Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 146722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 734(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 734(@200wpm)___ 587(@250wpm)___ 489(@300wpm)
Now.
Noa must have shared Diel’s concern, as she rushed to ask, “Who would know?”
The priest laughed, maniacal and delusional. “Fa-Father Auguste.” The hairs on the back of Diel’s neck rose at the thought of that cunt. He cut a glance to Sela. His brother’s expression was beyond dark; it was deathly. “H-has Shunned ledger … owns them … schools them …”
Noa looked at Diel, and he saw the pain in her eyes. Diel was consumed with the need to rip Auguste apart. To kill that fucker once and for all.
“You … won’t … succeed,” the priest said, and Noa turned back to him slowly. He was smiling at her, teeth washed with red. “God is on … our side …” The priest grinned wider.
Noa got to her feet, pulled Diel’s dagger from the priest’s shoulder, and rammed it right between his eyes. Blood spattered from the priest’s shattered skull, but Noa merely walked back toward Diel and wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “She’s alive.”
“But they have her.” Sela met Diel’s gaze.
“And we’ll get her back,” Noa said. Diel nodded numbly.
“The Shunned? Veiled?” Uriel said, shaking his head. “They’re hiding their faces?” Diel could hear the anger in Uriel’s voice loud and clear.
Noa’s palms moved to Diel’s cheeks. “She’s alive. For now, we’ll take comfort in that.”
“And my motherfucking brother knows about her too,” Sela said. He pushed off the wall of the dungeon and left the room. Diel watched him go, concern stirring in his chest.
“His brother needs to die. Soon, and fucking painfully,” Raphael said, then left the room too. One by one, the Fallen left Diel and Noa alone.
When it was just them and the dead priest, Diel said, “Is it her birthmark?” he rasped, letting Noa hear his inner pain, his worry. “Why they veiled her? Why they think the devil created her? Because of her birthmark, her blindness?”
Noa’s shoulders sagged. “I think there’s rarely anything that shocks me anymore when it comes to the Brethren. Their delusions run so deep, God knows what their fucked-up ideologies make them believe.” Noa edged closer. “Cara is strong,” she said softly. “She’s a fighter. Just like you.” Diel nodded, but he didn’t speak. Shunned? Veiled?
They serve … slaves … paying their repentance …
“What does she have to repent for?” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “What has she ever done wrong?”
“Nothing,” Noa said vehemently. “Nothing at all. Do not try and rationalize the Brethren’s beliefs and practices. They are cruel and wicked and base their ways on one of the most barbaric and senseless periods in history.” Diel nodded, but he felt empty inside.
His sister. His baby sister was in their clutches. She had been all this time … and he hadn’t even remembered her. He had failed her.
Noa threaded her fingers through his. “Let’s go to bed. Get some sleep. You’re dead on your feet. We can make plans when we wake.” Diel nodded numbly and allowed Noa to take them to his room and lay them down.
Diel held Noa tightly to his chest and closed his eyes. But when he did, he saw Cara in a veil, bowing low at Auguste’s unyielding command, a deep sense of fear in her heart.
* * *
Noa’s breathing evened out. But Diel stayed wide awake. All he could think of was Cara in a veil, under Auguste’s hand. He didn’t even know what his little sister looked like now she was older. His gut churned when he even dared to imagine what she might have been through at the hands of those motherfucking priests.
Noa turned in his arms, her face turning toward him on the pillow they shared. He stared at her peaceful expression. She was so beautiful. But then he imagined her veiled, let himself imagine her as a child under Auguste’s brutal torture techniques. She said they had been burned as witches, drowned, hanged. He felt his inner rage like a spark of fire in his soul. And it built and built until he couldn’t lie there. He softly drew back the covers and stepped out of the bed.
Diel felt like he was losing his grip on his anger again. Not the rising of his monster, just the pure rage that he felt when imagining those he loved under the Brethren’s totalitarian control.
Diel fled from his room and burst outside. The cold air slapped at his skin. And he ran. He ran and he ran, the cold air burning his lungs like flames. He pushed his muscles until they screamed at him to stop. But the anger just kept sweeping though him, an unstoppable force.
Diel’s hair dripped with sweat. Exhausted, he eventually stopped by Raphael’s rose garden. He slumped down on a stone bench covered by a wooden awning. He stared out at the manor’s vast grounds. Mist hovered over the grass and bit at his bare feet. But Diel didn’t even feel the cold. He felt numb. Numb, but with inner unease sparking like a live wire. He felt like crawling out of his skin.