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)
The sword thrust toward me.
Green fire streaked across the cobblestones, like a jet of arcane napalm, straight between us. The front end of the Butcher’s blade slid off and fell to the ground.
The Butcher’s eyes went wide. He stared at the half sword in his hand and pawed at his wrist. Something popped like popcorn in my head. The Butcher vanished.
Twenty yards away, Reynald was holding a sword dripping green magic. Black smoke coiled from him, streaming downward to hug the cobblestones.
Green fire.
The line of flames died, snuffed out like the flame of a candle. A scar gouged the plaza.
When he strikes, the Fatefire flies off the blade and burns everything in its path. Every strike leaves a line of flames in its wake. The air reeks of smoldering flesh. The black smoke that rises from the bodies stings your eyes . . .
He was looking at me. His eyes glowed. I could see them all the way from where I sat. They were a bright, paralyzing green.
Behind him, Gort swung into view, walking over. He didn’t seem surprised.
I scrambled to my feet and ran for the house.
I pounded on the door of the house. “It’s me. Open up!”
The door swung open, revealing Kaiden and Clover. I yanked my coif off my head.
Clover’s face blanched. “What happened?”
“Leave the door unlocked.” He would cut through it if he had to. “Go to Clover’s room and bar the door from the inside. Do not come out. Don’t make noise. If Reynald knocks, don’t open the door to him.”
“Why?” Kaiden demanded.
“Do as I tell you!”
Kaiden opened his mouth, but something in my face must’ve told him now was the wrong time to argue. I slammed the door closed behind me and we took off across the courtyard to the inner door.
Ramond vi Everard, the Sleepless Duke, the Lord of Selva, wielder of the Fatefire, twenty-nine years old, six foot one, dark hair, pale green eyes that turned an intense, true green when he used his magic.
True green, my ass. It was a bright electric green that burned into your brain.
Of course he didn’t look thirty-eight. He wasn’t thirty-eight.
I rode a horse.
He sure did. The one with a skull face on its head.
I will take care of it.
And he did. The Dargans did a lot of business in the north. When Reynald took off his mask, Drugh saw the Sleepless Duke and he got out of there like his ass was on fire. That should’ve been a clue. Reynald was respected but not feared and that had been fear.
Trust me.
I was so oblivious and stupid. Everard’s whole life revolved around Selva, and I had told him the civil war was coming and Rellas would go to shit. He would do anything and everything to control me because I was the key to his survival. A woman who knew his rivals’ secrets. A priceless gift. He must’ve been overjoyed when I sat on that bench in the cemetery and stared at him like a lovesick fool.
We cleared the stairs and burst into the upper hallway. The kids ran to the right, past me. I lingered until I saw them disappear into Clover’s room, and then I ducked into my suite. I would lock the door and—
Solentine leaped onto my windowsill. I had left the fucking window open again. Damn it.
“Don’t move,” Solentine ordered.
A low growl came from my bedroom. The stelka emerged from under my bed, her little fangs bared.
“Guard vermin. Charming,” Solentine said.
Quiet steps came from the hallway.
He was coming. There was no escape.
Everard walked through the open door.
Nothing of Reynald remained. This was the demon from the basement. Before, even during the fights, he had dampened himself somehow. He wasn’t hiding anymore.
He walked in, and the room was his. He owned it. His presence filled it, unignorable, a sharp, immediate threat that demanded you focus on it to the exclusion of everything else. There was no predator to compare him to. He was in a class of his own.
He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw a cold, calculating intelligence looking back. If I’d had any emotional capacity left, it would have scared me more than Solentine and his daggers, more than the Fatefire or the Butcher, but I was too shocked and numb. The enormity of the betrayal had knocked all the fear out of me.
The stelka dashed under the bed and stayed there.
“Are you hurt?” the Sleepless Duke asked me.
Somehow, I made my mouth work. “No.”
“A pity,” Solentine murmured.
Everard ignored him. His voice was slow and measured. “What happened to staying inside the building? Did you misunderstand? Were my instructions vague or confusing?”
How had he hidden this? How in the world did he manage to tone himself down to pretend to be Reynald?