, “You’re not such a hissy lizard, after all!”
“Hissy lizard?” I snipped at Adelaide.
“If the claw-cover fits.” She clasped my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Now that business is concluded, it’s time for pleasure. I’m happy to say the shifter you captured at the border has broken. He’s ready for interrogation.” She air-quoted the last word.
Excellent, excellent. In such a state, he should spew information right and left, without being asked, eager to brag. I rubbed mental hands together with glee. Time for answers. What was Lorik up to?
“Turn off the sensory deprivation protocols,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Adelaide typed on her phone as we made our way to the catacombs beneath the dungeon. To my delight, I didn’t think about Taron for almost a full minute.
Walking through the corridors, the damp, chilled walls closed in with every step. For creatures born for open sky, the suffocating weight of stone below, to the sides and overhead felt like stumbling straight into your own coffin. The stale, heavy air that filled my lungs and barred any attempt to cast fire didn’t help the illusion. Worse, each surface hummed with a frequency that blocked a dragon’s natural ability to navigate, so the passageways seemed to stack over themselves. It wasn’t unusual to find the jailed glassy-eyed, their fingers scraped raw from clawing, any spark of defiance gone.
We discovered the prisoner exactly as expected. Chained to a stone that he’d been forced to drag behind him, grounding him and preventing even the pretense of flight. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, rocking back and forth as wild laughter spilled from him. His eyes darted in every direction. Patches of emerald dragon scales broke across his skin. The shifter’s form had warped, his facial features exaggerated and his teeth far too sharp. Hours spent inside these catacombs had peeled all layers of sanity from his demeanor.
“He did it. He did it. He did it,” he sang. If insanity had a voice, his was it. “He, he, he. Did, did, did. It, it, it.”