Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Is it my turn yet?” Monna asked.
“Go ahead,” Blythe spit up at him. He missed her playful smile. “You’re the Astra’s torture master, after all.” Her eyes flashed black. “Do to me what you did to the boy.”
Boy? He clamped the first manacle in place. “What boy?”
“The one in your memory. I’ve seen how much you enjoyed chaining him. He lay upon that table, helpless, pleading for mercy, as you peeled and seared his flesh, piece by piece.”
She’d seen his memories, without the aid of alevala? The blood rushed from Roux’s head, a piercing ring filling his ears. Before he had time to think, the truth spilled from his tongue. “My father did the peeling and the searing. I did the pleading.”
10
THE BARGAIN
Blythe reeled. She had no words to give as Roux transported her and the siren back to the bedroom at the palace. He released the other woman immediately, then secured Blythe’s chain to the bed’s canopy rail, securing her arms above her head.
He muttered, “The so-called adventure date is officially over,” while escorting the other woman to the door. A slab of wood now in major need of repair. “My obligation to you has ended.”
The siren gaped at him. “But we haven’t... I didn’t get to... Give me a chance—”
The Astra slammed the block in her face. He didn’t acknowledge Blythe as he stalked to his backpack, gathered a set of tools, and worked far longer than necessary to repair the damaged entrance.
For an eternity, she stood where he’d left her, trying to make sense of the words he’d spoken with such a flat, almost dead cadence.
My father did the peeling and the searing. I did the pleading.
Had he told the truth? Maybe. Or spun a lie to garner undeserved sympathy? Maybe not. Think this through.
She’d known the visions in her head had come from his memories. But she’d been so focused on the older male who resembled Roux in every way but one, she hadn’t studied the child. Now she considered nothing else. The child did resemble Roux—greatly. Same pale, wavy hair. Same bronze skin. Same yellow eyes with those spinning striations.
The two were indeed related. They were probably even father and son, just as he’d claimed.
Bile burned Blythe’s throat. How could a man hurt his own child in such a way? Parents were supposed to be protectors. The thought of purposely maiming her own daughter sickened her. That sickness worsened when she considered any young one, even the Astra, enduring such repeated anguish and agony.
The savagery she’d witnessed. The tormentor’s delight. Roux’s hopeless desperation.
Blythe tensed as a question struck. What did this realization mean for her vengeance? Something? Nothing? A traumatic past didn’t excuse what Roux had done to her family or her people. Nothing did. Nothing could. Deep down, she still despised him, her determination to mete punishment unwavering. And yet, the sense of urgency had faded.
Stop allowing your hatred to be your coffin. Live your life. Find happiness.
Laban’s advice echoed inside her mind. Well, the hallucination’s advice.
Maybe Roux’s death could wait until the completion of his task? She could even turn the delay into a belated wedding gift to Taliyah. The newlyweds wouldn’t be condemned to five hundred years of defeat, forcing all of harpykind to go into hiding with the General and her Commander, simply to survive. A win-win for everyone but Erebus.
But what of the other consort-less harpies Roc and his army were responsible for? Was their vengeance to be delayed as well?
Although, they might be consort-less, but they were still harpies. What if they preferred to deliver their own brand of justice?
Okay. Wow. What a difference a small piece of information made in a person’s mindset. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. If Blythe didn’t strike at the first opportunity, she was nothing but a fool. Right?
The shackles rattled as she plopped onto the foot of the bed. She sat statue still amidst a beam of silvery moonlight as Roux finished the door, returned to his chair, and dug items from his backpack. Weapons. A notebook and pen. More weapons. A pillow. Even more weapons. A can of soda. More weapons.
Who was he, Mary Freaking Poppins? What else was in that bag, and how soon could she steal it?
The crystal crown caught her eye. The circlet dangled from the side, as usual. Even more beautiful.
The urge to hold it and wear it resurged stronger. If she hadn’t been chained, she might have marched across the room to claim it. Who didn’t want to be queen? But, just as before, the urge tapered, allowing her to refocus on Roux. Mistake!
Candle after candle sparked to life on its own. More and more soft, golden light caressed the Astra, creating a glittering force field around his powerful body. Her heart rate quickened.
Head bowed, he wrote in the notebook and sipped his drink. Must be writing down observations about the realm and the women within; he concentrated with all his might.