Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
The ride is without incident, though I white knuckle my blade the entire time. When I step out, I see sunlight streaming through the cracks of the doors that open to the outside. It stings my eyes, but I don’t stop. Pushing through, I meet the daylight, the cool air, the smell of green grass and musty plants. My heart stampedes, my entire body coming alive as I take first one step, then another, and then more out beneath the yawning sky.
This can’t be real. Eyes watering, I scan the landscape, looking for someone, for anyone who might try to stop me. The garden is still, only a light wind blowing past in faint swirls of falling leaves and petals.
I breathe in deep, tasting the air and relishing the warmth on my upturned face. A voice in my head grows louder, the beat of one word thrumming through my veins. Run. Run. RUN. I heed it, taking off from the open doors of the mausoleum at my back, tearing off through the grass. I don’t know which way to go, which way safety lies, but I head toward the ridge where the trees grow thick, their branches offering a shadowy refuge where I can hide.
My pace is hectic at first, adrenaline coursing through me. I sprint past the statue, past one grove of dead fruit trees, then to another where I choose a center row to follow. Slowing, I have to wind around a fallen tree and jump over limbs here and there, but I pick my way toward freedom. Careful to avoid turning an ankle, I force myself to move methodically, to search the ground and keep scanning ahead of me for danger.
When I reach the edge of the orchard, I pause and catch my breath. My body isn’t used to exertion. My muscles withered away in the cell, and other than combing the castle and climbing its infernal stairs, I haven’t gotten much muscle back. An oversight. I should’ve been working on getting stronger.
Once my blood stops pounding in my ears, I step from the grove, run across an open area, then enter another orchard. Some of the trees here are still alive, and a few even have slightly moldy pears hanging from their limbs. I reach up and grab a few, stuffing them into my bag for later. A cluster of three draws my eye, and I strain to get them. My fingers brush across their leathery skin, and I manage to get my grip on one. Right as I yank them down, a light breeze blows by.
I freeze, my body going cold as the wind carries voices to my ears.
Eyes wide, I creep around the tree and stand still. Unsure of where the voices are coming from, I listen, barely breathing, for the sound.
I wait for what feels like an excruciatingly long time. Each second that ticks by while I’m standing still is distance lost. But no matter how I strain to listen, it’s silent again. No voices. Nothing except the occasional creak of branches against each other. I wait for longer than seems prudent, even though the sun is still high overhead. I need to make it to the far tree line before nightfall. I have no doubt Melody will come searching for me, and she likely won’t be alone. This is my only chance. Maybe I imagined the voices. I can’t be sure. And I haven’t heard them again.
Swallowing hard, I begin to move, creeping from tree to tree slowly as I keep my head on a swivel. The effort is getting to me, my adrenaline draining as a trickle of cold sweat rolls down my spine. I hold onto the tree trunks as I pass, the small weight of my bag becoming heavier with each step. Still, I keep going.
I’m almost at the far end of the grove when I catch movement ahead. My heart stops, my entire body seizing as I watch two people walking toward me.
“Fuck!” I ease behind the nearest tree, thankful it still has leaves, and hold still.
“—isn’t for you to decide.”
“Wrong again, Captain. Everything about her is for me to decide.” Valen’s voice, low and almost feral. I don’t know who he’s speaking to, but there’s no love lost between them.
“You should turn her over to me now. Before Gregor—”
“I will never willingly give her up. She’s mine.”
“She’s not safe here. Her wellbeing is vital to everything the—” That voice. I know it.
“Her wellbeing has been entrusted to me by Gregor himself. I will ensure her survival.”
The man scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
I close my eyes and see a flash of red hair and laughing eyes, followed by the opening salvo of a headache. I know him. He’s … The headache increases as I try to put a name to the voice.