Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
But I’m pretty damn sure they won’t be. And now I’m glad Bron is gone. I’ll find her. Kaja will protect her, and according to Gillian, she isn’t bad at protecting herself. But whatever is about to drop from that cloud is bad. I can feel it.
“Stay inside.” I look back to where Duffy and Shim stand. I can protect them both. “Duffy, you stay here and guard Shim. Gillian, please.”
Dark eyes narrow on me, letting me know she isn’t pleased with being relegated to the house. “I’ll stay here. For now.”
The air around us cracks and sizzles. I look up. It’s hard, but I can see Fae dropping from the cloud. An eddy wind is difficult to locate and harder to catch. I count ten and then twenty and then thirty soldiers drop from the savage-looking cloud.
Dellacourt curses as Roan has us stop, signaling the halt with a single fist in the air. Dellacourt leans over. “Have you ever seen an eddy cloud that size? My uncle showed me one once, but it was tiny. This is at least a hundred yards across.”
I squint as I look up. “I’ve seen bigger ones back home, but I don’t know a single person who could ride one that big. They’re hard to maneuver. It takes a lot of magic to make an eddy cloud do your will. And to take that many passengers. Gods. Who is it?”
Roan lets us move once more, creeping carefully along the sides of buildings as we approach the town square.
I get a glimpse of what’s ahead of me. The square is covered with soldiers. Guards wearing the livery of Torin stand in rigid formation. The cloud hangs overhead casting a dark, ominous shadow. It’s as though the cloud almost makes the sky seem like twilight. I can see much more comfortably here. Even the vampires’ implants disappeared in the absence of ultraviolet light. I’m able to see that the villagers have made their way out of their homes and stand watching the guard, fear on their faces. The last twenty-four hours weren’t kind to this village. The war came to them in a brutal fashion, but up until now only Torin’s guards were killed. I can see the villagers now fear for their own lives.
“It looks like they’re going to make an announcement. Once we hear what they have to say, we need to get back, pick up the others, and make a break for it. I don’t want to be seen.” Roan’s voice comes over the comm system I was given this morning. It’s a tiny device that fits to my ear and allows us to talk to everyone on the team over short distances.
There’s a final pop and a woman appears in the middle of the square. She’s a vision in black, her dark hair perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. Her black dress has silver threaded through it. She’s lovely. And I know immediately that she’s a hag.
“Crap me a river. I’ve seen that face before, though she was a blonde. That’s one of Torin’s hags.” It’s Dellacourt whispering now. “Does anyone see a cat? Kill the cat first. I’m serious.”
The hag smiles a superior-looking grin as she looks around. She’s surrounded by soldiers, but I know who has the real power here.
“Good afternoon. I bring you greetings from your king.”
The village is silent. A horrible sense of anticipation hovers in the air. It seems to have weight, as though a heavy, stifling blanket was placed over the whole village just waiting to smother everyone.
The hag stops her pacing. Crimson lips turn down and one eyebrow arches. “You have nothing to say? This village does not respect our glorious king?”
This village is full of peasants. They’re up against well-trained soldiers with weapons, and all the peasants have are farming tools. And they’re burdened with their children. I’m happy when someone is smart enough to shout, “Hurray for King Torin.”
The rest join in, though it’s a half-hearted shout.
The hag’s foot taps against the dirt. “Where is the mayor of this village?”
Utter silence, and then someone is brave enough to step up. Reymon. The shopkeeper leaves his wife standing with their daughter and son. The daughter looks to be of marriageable age, but the son is still a youngling, his hand clutching his mother’s.
Reymon takes a deep breath, his hat in hand. “The mayor’s gone. It’s harvest time. The mayor took the guards to the next province. He’s guarding our shipments himself to make sure King Torin gets the percentage he needs.”
The hag purses her lips. “Well, it is harvest time, and I don’t really care about the mayor anyway. He’s an unctuous prick. So the good news, my soldiers, is we don’t have to worry about upsetting the local politicians. The bad news is all for you, Tuathanas’s people. The king is in danger. I need all young women past the age of sixteen to be gathered in the square. Any woman between the ages of sixteen and forty must report here immediately.”