Twisted Cord (Folded Earth Book 2) by Tracy Eire

Author:Tracy Eire [Eire, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tracy Eire
Published: 2020-04-17T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11 – The King’s Arrival

It took close to two hours to get the remaining barges in condition to sail down to Bridge Township. The wyrm’s head was left behind to rot down to a skull. After all, this was a well-charted part of the Warp, and there was very little risk that anyone would venture in here lightly. The long, snakelike body was already attracting hungry fish and eels as they pushed off.

Ora was eager to be gone. The dead wyrm would attract worse around here soon enough.

The barges sailed at capacity, the glowing King at the bow of the first as if his presence were incidental, but Ora couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. She had the vow she’d made to Thahawn, and she had a fundamental hunger inside… for the clean, pure light that suffused him. It made her feel steady to be around him. The choices in her life that had led her here, purposeful.

Kessian leaned on the rails by the bow. He was still shaken. The other Masters, Ence and Avant, were amidships in salvaged chairs, sipping chamomile tea. The King preferred to stand among the dead. Their bodies had been among the first things set to rights by the Elites when the battle had been done. They were, again, arranged along the deck, with the white cloth pinned by their weight.

The Master of Boats finally turned his head to stare at the King. “Lock-Maker King, we are… obliged. We are… in your debt.”

“Debt is a matter for the Crown’s-seneschal.” The King shut his eyes and raised his head into the moonlight that broke over the ridge. He dried slowly, and didn’t seem to mind the cold. He didn’t shiver as Ora did. Then he said, “Take it up with Thahawn. The rest you owe to the Northern Outriders.” His voice was cold.

Ora looked aside at Redd, who was wrapped in what looked like spare sailcloth. They were mostly cold and shuddering, her men, grouped around the ship’s hurricane lamps. Every one of them was lit against the soaking people had taken. With the dark drawing down, the air had dropped to biting cold. But the Fata were immune. Ora carried a hurricane lamp, and she limped as close behind the King as she dared. If he needed to be warm, she was ready. But she shivered a few times, exhaling jets of steam, herself. His hair was so wet it was plastered to him in one long line.

The King considered shivering Kessian, and then said to his Elites. “Perhaps tea?” He turned, caught up his sodden cloak, and rung it in his hands.

He paused only to take off the circlet and toss it to Nimpeth, which she caught one-handed and folded into cloth to dry. It was scintillating white, this silver, when she was done. He wrung his hair into attractive disarray and glanced at his Elites. “Why is there a wyrm in my river?” He sighed as if they could produce its paperwork stamped to officially allow its occupation of the Warped rivers.

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