Knightswrath (The Dragonkin Trilogy Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

even behead him. After all, he’d not only set out on his own without permission, but he’d also taken a sacred relic with him—one that he would surely have had to relinquish to his superiors had he remained in Lyos.
    But I’m not a traitor… am I? Rowen realized he could not definitively answer his own question. He told himself that he’d come by the sword honestly, as a gift from Hráthbam for his service as a bodyguard, and that he’d left to keep Knightswrath from falling into the wrong hands. He told himself that what mattered was taking the blade to the distant Wytchforest. He had to invoke the Oath of Kin and enlist the help of the Sylvs before the Dhargots rampaging across the continent ground all the kingdoms and all the Free Cities under their heels.
    Maybe I just didn’t want to give it up . The sword… the notion that I was chosen by the Light to bear it… the wild idea that some low-born, grave-digging sellsword could follow in the footsteps of Fâyu Jinn!
    Before he could stop himself, Rowen laughed. Luckily, a clap of thunder muffled the sound. “No caves nearby. No trees, either. We could backtrack, maybe reach Cadavash before the storm hits, but—”
    “And trust the hospitality of fanatics who mutilate themselves and pray to the bones of dead dragons? No, thank you. I’ll take a storm over a dragon worshipper any day.”
    Rowen scowled. “Then we’re about out of options. We can either ride through it or hide under our cloaks and spend all of tomorrow trying to dry off.”
    “Perhaps I can be of service.” Silwren, the final member of their motley trio, spoke up. She had come on them so quietly, like a shadow, that they had not heard her. In her blue-black robe, she was almost invisible, save for her face.
    Rowen’s breath caught in his throat. Even after several months, Silwren’s appearance still startled him. She was more than pretty—fine features, a lithe frame, and platinum curls—but her eyes were those of a Shel’ai. As often as he’d seen her eyes, the pupils especially still both unnerved and fascinated him. Rowen was beginning to find them beautiful, but their beauty was haunting, given what they represented.
    Realizing he was staring, Rowen forced a smile. “I’ve seen Shel’ai cast fire and heal wounds. Can they wave away storms, too?”
    Silwren answered with the faintest of smiles. “Not exactly.” Slender hands came up, emerging from her blue-black cloak. Tendrils of violet wytchfire ignited from thin air, coursing through her wrists, fluttering without smoke or sound.
    Rowen had seen wytchfire before, but the sight still made him jump. He heard Jalist swear. Rowen was glad he had a firm grip on the reins, or else Snowdark might have bolted.
    Silwren raised her hands over her head, fingers moving. Her hood spilled back to reveal more platinum curls. Her mount seemed unperturbed. More and more wytchfire, bright and hot, exuded from Silwren’s palms, though it left her skin untouched. Jalist swore again. The growing mass of wytchfire broadened and became more concave until it swirled over their heads like one of those ridiculous umbrellas used by the rich noblewomen of Ivairia.
    Silwren lowered her wrists. The wytchfire continued to float over them. “It will keep us dry, at least,” she said easily.
    Rowen had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Thank you.” He wondered if his own expression bore the same unease that he saw on Jalist’s face. The Dwarr had not known Silwren as long as Rowen had, but everyone knew that Silwren should not make frequent use of her magic. By her own admission, she was no longer a mere Shel’ai. The machinations of her old allies had effectively turned her into a Dragonkin, enhancing her magic so that its mere presence crackling through her bloodstream threatened to drive her mad. Yet there she was, casually employing abilities she’d spent months avoiding.
    Maybe she’s just getting better at controlling them. Rowen