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)
Miss May does not respond.
“I’m not in the mood,” states Markadian the second Tristan enters the office. “And where the fuck is George, exactly?”
Masturbating in the library to photographs of crown molding.
“I’m the one who gives him tasks. What the fuck task is he doing if not one I’ve assigned him? I swear, if he’s seeking out yet another goddamned hourglass …”
Your stress level, Markadian, it does concern me. Have you tried meditation? By meditation, I mean floating in a warm bathtub filled with hemp oil, circled by candles, a radio playing theta waves …
“Always jokes. I’m not in the mood for jokes. What are you? My court jester?” Despite the outburst, Markadian gently leans against his desk, brings fingers to the bridge of his nose, and begins massaging away a migraine as he takes a breath.
After a moment, Tristan comes up to the desk, hops onto it next to Markadian, and the two remain silent for a while, only the sound of their measured breaths filling the office.
Then Markadian drops his hands. “Cindy says hi.”
Tristan peers at him. Cindy?
“Director Cindy from the Dallasade domain, who else? She barely had time to talk, always busy with those nuisances in Texas she has to deal with every full moon.” He gives Tristan a withering look. “But maybe you already know of such matters, having lived there yourself for over two and a half decades.”
Tristan hears the accusation in his words. He suspects he’ll be hearing that accusation over and over for years. I know you may never forgive me for leaving …
“Who said anything about your leaving?” asks Markadian dryly. “I was talking about full moons in Texas.”
This place has changed so much in my absence, Tristan goes on. I loved working here, for you. I loved to be the person you counted on. I guess maybe I … just wanted a change for myself.
“You think I didn’t appreciate you enough? Is that why you went off to entertain a life with that Texan jock? To see if you could score better? How embarrassing. You had it best here. I saved you from hell, I protected you, I gave you everything.” Markadian delivers his words like an afterthought, little anger left in them. “I still wonder what you saw in him,” he goes on, softer. “Was it his blood? Nearly had a taste of it myself … if you hadn’t shown up to that trial like a hero to save his life.” He folds his arms, the starchy fabric of his dress shirt crinkling softly against his chest. “You wouldn’t do that for anyone else on this planet. Why him? Why … Kyle?”
After peering down at his dangling legs over the edge of the desk, Tristan closes his eyes, as if searching for the answer. Maybe it’s more than just appreciation, or blood, or change. I wanted to capture something I had lost. I spent many years blaming my parents—my real ones, not my creators—for not rescuing me. I know now that it would have been impossible, but when I was young, I was certain my father would find me. As each night passed, I had assumed he gave up, turned his attention onto my sisters. I wonder how long they lived, if their lives were happy … if they had children. Can you imagine that? What if I am an uncle, or a great uncle, to mortal offspring I have never even met? Uncle Tristan … A frown creases his face, his eyes still closed. Or maybe I have none, my sisters having never married, never birthing children … and I’m truly alone in the world … every last drop of my mortal blood, of my relatives, gone, in the ground, to dust …
“You’ve a way with words, Tristan, always luring me away from where I’m getting at. You never do what you’re told. You never obey even when you do. Maybe it’s why I fell for you.”
Tristan opens his eyes at the words.
He’s seated on the edge of a wall, impossibly tall, thousands of feet high, nothing but huge clouds and a distant city far below him. It’s in the middle of the day. Sun shining over him, blinding.
Tristan is in awe, all his sleepiness gone in an instant. Your talent never ceases to amaze me, Markadian, Lord of Vegasyn.
Markadian smiles. His eyes twinkle in a specifically handsome way when he lets himself smile so freely without the restraint of his position. It’s a smile Tristan misses.
Is he any different than the others? Despite thinking himself immune, is Tristan in truth just another person in a long line of desperate people craving Markadian’s attention and approval?
Tristan peels his eyes from the sight below and glances at Markadian, who sits atop this mountainous wall with him. His question comes out carefully: Do you … still love me?