Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
I would give anything to kiss Reynald Karis right now. But he deserved a peaceful, happy life.
I gently freed my hand.
Oh, I was so, so stupid. Letting go hurt.
Reynald drew back ever so slightly, making a minute adjustment to his pose and expression. I wasn’t sure how he managed it, but everything about him was suddenly aboveboard. Without saying a single word, he had surrendered control of the space between us to me, and his expression reassured me that I owned it and could do with it whatever I wanted. He wouldn’t invade my space again.
“I need to be there when you take down the Butcher,” I said. “I will do everything the way you tell me to, but I need to be there. You can’t keep me from coming with you.”
He sighed and looked at the sky.
Birds sang in the branches. The dursan glared at us with its vicious eyes.
“If I were to foolishly agree to this, you would have to follow my orders exactly.”
My pulse sped up. “I promise.”
“No noble sacrifices for the greater good.”
“None.”
“Good. I’ve watched you die, too.” Reynald’s eyes turned hard. “I never want to see it again.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“You don’t have to promise anything,” he said. “As long as I am by your side, I will make sure you don’t die again.”
We fell silent, sitting side by side, looking at the gardens around us.
I reached into my sleeve, pulled Everard’s den out of the pocket, and put it in his hand.
“Your lucky coin?”
“Please carry it with you tonight.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll give it back to you when it’s over.”
Kaiden came striding down the path. His eyes were red. He handed the empty canteen to Reynald and hugged me. He didn’t say anything. He just hugged me, quickly and quietly, and then we set off back to our home.
CHAPTER 23
PLANTER 25
I sat on the barrel of pan oil and stared through the crack between the slightly open window shutters. The crack let me see a narrow slice of the night-drenched plaza. Prata, the largest moon, was full, enormous in the night sky, and its pale light encased the statue of the Knight Vanquisher, turning it silver. The night was bright.
On the other side of the window, Reynald waited, dressed in a plain tunic and trousers, his lancer’s coif resting on his shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered with armor. He’d brought his sword and that was it.
I had traded my gown for some dark pants and a tunic, and Gort had given me a short sword “just in case.” I was also presented with a lancer’s coif and told to wear it. Generic clothes and covered faces for everyone. Reynald was taking no chances.
The statue was in the center of the plaza, and the pan oil warehouse, in which we were hiding, sat west and slightly north of it. If I leaned all the way to my right, I could see one of the northern streets. Lute was probably hiding somewhere in there. If Reynald leaned all the way to his left, he could probably glimpse the mouth of the southern street where Gort would be waiting. The only roof accessible to Shana was on the most southeastern building, so she was lying in wait somewhere not too far from her husband.
It took Kaiden about five seconds to pick the lock. Reynald sent him home after that, and he obeyed without complaining.
Reynald and I had slipped into this warehouse just before midnight. It had to be two or three in the morning now. The sun rose at six thirty or so, and the first workers would be on the street half an hour before that. The closer dawn crept, the higher his chances were of discovery. Our killer was overdue.
Reynald didn’t seem to care. Five minutes after we came in, he had straddled an oil barrel, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. He wasn’t asleep. If I stirred, he opened his eyes to check on me. He simply waited.
It wouldn’t be too long now.
Unless the killer got cold feet and decided to not show up. He should’ve been here by now.
A faint creaking squeaked through the night. I froze, sure I had misheard.
Creak, creak, creak . . . The axle of an old cart straining under a heavy load.
A lone man crossed the plaza from the north side, pushing a handcart. He wore an old cloak, and his hood was up.
My heart hammered a million beats per minute.
On the other side of the window, Reynald uncoiled soundlessly and moved to the door, pulling up the lancer coif over his face.
The man stopped and pulled back a corner of the tarp covering the top of the cart. He glanced at the statue, rubbed his chin, and took a rope with a pulley out of the cart.