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 told you. I fucking told you there would be consequences,” Solentine said.
“What is it?” I asked.
“We need privacy,” Solentine said.
“Let’s go to my office.”
We went up the stairs into my office, and I shut the door.
“Um,” Solentine said.
A small green fish lay on my desk. I sighed, picked it up by the tail, and carried it to the plate I’d stolen from the kitchen. I put the fish on the plate and slid it under my bed.
“I’m not even going to ask,” Solentine said.
“It’s Sushi,” I told him. “You insulted her by calling her the guard vermin last time you were here. She keeps trying to feed me because I’m garbage at catching fish.”
Sushi decided to poke her nose out from under the bed, gave Solentine a warning hiss, and vanished back into the gloom.
I wiped my hands on a towel, threw the ruined paper into the wastebasket, and sat in the chair behind my desk. “So, what’s going on?”
“Sauven is throwing a joedurar,” Everard ground out. “My attendance is requested.”
Joedurar, pronounced jaw-doo-ruhr, translated to meeting of the brows in the Old Tongue, and by brow they meant forehead or mind. Long ago, when Rellas was barely a kingdom and its monarchs were only slightly more powerful than their vassals, a joedurar was called to plan strategies in response to invasions and critical issues that threatened the stability of the region. Since the lords trusted each other about as far as they could spit, each noble would arrive with a detachment of their forces.
While the lords met behind closed doors to sort out their problems, their troops would feast, drink, and dance. The hope was that having a good time would cut down on inevitable friction between different factions.
The modern joedurar wasn’t much different. There would be a strategy meeting behind closed doors, followed by a combination of a formal dinner and a ball. Attendance wasn’t optional. To defy the king’s invitation was to risk being accused of treason.
“This is what happens when you start throwing the Fatefire to and fro,” Solentine growled. “Sauven got tired of waiting for the Conquerors to find you, so he’s trying to flush you out.”
“What in the blazes does he want to talk about?” Everard growled.
Solentine shrugged. “The revolt in the north. The stirrings of the Empire. Who knows? He’ll find something.”
“When did the rider leave?” Everard asked.
“Two days ago, in secret. You must leave tonight.” Solentine shook his head.
If Sauven’s messenger arrived in the Selva Dukedom, and the Sleepless Duke wasn’t there, it would confirm Sauven’s suspicions that Everard had snuck into the city. There was no telling how he would react.
The only way to sidestep this would be to have Everard receive the messenger on arrival, as if he’d been in Selva the entire time. Sauven wouldn’t believe it, but he could hardly accuse Everard of breaking the Accords based on a weird scar in some random plaza without any other evidence.
At least ten days to Selva by horse.
“Can you make it?” I asked Everard.
“Oh yes.”
“How? I know Villain is a great warhorse, but the messenger is likely riding the Rellasian yarras.”
Rellasian yarras were a magical breed. The best horses back home could clear forty miles per day, if they were used to running. Villain could easily cover fifty miles, possibly more. But the yarra horses, big chestnut mounts with blond manes, would leave him in the dust. They were bred specifically for cross-country marathons, and they were fast and tireless. You wouldn’t want to take one on a mountain path or into battle, but as long as they had a road, they would get you from point A to point B in record time.
“I’m not going to ride Villain. I’m going to ride a drezmur.”
Zmur was any large predatory bird, dre was probably from the Old Tongue dreog . . .
“Fear bird?” What the hell was a fear bird?
Everard focused on me. “Maggie, do you know what a drezmur is?”
There was zero chance he would believe me if I lied. “No.”
“So you’ve never seen one?” He looked like a cat luring a mouse to play with his claws. “Would you like to meet a drezmur?”
Solentine shook his head at me.
Are you kidding me? “Yes, I would.”
My cousin rolled his eyes.
“Does Sauven know about you riding drezmurs?” I asked.
“No,” Everard said. “If all goes well, I will be in Selva tomorrow, but it will take me at least twenty days to return.”
The messenger had left two days ago, so eight days to reach Selva, then about ten days to get back by normal means. And Everard would have to arrive in Kair Toren in a very public manner, with his knights. That meant they would travel as fast as their slowest horse. He could take a ship, but that would take even longer.