Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 131875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
“No!” Cordon yelled out.
Kerrigan turned too slow. She saw Myron had gotten to his feet, his sword swinging toward her too fast for her to block. She had humiliated him and then left him in the sand. She had thought him honorable. She had turned her back. Stupid.
Then, a sword rocked between them, catching Myron’s thrust before it came down on her. Evander’s sword was nearly the length of his massive body. His eyes were hard as ice as he pushed Myron backward and knocked him back to the ground.
“You yielded,” Evander snarled. “Have you no shame?” Myron opened his mouth to respond, but Evander cut him off, “She beat you in an open challenge. You stay on the sand, where you belong. You are finished.”
Myron’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes still told the story of hatred. She had made an enemy that day.
“What is going on here?” a voice boomed from the entrance to the yard.
Constantine stepped onto the sand, and the rest of the gladiators recoiled from the heat of his anger.
Kerrigan lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I bested your gladiators.”
Constantine looked down at Myron. “Myron?”
“All of them.”
He did a double take before meeting Evander’s still-furious expression. Evander nodded, slowly returning his sword to its sheath.
“She issued a challenge. Your men met her in combat. None survived,” Evander explained.
“All of them?” he repeated.
“All but Cordon.”
Cordon stepped forward then. “I did not need to engage to know that I could not best her.”
Constantine wore the same mask of shock as the rest of the gladiators. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“I’m a fighter,” she said, twirling the sword once more. “This is who I am. I have proven myself against your best. I will continue to prove myself against anyone who deigns to purchase me.” She arched an eyebrow. “I’m not for sale.”
Constantine’s hands went into fists. “You have already been purchased, and you will do what I say.”
“No.” She spat the word at him. “No, I will not. Tarcus is playing you. He’s goading you into this. You’re walking right into his trap, and it’s not even clever. Use your head for strategy. See exactly what he’s plotting. You think he told all those senators to back down so he could keep me for himself? Or do you think he intends to humiliate you and take me anyway?”
“Stop,” he hissed.
Kerrigan took a step forward, the sword still humming in her hand. “Then, don’t be stupid.”
The gladiators gasped in shock at her audacity.
“Father,” Danae said. She had slunk out onto the sand, and no one had even noticed her presence.
“Not now,” Constantine barked.
“She’s telling the truth.”
“She’s telling the truth as she sees it,” Constantine snarled. “It isn’t the same thing.”
Danae shook her head. “If you do not believe even me, then believe when I say that selling her to anyone is the same as what the Doma did to Mother.”
Constantine whipped backward, as if Danae had slapped him. “I have the right …”
“But will you ever forgive yourself?” Danae asked, tilting her head to read him the way she had done to Kerrigan. “Will you honor her memory?”
“Day …”
“Put me in the tournament instead,” Kerrigan interrupted. “I’ll win the whole thing. You can have the prize money. A hundred percent of the money goes to you. It’s more than what I’ll receive otherwise.”
“And what do you get out of this?” he demanded.
“The gift.”
“A Gift,” he said as if the word were in capital letters. “That’s as much of a curse as a blessing.”
“It will be mine to bear.” She flipped the sword from one hand to the other and held her palm out. “Win the tournament, take the money, and keep your integrity.”
“Evander,” Constantine asked.
He nodded. “Kurios.”
Constantine closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Blessed be.”
Then, he put his hand into Kerrigan’s, and they shook, solidifying their deal.
18
The Red Masks
ISA
Everything they had worked for had come to fruition.
Bastian—the Father—was the head of the Society.
The Red Masks ruled on high.
Isa had been able to come into the light.
And none of it mattered. Not a single thing had made a damn difference. Valia was gone. She was dead. Killed in cold blood by the Father to prove a point.
It didn’t matter that Valia had been working with Kerrigan. That she’d given up her life as a spy and double-crossed them all. That she had seen the evil in the world and finally, at the last possible moment, turned away from it to try to preserve what had already been there. Something Isa had never done—could never do.
Her sister had betrayed them. And she had paid the price with her life.
Now, Isa stood at the right hand of the Father. Her ice-white hair on display. The shadows she had always clung to disappeared as those assembled in the council chamber looked upon her features. The curse that was her birthright—her beauty.