Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
The train slowed before coming to a squealing halt. Once again Cyrus severed all contact. He rolled back his shoulders.
My heart raced as the door opened, revealing the cluster of armed knights and barons awaiting us. As predicted, they immediately oversaw our separation. Most accompanied the future king, marching him one way, while ten soldiers herded me the opposite direction, each keeping a hand on the hilt of a netter.
I struggled to mask my tremors. This was my first time being back at the base since my big change. While I knew I was free of the Madness, the coming test marked my debut screening as an active member of the Tome Society. A.k.a. a Soalian. A.k.a. a glower. Someone CURED touted as the worst of the infected. For people like me, “treatment” wasn’t optional. Or humane.
Breathe in. Out. Taking in the acrid bite of scorched earth and aged leather, I wrinkled my nose. Thanks to my connection to Soal, invisible scales had fallen from my senses. The truth was so clear now. Oozing shadows as thick as paint coated limestone and granite walls. The same gloom coiled around every jewel-studded marble statue we passed. Images of old gods. Giants who were half human, half animal. They produced a low, almost-imperceptible hum, like some kind of machinery worked beneath the surface of the stone. A vibration I felt in my bones. But. Hmm. Their eyes, once lifeless, now seemed to follow us, their gemstone irises catching the light like watchful predators in the dark.
I must be mistaken, my imagination going haywire. Yes, yes. High-stress situations had never brought out the best in me.
Our procession ended at a small, sterile exam room with gray walls, zero windows, and a metal shackle attached to a gurney. I swallowed a denial and clutched my new necklace—my connection to Cyrus—allowing the soldiers to push me onto the stiff mattress and bind me to the bed. Eye on the prize. Long game, long game.
Out went all guards but two, and in came a medic. He didn’t seek permission before pricking my finger with a needle and scanning the chip embedded in my hand. But then, he didn’t need it. CURED controlled all within these walls, even the treatment of my body.
A beep sounded, the results in. Per custom, I wasn’t told the results before he exited. As minutes passed with agonizing slowness, more and more perspiration dotted my palms.
CURED might not know I’d switched sides, but they absolutely suspected I’d had dealings with Soalians. Even if a suspect was innocent of wrongdoing, such transactions almost always led to accusations of illness. So. This could go one of two ways. Either CURED lied, labeling me “infected” so they could “treat” me, or they told the truth and allowed me to go so they could secretly observe me in my natural habitat.
Dr. Korey, the physician who’d overseen my “care” since my first day at the base, entered with a sure stride. “You’re about to meet Emperor Dolion’s right-hand man,” she announced. “I suggest you behave.”
Showtime.
A handsome gentleman with cold eyes strode in next. Though we lowly peons wore uniforms, he dazzled in a black-and-white pinstripe suit. His slick, put-together appearance should’ve inspired calm. I only wanted to vomit as he looked me over, silent.
“Congratulations, Lady Roosa.” Dr. Korey pulled different things from her lab coat pockets and placed them on a rolling table. “You are negative for Madness.”
Relief deluged my muscles, unraveling knots of tension. Observation in my natural habitat for the win.
“Your identity chip is now registered with a special designation reserved for the royal family.” She grated the words as if they tasted foul. “From now on, medical personnel must explain what we do.”
Thank you, Cyrus, for logging me in as a royal.
As she shifted my shirt this way and that to adhere small, round transmitters on my neck, collarbone, and above my heart, she said, “I’ll be monitoring your vitals while you chat with Mr. Vyle.”
Great. A man with no royal title but a higher clearance than Cyrus would catalog every blip of my tumultuous emotions.
Normally I might have replied “I’ve got nothing to hide, carry on,” but that would’ve been an elaboration, so I stayed quiet.
Mr. Vyle dragged a metal stool in front of the gurney, unfastened a button on his suit jacket, and eased down. In his early thirties, he projected enough confidence to fill the entire base.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Roosa.” His rich baritone stroked my ears, conveying only charm. “My dear friend Count Folley tells me High Prince Dolion is quite smitten with you. That he encouraged you to question officials about our protocols.”
Uh-oh. We were starting off with a bang. Mr. Vyle had just let me know he’d investigated my actions at a high society event where I’d quizzed the former head of Ourland Medicine about forbidden things. Designed to make me defensive indeed.