Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
And he was kind to me.
Kind and gentle.
Until he grew rough and perfect.
15
A week had passed since I was allowed to see Maeve. A week in which I had plenty of time to process all we discussed.
To wonder if she fully accepted her role in this endeavor.
To understand that if she did, I too must keep my part… and what that would mean.
Though I desired the company of my friend, her counsel and clarity, Cyderial did not permit me to summon her to his office again. Perhaps he was right to do so; endless conversation on an unchanging topic was not going to give either of us a deeper acceptance of the expected sacrifice. She needed space to consider what I shared, to grieve the life she now knew she’d never have.
I needed to decide if I truly would do something so horrible as grow pregnant and betray my unborn child.
Of course, I told Cyderial nothing of my fears.
But he knew. And he watched me closely.
In those seven days, my new routine at the academy was established. Though vastly different than training as a recruit, my daytime hours were just as busy. Meetings where I listened to elders discuss the inner workings of hybrid education, with subtle, secret language peppered throughout pertaining to the humans’ expectations of the next crop of graduates.
Where improvement was necessary to meet those expectations. Where disaster might lurk.
Such talk made me feel unclean when Cyderial explained the finer details later in private.
The more I learned of the humans’ demands, the less I understood them.
Each farmer I had known over the years had been so sweet. They built a personal relationship with me, risked punishment to teach me forbidden knowledge and offer me sweets.
But… I now knew Cyderial had known all along. He’d watched me from the fog, chosen each of them to suit my personality and needs.
I might have been protecting them from rampaging vorec, but they were also nurturing me.
Regular humans were not so… civilized. The heartbreaking experience at my mother’s house had shown me just how cruel they could be.
But was it fair to judge an entire population on one bad afternoon?
Then there were the academy instructors. Integrating with them, as an equal of sorts, was vastly uncomfortable. Several had done me substantial bodily harm in the name of teaching me how to thrive. More than one, I despised. But they were so normal when recruits were not about, sipping coffee and chatting about the weather, the state of the fog, interesting vorec sightings.
Armed watchers had to obey me.
Yet not one of them would meet my eye. Cyderial’s orders.
Being his mate made me a freak, while it also gave me power I was uncomfortable wielding. None of it had been earned; it was just the residue of my mate’s status.
Yet I was still treated with deference and seemingly without resentment.
Instructors who had previously been horrible… were courteous and patient.
And I hated it.
I hated the duality of life—before and after being mated. I hated that everyone had been in on some kind of secret yet never shared vital information with the very girls in their care.
Mostly, I struggled with hating my new, bleak outlook on life.
Weapons Instructor Durim was soon to be officially promoted, and I would be taking over her position as Swordsmanship Instructor for the youngest recruits. Where prior to my mating I had been her assistant, now I was tasked with leading the class under her watchful eye.
And I was failing at my job.
Durim openly side-eyed my method with the children—clicked her tongue and complained to my mate that my empathy was unacceptable.
Because I was kind, she had to come down harder to pick up my slack when they failed to obey me.
Which was exhausting, infuriating, and an obvious flaw in my character as an academy instructor. Outnumbered thirty to one by the children, I did my best, and it seemed they did like me—even if I had become the ultimate traitor.
But it was already obvious which little ones would not make it past their upcoming finals—and now I knew what would be done to them.
The boy who stuck out his long tongue at the girls, laughing when I told him to stand at attention. The girl twirling around when she was supposed to be kneeling until her legs grew numb.
Perfectly normal children who would be culled if I could not alter their path in a matter of days. The reinforcement of no painful consequences in my class would only lead them to act out everywhere else.
Durim was frustrated.
But I could not bring myself to break one of their perfect little fingers.
One afternoon, when the boy was particularly rowdy, I even started crying in the middle of class. Certain I was not cut out to be an instructor, that the responsibility was too big, I lost control of myself and sobbed into my hands.