Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Could they sense when he used magic?
His heart raced, and cold sweat broke out across his neck. He didn’t want to be taken. Not right now. He’d had a break for nearly a week, by his guess. Not being questioned was the only good thing about this entire captivity. Why couldn’t they stay focused on Shawn for a bit longer?
Sorry, Shawn.
The main door flung open, and two burly guards half dragged, half carried Shawn between them. The other prisoner was frightfully pale, but he was still conscious. For a moment as they passed Tyche’s cell, their eyes met.
Such blue eyes. Endless bright-blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight into his soul.
Not to mention lethally sharp cheekbones and a hard jaw. Shawn wasn’t just a powerful man, but he was devastatingly handsome as well.
Of course he is, Tyche thought with disgust at himself.
Handsome, powerful, and quite possibly lucky in a very good way. Yep, Tyche was going to cling to Shawn like a damsel in distress as the man made his escape. Someone like Tyche didn’t survive as long as he had without knowing his limitations. Taking on a bunch of armed men was at the top of that list of limitations.
But after they were free, he had to run in the opposite direction. The power that zinged through Shawn’s body wasn’t his own. If he had a guess, it was a “gift” from Kaes, the God of Storms. That was not a god anyone wanted to fuck with. If these idiots knew who they were dealing with, they’d shit themselves.
Which brought up the bigger question of why Shawn was letting them torment him when it was obvious he could rip them to shreds with a wave of his hand.
The guards shoved Shawn into his cell and slammed the door shut with a loud clang. As they passed Tyche’s cell, he was curled up on his bunk, cowering like an obedient prisoner.
They didn’t stop, and Tyche released a sigh of relief. A couple of moments later, Shawn’s shaky voice drifted through the silence.
“Ty?”
“Yeah?”
Shawn exhaled loudly, and Tyche unfolded himself from his ball, allowing his legs to dangle off the edge of the bed.
“Can you…can you talk to me for a while? I…I’m not feeling too great.”
A little smile teased Tyche’s lips, and he hopped down to stroll to the spot where he usually sat while they chatted. “Yeah. I can do that. Did you take the stuffing out of your ears?”
“One ear.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid that my acting wasn’t convincing, so I sneaked it out of one ear. I thought I could stay in control better if I wasn’t being hit with both ears.”
“Did it work?”
“Not really.” His voice was so glum, Tyche wished he could reach out and give Shawn a head pat. That, unfortunately, wasn’t an option, so he had to do the next best thing. He snorted with laughter.
“No shit.” A big, hulking, powerful guy like Shawn probably didn’t want to be coddled by a weakling like him. “I could have told you that your acting wasn’t very convincing. And acting terrified? Not an easy thing.”
“What do you mean my acting isn’t good?” Shawn snapped. The tremor of fear was gone from his voice. A smirk grew on Tyche’s lips as Shawn seemed to shake off the terror that had gripped him, just as Tyche had planned.
“Come on, do you think any of them actually believe you’re from Legton?” Tyche taunted.
“Sure. Why not?”
“First, your accent. Not a Legton accent. And second, you don’t even say the town name like a local. You say LEG-ton. It’s Lug-TUN, like you’re stuck lugging a ton of bricks.”
“Are you from Legton?” This time he tried to match Tyche’s accent.
“Nope, but I spent some time there. Talked to a lot of people. You don’t sound like them.”
“Oh.” Shawn’s voice was louder, as if he’d moved closer. There was a shifting of cloth and a grunt. Tyche could imagine him sitting on the other side of the wall from him. “You don’t sound like you’re from Bellcairn either.”
“I’m not from Damardor originally. I was passing through. Guessing the same as you.”
“You don’t think I’m from Damardor?”
“No offense, Shawn. You seem like a nice person who is up to some important shit that I don’t want to know anything about. But I thought I’d mention it before you get in too deep with Scarella and her goons.”
There was a low groan from the other side of the wall, and Tyche felt bad for the guy. It wasn’t his fault. Most wouldn’t notice it too much. Tyche had traveled most of the world, lived nearly everywhere. He spoke to the common people every day and knew their eccentricities better than most.
“Where do you think I’m from?”
Tyche bit the inside of his cheek. Did he dare? Even if he admitted his idea, would Shawn be honest with him?