He should have though, because in a blink, the snake suddenly sinks its teeth into his hand in a lightning-quick move, making him jerk back. King Thold chuckles and calls the snake back, but while King Hagan should have a bleeding, punctured hand, instead, there’s nothing there at all. He may be a timid sort of person, but apparently, his skin is impervious to fangs.
Beside King Hagan, the chair is empty, the last one in the lineup, meant for Sixth Kingdom. Meant for Midas. Yet he’s not here, and at least I can get some satisfaction from that.
But the scraps of that meager satisfaction disintegrate when King Neale Merewen stands, voice booming across the square, reverberating off the circular wall behind to amplify his speech. “The monarchs of Orea join here together to assess the accused and uphold the integrity of Orean Law.” He turns to me, eyes disapproving, flat hair tucked back in thinning strands. “As King of Second Kingdom and upholder of the royal decree, I now declare that the royal Conflux has commenced.”
CHAPTER 62
SLADE
I’ve been flying for days. So many that they’ve bled together with every darkened dusk stitched in the sky.
Argo is fast, but he has to take breaks to sleep and to hunt, and this amount of distance would normally be broken up with either a fresh timberwing at the coast or with plenty of rest between.
I had no such advantage.
We’ve had to deal with storms that dumped water on us, beating wind, and an improvised route. Yet crossing over Weywick Sea was the worst. I made sure to cross the shortest amount of distance over the water, having us stop right at Third Kingdom’s outermost island, but even so, we nearly didn’t make it across.
When Argo landed on the shore of Second Kingdom, he collapsed. I stayed with him at the tiny canal that fed into the sea, and I was damn lucky that he woke up and had the energy to hunt for fish.
But every moment we couldn’t travel was a pressure physically felt. Every second I didn’t move meant I wasn’t catching up to Auren. I knew that Manu probably had changed timberwings at least twice, while I was pushing Argo further than I had any right to.
But I had no choice.
I rushed to leave, which meant I had no supplies other than the clothes on my back, the ribbon in my pocket, and the sword and dagger at my belt. I sold that dagger to a fisherman in exchange for new clothing and some travel rations. It was only once he saw the lines of power creeping down my hands that he paled and ran away, though he was wise enough to keep the dagger.
The oppressive desert heat of Second Kingdom has already made me sweat through my leathers, and Argo takes an entire day and night to recover. He’s fast though. Faster than any timberwing I’ve ever seen. If it weren’t for the break he had to take, I have no doubt that we would’ve caught up to them.
We should’ve caught up to them the night Auren was taken, but the bastards evaded me. They must’ve had more of a head start than I realized. Even though I was trying to have Argo track them, the path he was traveling kept changing, as if they were purposely eluding us and taking weird as fuck routes, which they probably were.
Argo doesn’t have much left in him. His wings are tired. His speed is next to nothing. It’s even worse than that night we raced toward Deadwell, because the punishing heat is sapping what’s left of his strength.
As for me, with the sun beating against me like furious fists, minimal food and water, and only blips of rest here and there, I’m running on pure fucking rage.
Rage, and the unmistakable guilt-laden fear.
Because they took her. They took her, and I wasn’t there. I know she told me she was glad of how things happened in Ranhold, of how she needed to save herself. I know she’s strong. That she can take care of herself, rescue herself.
But I should’ve fucking been there then, and I damn well should be now.
So I will fucking get to her.
Her ribbon practically scorches inside my pocket, a reprimanding reminder for the hurt that already happened to her when I wasn’t there.
I need to be there this time.
I’m getting closer. I should reach Wallmont within the day. Everything hinges on them taking her there. Because if they’ve taken her somewhere else…evaded me once more…
No. I won’t think of that.
We’re maybe just a few hours away from the capital now, and a new surge of hope claims me.
Almost there, Auren.
Kick their asses until I get there, but when I arrive, those fuckers are mine.
At this distance as we race over the dunes, my power writhes and builds, the roots snapping at my skin, ready to sink into this arid land and rot it through. When we pass a smaller city just off the coast, I know we’re getting closer, and it buoys my enthusiasm even more.