Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Red sparks fall from the ceiling as the soldier collapses into the corner, still with a look of utter surprise on his face. Whether it’s because of what glimmers and twinkles in the air or what’s been done to him, I don’t know. I don’t care. As he coughs up blood, he knocks his hat off, exposing his balding hair and a mole at his temple that’s the size of a coin.
Stepping over his hips, I stare down at him as blood drips off my fist and dapples the open fly of his britches.
I tell myself to leave him. The door to the cell is once more closed, but I see that he didn’t bother to lock things behind him. All I have to do is slip out, and navigate the passageways and tunnels back to where Merc is—
There’s no one around and no worry that sound will travel. I also have time because the soldier told the other guards to leave us alone and boasted he could take as long as he wanted.
As these thoughts occur to me, I don’t know why I’m wasting time with them—
The dark wave of energy that flows through me overtakes everything. Even as I am horrified, there’s nothing I can do to fight the urge that commands me.
Tilting forward, I take my foot and press it into his groin until all of my weight is on his crotch and he is writhing under me as he hoarsely starts to scream.
The moment his lips open, I bend down, draw my arm back—
And drive the crystal knife into his mouth.
The officer’s whole body spasms, his hands and legs flopping on the stone floor, his eyes rolling back as he coughs blood and chokes on it. But I’m not done yet. I retract my fist, feeling his teeth on the back of my knuckles—and then I stab him one more time, in the seat of his manhood, in the flesh weapon he was going to enjoy hurting me with. All he can do is moan and writhe, his blood-stained hands going for the front of those britches which he was so hurried to open. After which … he no longer moves.
In the trembling quiet that follows, I hear harsh breathing and I’m surprised he’s able to get anything down into his chest—and then realize it’s me. I’m dragging in hoarse breaths.
As I take back my crystal knife from his privacy, the last of the red sparkles fall from the ceiling of the cell and my fury starts to ebb.
Standing over the soldier, my mind begins to clear and I am … mortified by what I’ve done, especially as I look down at his gutted torso: I’m no better than those demons, ripping into a man’s stomach like that.
“He would have raped and killed me,” I say aloud. “It was survival.”
Maybe. Up until that last part—
The sound of a door opening spins me around. Out of instinct, I shove the crystal knife back into the pocket I took it out of under my makeshift cloak. Of course, the blood smudge I leave behind is a telltale that I have a weapon.
Like the messy corpse isn’t?
And then stupidly, I put my hands up, both the bloodied one and the one that is relatively clean, as if someone is pointing one of those sidearms at me.
It’s not guards. It is that advisor.
As she comes up to the cell, I keep my focus on her chin. It tilts down as she obviously looks at the soldier and then relevels as she regards me.
Well … I was going to be killed, anyway.
At least I took a bad man with me.
Seventy-Nine
Whereupon I Am a Complication.
As silence stretches out between myself and the Queen’s vizare, I can feel the blood of the officer inside my sleeve. What splattered up into my face is drying already, and my pores tighten as it evaporates. Stupidly, I wonder how I’m going to get the stains out of Julion’s pants … even though it’s not like I’m ever going to see him again, if by some miracle I make it out of here alive.
Which is not going to happen—
“Why must you be such a complication,” the advisor snaps.
There’s a bark of command from her, and guards come in. When they see the soldier in the cell, looking like something ate through his stomach and then tried to come out both ends of him, they unholster their weapons.
“Bring her with me,” the woman in black orders.
Yet another pair of grips lock around my upper arms, and as I’m dragged out of the cell, I wish they wouldn’t hold the exact same place. It’s already bruised there. Like it matters, though.
I don’t even try to walk. Part of this is exhaustion. Most of it is giving up. Yes, yes, they were going to kill me anyway, but now that I’ve taken one of their own? Maybe I’m going to face an even worse death than beheading.