Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3) by Jasmine Giacomo Read Free Book Online

Overworked and distracted as he was, Teos never seemed to notice that Calder was controlling several Water vortices at the same time, each one an identical avatar.
    Given Calder’s finely honed taunting abilities, it wasn’t long before he had goaded Teos into hurling the stones up through the air, straight from the cliff side. Calder caught every one of them in a vortex, and in just over half the time Teos had scheduled for the task, the two of them had completely replaced the jetty that arced out into the Godsmaw.
    Calder wafted back to the beach again, landing beside the sweating, grimacing Teos. “Oh, aye, very well indeed. I think you have potential I can work with.” Disregarding Teos’s flat, hard stare, Calder tossed an arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him up the beach. “Now, then. Tell me about your boyhood. Any irritating siblings?”
    Still grumpy, Teos begin to relate a few anecdotes from his childhood in Pallithea, where he did indeed have an annoying older sister. Calder nodded along, pleased. It seemed that Teos had a very salient emotion to work with for his first bonding.
    Calder caught sight of a small rowboat, separate from the barges and their flotilla of tiny support vessels. It pulled away toward the distant, stormy center of the Godsmaw. He’d heard of such final voyages, but he’d never seen one in person before. His feet drifted to a stop.
    Teos paused as well and looked out across the waves. “You know we can’t stop the sacrifices, Calder. It is their right and their blessing.”
    Calder's molars ground together. The empire sanctioned few forms of suicide, but the most popular, especially by those who lived anywhere near Muggenhem, was to sacrifice themselves to the Godsmaw. The most disturbing part about their deaths was that they actually were followed by periods of calm seas. I canna decide which is worse, living on the shore of a bloodthirsty sea or Muggenhem’s support of suicide. “Well, at least we know that our jetty will last for the next holiday or two.”
    Teos was still beside him, seemingly contemplating whether he should offer his usual disapproving glance for Calder’s dark humor. Instead, he gave his braided head a small shake and said, “That’s one way to look at it.”
    Oh, sints, now he’s going easy on me because he wants something from me. I’m turning him into a bloody Dunfarroghan. I’m so proud.

We Used To Talk
     
    Kiwani sat with her back to the wind, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the arena rim fifteen strides above the ground. Air currents whipped at her loose black leggings and teased strands of hair from the long braid down her back. The tiny, twirling hexlings she had crafted around her told her someone approached from behind, up the central steps in the arena stands. The heavy gait told her it was Gorwin, one of her denmates. Without turning, she asked, “Gorwin, what do you need?”
    The footsteps paused, and Gorwin’s rich baritone reached her ears. “One of the villagers is offering to tend the arena land for us. Unpaid. We dueled last year for his daughter’s right to own a field under dispute. The family already paid us, but he wants to help more. What do you say?”
    What do I say? I say, what were they thinking when they made me Head Duelist of this sints-forsaken arena in the middle of nowhere without a decent scarf shop for a hundred leagues? “Who is it?”
    “Washaw Gulaat. He’s a good, solid man.”
    She shrugged. “He can’t live here. But give him a shed for his supplies. He can walk over once a week and tend to our land all he likes. But if he has a question, Gorwin, he deals with you. Not me. Understood?”
    “Of course. I’ll inform him. Thank you.” The footsteps retreated, and soon Kiwani was alone with the wind again, her eyes locked on the distant, dimming horizon as if it held all the mysteries of the universe. For all she knew, perhaps it did. She knew she didn’t.
    Then a voice spoke