Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Jack doesn’t just look like shit; he looks like death. He’s sprawled on the same stone floor I nearly bled out on a few months ago, but there are thick shackles around his wrists and ankles anchoring him to the wall behind the slab of a bed they must have reconstructed after Xaden blew it apart. Jack’s blond hair hangs oily and limp, and the pallid skin of his face has sunken into his skull, reminding me far more of a corpse than a human.
Then again, maybe he really isn’t human anymore.
And what would that make Xaden?
I breathe deeply, then step through the wards Mira created, magic tingling at the back of my neck as Jack lifts his red-rimmed eyes in my direction. They’re still glacially blue at the center of the iris, but the red has blurred the edges. “Jack.”
Imogen comes in behind me, then shuts the cell door, locking us in. It’s a shitty but necessary evil to make sure Heaton and Emery don’t hear what’s discussed.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, pretending this isn’t the cell where Varrish shattered my bones for days, but the smell of damp earth and old blood sets my teeth on edge.
“What could you possibly want, Sorrengail?” Jack croaks through cracked lips, not bothering to lift his cheek from the floor.
Imogen leans back against the door, and I crouch in front of Jack, just out of reach in case he decides to test the limits of his tether. “To make an exchange.”
“You think out of all the interrogations, the mendings, that I’ll finally break for you?” Hatred shines from his eyes.
“No.” I don’t bother telling him that he’s broken for Xaden multiple times already. “But I do think you want to live.” I reach into my pocket and retrieve the tiny medallion of alloy from my conduit. The shiny, heavy metallic substance is smooth and hot in the palm of my hand, dimly humming as I hold it out for display. “It’s imbued with enough power to keep you alive for at least another week.”
His gaze snaps hungrily to the metal. “But not enough to fully feed me.”
“I’m not helping you escape, if that’s what you’re asking.” I sit on the floor and cross my ankles beneath me. “But answer a few questions for me and it’s yours.”
“And if I’d rather meet Malek?” he challenges.
“Does your kind meet Malek?” I counter, setting the alloy just out of reach and pulling one of the glass vials from my arm strap when he doesn’t respond. “You’re a day away from finding out, but if you’d like me to end your suffering, I came prepared to do so.” The glass clicks against stone as I lay it next to the alloy.
“Is that…” He stares at the vial.
“Powdered orange peel. Simple, yet effective in your case, given how close your body is to giving out. Merciful, too, considering your actions resulted in my mother’s death. But I’m not so merciful as to leave you with a dagger.”
A sneer lifts his mouth as he pushes himself to sit up in a macabre display of angular, emaciated bone. Chains rattle against stone, and I’m relieved to see my estimate was right. There’s three feet between us, but he can only cross half of it. “You were always too merciful. Too weak.”
“True.” I shrug. “I have always struggled when confronted with a suffering animal. Now, unlike you, I have somewhere I need to be, so choose.”
His gaze drifts to the alloy. “How many questions?”
“Depends on how long you want to live.” I push the silver-hued substance toward him, keeping it just out of reach. “Four for today.” One of which I already know the answer to, just to make sure he isn’t bullshitting me.
“And I’m supposed to trust that you’ll give it to me?” He glances toward Imogen.
“You’re far better off with her than you are with me, asshole. I’ll happily sit here and watch you die,” Imogen replies.
“First question,” I start. “Can you sense each other?”
He stares at the alloy, then swallows. “Yes. When we’re new, we’re not as adept at hiding ourselves. I’m told it’s so we’ll be found and raised by an elder, usually a Sage, but in rare cases a Maven may take interest.” A corner of his mouth lifts. “Initiates, asims—we’re all traceable to one another, but the great hall could fill with Sages and Mavens and I’d never know. Neither would you.” His eyes sparkle, and red veins pulse at the corners of his eyes. “Makes you wonder who’s been channeling here for years, doesn’t it? Who’s been trading information for power?”
My heart jolts into my throat. “Do you have to be taught to channel? Or can you turn evil all on your own?” I ask, refusing to give him the satisfaction of admitting that I’m now terrified of who might walk among us.