I nod in return. He’s worried for his family, people I cannot see, but his grandmother is alive in the vale, and that has brought a light to his eyes that I haven’t seen since I met him.
Helena grins and glances at Rhonin. “How far we’ve come. Enemies one day, riding across an entire break together the next.”
I see no worry in her eyes. I haven’t told her, but I think she knows where my heart has landed when it comes to her brother. Her love for me isn’t designed around Finn, though. She wants me to be happy, and if that means kissing the Witch Collector until I turn blue, I know that’s what she wants for me.
The Witch Walkers say goodbye to their loved ones, and then we cross through Winterhold’s gates and face Frostwater Wood. I’ve no notion what lies ahead, but I believe that the days leading to this moment were meant to prepare me.
Alexus guides us, and I ride close, but he halts Mannus and takes a deep inhale of frost-filled air coming from the north.
He looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes so devastatingly bold against the snowy backdrop.
“And you’re certain you’re ready for this?” he asks. “This is only the beginning.”
I ride up until he’s but an arm’s length away. “I am certain,” I sign, my determination as solid as the icy ground beneath me. “We have a king to save.”
Thank you for reading! Did you enjoy? Please add your review because nothing helps an author more and encourages readers to take a chance on a book than a review.
* * *
And don’t miss more of the Witch Walker series with book two, CITY OF RUIN, coming soon from Charissa Weaks!
* * *
Until then discover THE GIRL WHO BELONGED TO THE SEA, by City Owl Author, Katherine Quinn. Turn the page for a sneak peek!
* * *
You can also sign up for the City Owl Press newsletter to receive notice of all book releases!
Sneak Peek of The Girl Who Belonged to the Sea
By Katherine Quinn
Margrete Wood had been locked inside her father’s iron contraption so many times that she should have been used to its rusted spikes, pungent rot, and the absence of light once he shut the door. It was her penance for misbehaving, he claimed. A way to cleanse her soul. But it was no more than a coffin. A vicious device he used for control.
When her father slammed the door, trapping her where dreams went to die, Margrete prayed to all the gods she could think of. Arios, the God of Spring and New Beginnings, and Delia, Goddess of Wisdom and Protector of the Pure of Heart. She even prayed to the wrathful God of War and Vengeance, Charion.
Yet only when she envisioned the sea, wild and unapologetically savage, did she receive any kind of answer at all. Trapped in the dark with nothing but her sinking hope, she chased after the elusive sound of the waves. It was soft at first, nothing but the gentle thrum of the waters meeting the shore.
Margrete closed her eyes and held on to that melody like a lifeline. Soon her body trembled and her heartbeat slowed, and then the song swelled.
The moment the waves became a roar in her ears, she released her prayers with a heart-wrenching hope. She wished to be far from her father. Begged for a life that was not her own. Pleaded to be free.
When the door to her box opened hours later, her father’s wicked face staring back at her, the ethereal song came to an abrupt end. While he’d done his best to weaken her, to rob her of her courage, Margrete left that day clinging to a scrap of hope her father couldn’t touch.
The sea had whispered a reply, a single, haunting word.
Soon.
It had been five days since Margrete emerged from the box and left her father’s study. Five long days and still her body buzzed with apprehension and promise.
Almost as if the God of the Sea had truly heeded her prayers.
Now, she was being called back to the study, urged on by Adina, her lady’s maid, who snapped at her heels like an anxious hound. And hurry she did, for every wrong Margrete committed, each act of rebellion, would not only be her punishment to bear. Not since her father turned his attention to her younger sister, Bridget, or Birdie, as Margrete fondly nicknamed her.
A thin layer of perspiration dampened her skin by the time she arrived. Lifting a closed fist, she knocked on the heavy wooden door, biting her lower lip as she awaited a reply.
“Come.”
Margrete flinched, her father’s voice unusually light. Pushing inside, she found the notorious sea captain of Prias lounging in his chair, his booted feet propped against the mahogany desk littered with maps and trade records. His short, flaxen hair and matching beard were sprinkled with age, white streaks interwoven throughout the strands, his square jaw prominent and masculine.
But it was the cutting edge of his gaze that could fell a man with one look.
“Daughter, sit.” He waved her over to one of two plush blue seats before him. A devilish smile curled his thin lips, a malicious twinkle sparkling in his steel-gray eyes that promised nothing but torment.
Margrete had always been told that her hazel eyes and golden skin came from her mother. If only she could have met her.
Hesitantly, she slid onto the cushion, her muscles tensing as her father’s gaze swept across her body from behind his desk, his forefinger and thumb pinching his graying beard in thought. Uneasy moments ticked by before he spoke, but when he did, she had to grab hold of her chair to keep from falling over.
“You’re to be married here, at the keep, in two months’ time.”
Margrete couldn’t help it when a small gasp left her lips, her mouth parting as though a silent scream wished to escape. It was her only reaction, the obedient words she usually reserved for the captain dissipating like dust in a windstorm.
“I see you’re quite thrilled with the news, then?” He leaned back in his seat, pulling his muscled legs from the polished wood. “I’ll give you a moment to process.”
Tiny beads of sweat formed along her brow, the air in the room suddenly too hot, too stuffy. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a tumultuous staccato that sounded like angry raindrops during a squall.
“W-who?” she managed to ask, fearful of the answer. Knowing her father, her marriage was to procure some elusive business deal. She would be used for his purposes, however vile they may be, and her opinion on the matter was irrelevant.
“Count Casbian,” he said.
“Of Cartus?”
“One and the same.” The captain grinned, enjoying the obvious discomfort playing across her features. “Cartus is Marionette’s greatest asset for defense, and the count’s military position will do well for us. I’m told he’s also a favorite amongst the king and queen.”
This was about influence. As if conquering the seas wasn’t enough, the captain now wished to gain the favor of Marionette’s rulers through the count.