Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Kyle cannot detect any falsehood about Markadian’s words. No ulterior motive. He has no reason to doubt the terms of this so-called truce—if it weren’t for that dark, unsettling amusement in Markadian’s heart.
“And what’s in this new arrangement for you?” asks Kyle, diving straight into the darkness in Markadian’s heart.
He shrugs. “Peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind?”
“Yes. It takes too many resources to keep eyes on everyone in your little town. I have more important matters. Believe it or not, you are not the center of my fucking world, Mr. Amos. Just one day spent in my shoes, you’d understand. The clearer my mind, the more contentment I’ll find, and the better Lord I can be for my region. This truce is meant to clear my mind of you.”
That can explain the darkness twisting Markadian’s heart. “But why all this fuss? Why this party?”
Markadian laughs again. “Did I not just say you aren’t the center of my world? This banquet has a far different purpose entirely. My sister and I …” He glances at Ashara and smirks. “We have an announcement to make to our peers.”
Ashara’s smile brightens, for the first time appearing fully human and warm. “That we do.”
“For which we’ll need more wine. A lot more. Where the fuck is George?” he asks, then nods at someone nearby. “Go find that petulant pole of a man, tell him to bring wine, wherever he is.” He faces Kyle again. “But before celebration is due, let’s secure our deal. A binding contract. You don’t harm me. I don’t harm you.”
Markadian extends his hand.
Kyle stares down at it.
He cannot shake the feeling that the fate of his entire world rests on whether or not he shakes that hand, securing a deal with the Devil, a contract with small print he can’t hope to find.
“Oh, it ain’t no big deal, I’m sure,” comes Cindy, appearing next to Kyle. How much she overheard, no one can know. “He is a man of his word, Markadian is, and I can vouch for the fact that he wants you well off his plate.” She nudges Kyle in the ribs with surprising force. “And onto mine.”
“Do we have ourselves a deal?” asks Markadian once again.
Kyle starts to reach, hesitates, then finally shakes the hand of Lord Markadian.
The smile that spreads over Markadian’s face is, to Kyle’s surprise, one of great relief. “You … will never know how much this night now means to me.” He lets out a laugh, glances at his sister, then Cindy. “Both of you, witness to our deal. Please do hold me to my word, will you both?”
“Sure will,” agrees Cindy. “Keep your paws off my Kyle.”
Still shaking Markadian’s hand, Kyle peers at Ashara. Her eyes seem to sparkle with pride. She winks playfully at Kyle.
Kyle cannot make sense of any of this.
Then the lights in the room flash. Markadian gasps. “Just in time!” he cries out, lets go of Kyle’s hand, then spins around to grab himself a glass, which he taps over and over with a fork, quieting the room with impressive speed. “Attention, attention! My guests, colleagues, friends, and pathetic subordinates …” A ripple of laughter is cast across the room, then silence again. “It is time for our main event!”
“Oh, I do hope it’s them hunky fire jugglers!” hisses Cindy half to herself, licking her lips. “Or those naked acrobats!”
Light spills from the ceiling over a curtain at the center of the room, which had evaded Kyle’s attention until now. As the room dims, the spotlight grows brighter, and soon, the curtain is lifted, revealing a large round stage—which itself is enclosed by bars that curve upward into a dome, creating the appearance of an enormous birdcage.
In the middle of that stage stands a lone performer.
A violinist.
He slowly but confidently lifts the violin to his chin, then the bow to the strings, an artful air to his movements, and at last, he makes the instrument sing.
A melody of solemn celebration fills the air.
Proud and robust, every note that comes from the strings.
With each measure, climbing higher, a steady pace.
Kyle is struck, but doesn’t yet understand why. He studies the violinist’s eyes, gentle and familiar.
His face. His posture.
The disciplined way he pushes and pulls the bow.
So precise, yet carefree.
Kyle steps forward, confused, captivated, listening.
As the man continues to play, he closes his eyes, lips curling with determination. The notes ascend, as does the tempo, and with seeming effortlessness, the melody takes flight.
Kyle knows this music, even though he’s never heard it in his life. He recognizes the rhythm somehow. Knows every one of the violinist’s instincts, sensing the notes before they come.
Then his Reach takes flight with the melody.
Touches the man on the stage.
A flash. Kyle’s teenage bedroom. Brother by the window, struggling with notes on his violin, then finding the melody and gaining confidence. A slip of a note. The teenage brothers look at each other, then burst into laughter.