Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Tristan smiles as he considers a funny response, one thing that is meaningful to George—his suits, his shiny shoes, these long-winded tirades of his.
Until George finishes: “My soul. And there is only one way in which my soul can be redeemed. It is by doing what no one would expect me to. Not even you. Not even me.”
Tristan freezes, watching the change in George’s eyes.
“I will tell Markadian everything,” he declares, breath spilling over Tristan’s blank face. “What we did. The necromancy. What he nearly caught on his midday journey to the Scarlet Sands. I will tell him. And no matter the consequence, even if the price is my life, then I shall depart this world knowing I have done one act to serve my soul. One act to serve my Lord. One act to save my—”
What bullshit, says Tristan almost politely. You are doing this only to hurt me. Your true desire: hurting people, just like you said. A desperate effort to serve yourself. You have no soul, can’t even pretend.
“We’ve done this dance for too long, haven’t we?” George smiles. It is unexpectedly gentle, even his tone of voice, even the look in his eyes. Does he believe what he says? That notion scares Tristan the most of all. “I think I shall tell him now.”
With that, George sweeps past Tristan, fleeing the office.
Tristan staggers, blinking. He is bluffing, isn’t he?
Telling Markadian such a thing could easily bring his own downfall. He can’t possibly risk that. Reputation and prestige is all George holds dear. He wouldn’t possibly throw it away.
Tristan is after him at once. You are drunk on the blood. When it wears off soon, you will come to your senses, you will realize—
“Think on those you have hurt and betrayed,” George goes on as he moves swiftly down the stone corridor, Tristan on his tail. “Think on your own need to practice restraint, to adapt.”
You call this restraint? Goodness, I’ll think twice before trusting you with the company credit card.
“Nothing you say will change my heart, Tristan. It is set.”
Poor Raya, our dear innocent party, she will be punished by your confession, too, I am sure. Do you really want that?
“A natural consequence for which I hold no guilt, as it was by her own choice that she became involved in your game.” He takes a corner, Tristan following, and the colorful glow of the Midnight Garden now envelops them, a starry sky over the glass dome high above. “You two were always a pair, even before you left.”
I have already hurt her gravely. Do not hurt her worse. She has paid dearly for … for playing my game, as you put it.
“I care not.”
Paid with half an arm.
“I shall do one right thing for my soul, one meaningful and proper thing, before it’s left to time …”
Was there really nothing inside the box?
George stops under the shadow of a willow tree, glowing butterflies overhead, turns to face Tristan. “What of the box?”
Tristan smiles, lets go the little hourglass from his fingers.
Somersaulting midair.
On a course for the harsh cobblestone floor.
The next instant, George is at his knees, catching it.
I wonder if you even remember whose blood spilled to obtain that hourglass, wonders Tristan, amazed at how so quickly George’s attention shifted to his one true love—the hourglasses.
George, out of breath, hourglass resting upon his palm like a precious newborn babe, a priceless treasure, peers up at Tristan’s words, meeting his eyes, frozen.
Tristan brushes his fingertips down George’s eerie face.
His eyes turn as dull as stones. Hourglass rolls freely from his limp fingers. Shatters on the ground. Then goes George’s body, tumbling as quickly, asleep.
Tristan stares down at the shape of George.
He stares at him for too long a time. Was this what Tristan meant to do all along? Was Ashara right about his intentions? To be rid of George and reclaim his seat by Lord Markadian’s side?
Tristan laughs suddenly, wondering who had to die to get the hourglass that just broke upon the pretty cobblestones, if multiple lives had to end, if any person on earth is still alive who can say. The laugh ends, and suddenly Tristan feels sad. He takes a step back, realizes some pink sand landed on his shoes.
Thirteen minutes later, Tristan steps away from the willow tree. A fresh mound of dirt spreads from its base, where stones have been artfully placed. For each and every hourglass you ever collected, Tristan says to that dirt mound, to the stones, to the body now deeply buried in there, sleeping, dreaming, I wish you a lengthy, safe, and enjoyable spell of silence in the ground. May no one remember or care for your purpose in existing at all.
A sprig of rosemary rests atop the grave.
Tristan stays there for quite some time, staring at the base of that tree, at the stones. Did he bury George deep enough? It was quite deep, significantly more than six feet. Will George be able to break free should he wake? Not likely, in a coffin that is, from within, lined with silver bolts and bracing.