Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
We stop in a village, and Kirin buys cheese, wine, and bread. I grab some grapes and a thick roll of salami. Between the two of us, we have a virtual feast. This is much better than sitting in my room at the academy, waiting to be yelled at again.
We park up on a hill overlooking the river as it winds its way into the city, on the way to the beach in the north, and we drink and eat and talk. It’s remote out here. Most of the people have left the villages and moved to the city where there is work.
I’ve spent no time in the countryside. I’m surprised to find that it’s actually nice. There’s not much to do. In fact, all there really is to do is just be.
It might be the first nice thing I’ve done in a long time. I’m kind of surprised it’s happening with Kirin, and I tell him that.
“This is nice,” I say, my tone incredulous. “You seemed so mean when we first met. I didn’t think you’d turn out to be the most romantic one.”
“I’m not the most romantic one. It’s just all you’ve done so far is piss off Einar,” he says.
“I don’t see him being very romantic.”
“Maybe not,” Kirin demurs. “Let’s not talk about him. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say about this later.”
“Let’s not talk about that, either,” I say. I don’t want to ruin the mood by talking about what Einar is going to say or do. It feels like he’s the authority I never really wanted to have. Sometimes I get a little flash of it feeling a little comforting to know someone cares, but for the most part it’s just more trouble of the same kind.
Kirin smiles at me, and my worries slide away. Who cares what happens later? This is happening now.
We are like two kids who have snuck out and are getting into trouble. Almost feels like Jory and I used to, back in the day.
“So how did you get mixed up in this? You don’t seem like the sort of person who gets pulled into regimented rebel groups.”
“Einar recruited me when I was still in the academy,” he says. “The Blood are everywhere. Academy propaganda says we’re nothing more than a handful of wild wolves doing terrible things, but most of our number are in the world, indistinguishable from anybody else.”
“But you wanted me to do something crazy. You wanted me to kill the actual king. Why doesn’t one of your allegedly great number do that?”
“You’re a beautiful young female. You are likely to be taken into his harem sooner or later. I’m surprised you haven’t been sent there already. You’re likely to have access in a way most people never will. That’s why we decided to be so aggressive in taking you. Plus, the director has been quite effective in removing the Blood’s influence from the academy.”
“She was excited to see Einar.”
“I’m not saying she did it on purpose. She’s particular, and quite intuitive.”
“You sound like you like her.”
“I don’t need to like her to appreciate her effectiveness. She got rid of them by accident, mostly. Wanted to put her own people in. I’m guessing she’s realized there was some benefit to the old school people.”
“She treated Einar like he was a fucking celebrity.”
“Yeah. Well. He has that effect on women. It’s the gravitas and the authority.”
He sounds slightly admiring, and slightly annoyed. I wonder how these guys really get on. Kirin and Rafe call Einar Daddy from time to time. I think they’re teasing him, but there’s something to it. Einar has a kind of paternal style of leadership that is quite, well, calming in some ways. It’s also very unfamiliar for me, fatherless wretch that I am.
“Do you like being part of their pack? Rafe and Einar? Are there others, or is it just the three of you?”
“I didn’t have much choice. Just like you don’t have any choice now. And no, there aren’t any others I suffer to live in my place. Rafe is, well, Rafe. And Einar was the one who got me on his side in the first place. I don’t hang out with the rest of the terrorists,” he smirks.
“But do you like it?” I push the question a little more.
“I know I’m lucky to be in a position to help do something that matters.”
“Plotting to kill the king?”
He sighs, as if he’s about to tell me something he knows he shouldn’t tell me.
“He’s not the real king. Or he shouldn’t be. He’s a usurper. They don’t teach that in the academy because that would be a very inconvenient thing to teach people you’re trying to convince that they should dedicate their lives to serving that same king.”
“A usurper?”
“Happens all the time in royal families. Kings come, kings go, kings get usurped,” he shrugs. “The idea is to kill this one and replace him with the real one. Or, at least, the one who most recently had real genetic claim to the throne.”