Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“No.” I hadn’t, and that was the honest-to-goodness truth . . . but suddenly I wanted to. Needed to.
“You will. Soon. He’s targeted you for a reason.”
I flattened a hand over my fluttering stomach. “I don’t know why.”
“I have my suspicions,” he muttered.
“Well, please enlighten the rest of the class.”
But he didn’t. “I’ve read firsthand accounts of the violent massacres Soal committed here, and they are chilling.” He exhaled with gusto. “A great war is coming to Ourland, Arden, whether we’re ready or not. A final showdown between Astan and Soal, and we will play a part. Our people must unite if we’re to survive it.”
A war between gods, with people as casualties. How dare Cured conceal such vital information.
The king wasn’t done. “We don’t understand the mechanics, but Soal’s work in Ourland is limited to the Rock. He can only access us and our world through the stone, which is why he raises up glowers and mindless feeders. The two may be at odds, but each serves a purpose. We do whatever is necessary to ensure people pay Soal no heed. There’s no being worse than Soal. We either help Astan defeat him and his armies, or we die in agony.”
He believed what he was saying, his conviction undeniable. I wanted to believe him, too, but I also comprehended his certainty didn’t make him right. Should I trust Soal, though?
Each side claimed the same about the other, and they couldn’t both be correct.
“You shouldn’t suppress this,” I said. “People deserve the truth.”
“The masses cannot handle stories of gods and an eternal war. How many will believe Soal’s lies and flock to the Rock, risking infection? How many more will break? How many will die at their hands?” He heaved a sigh. “Consider all I’ve told you. My son and I don’t always get along, but I love him, and I don’t want you putting him at risk.”
The king suspected I’d lost faith in Cured. He must. But he didn’t press the issue.
“Stay here as long as you like, Miss Roosa. I’m sure my son will find you soon enough.” He strode toward the door just as a stoic Cyrus stomped in. “I’m disappointed. I expected you sooner, son.”
The HP wore a clean T-shirt and fatigues, but his hair was in disarray. His eyes were bright and alert, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He swept his gaze over me, relaxing slightly, then focused on his father. What he didn’t do was exhibit surprise. He knew all about Astan, this temple, and the alleged war.
“I must’ve missed my invitation to the party,” he said without an emotional inflection.
“I admit, I seized an opportunity to learn more about the first woman you’ve ever keyed into your security detail.” The king shrugged. “I’m not sorry.”
Cyrus fisted his hands. “She’s monitoring my health.”
“Yes, that too.”
The exchange occurred while they passed each other, neither missing step. My narrowed gaze remained fixed on my “patient.”
“Cured is hiding a war that impacts the entire world,” I stated as soon as the door closed behind the king.
“Yes.” Cyrus met my gaze, unabashed.
“What else don’t I know?” I demanded.
“Many things. What, specifically, would you like to learn?”
“Admit who lives in the castle.” He’d refused before.
Cyrus sighed, reminding me of his father. “My grandfather is there, among others. He presides over Ourland from Theirland. He’s a major target of glowers and safer here than in Ourland.” He cupped my face and peered deep into my eyes. “I know you’re in shock and angry.”
“Yes.” I should have pushed him away, but I nestled deeper into his touch. “I wish you’d prepared me.”
“I told you what I could and offered hints I shouldn’t.” He traced his thumbs over the rise of my cheeks. “Now, at least, you’re privy to Cured’s secrets.”
Yet I’d never been closer to siding with the Soalians.
The realization shattered the moment of camaraderie. I straightened, more confused than ever about Cured, Soal, and even about Cyrus’s intentions toward me.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression shuttering. Guilt flickered. More and more, his affection struck me as genuine. But look at all I’d misconstrued in the past.
Great! Now I was more frustrated than ever too. One day, my cauldron would overflow.
“Come on.” With a tilt of his head, Cyrus motioned to the exit. “We’ll talk, but not here. I can never get comfortable in the temples.”
So there were more of these things.
He led me past the double doors and out of the catacombs. On our way up, an intermittent booming noise discharged, shaking the building with each new flare.
“What’s happening?” I settled my hand on my netter, gazing around. Sounded like we were under attack.
“Ah, this is your first Theirland storm.” Amusement tinged his voice. “There’s nothing to fear. The storms are loud and animated, but the maddened hide from the deluge.”