Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” Vasilios said, grabbing an unopened bottle of wine to bring with him. He followed me out, but the elves standing by the exit confiscated the wine.
“Spoilsports,” he grumped at them as we left.
“They were hardly going to let you leave with a glass bottle. You might try to use it as a weapon,” I said as we descended the stairs. The ill-fitting bra I’d been wearing since I’d arrived at the prison dug uncomfortably into my ribs. I tried to reach inside the jumpsuit to adjust it to no avail. I was so distracted by the discomfort that I didn’t immediately notice how quiet Vasilios had grown.
“Maybe I was wrong,” he said in a low, drunken voice, and I glanced at him, confused.
“Wrong about what?”
“Wrong to ever come here. Perhaps that’s why I go back to Oreylia as you saw in your vision of the future. Somewhere along the way, I must realise that this world was never meant to have me in it.”
Okay, so I never expected Vasilios would turn out to be a melancholic, contemplative drunk. Still, I found what he said beyond interesting, mainly because it wasn’t something I could ever imagine him saying sober. “Why do you think that?” I probed just to see what he might reveal.
His shoulders slumped, his head tilted downward. “I used to think I knew who I was. I had a purpose, but now, I’m not so sure anymore. I mean, even if Sven and I manage to escape, what will we do? I fear we might not belong anywhere.”
I frowned at him. “Does this mean you’ve abandoned your plan to murder anyone who had a hand in your father’s death?” I questioned, and he blinked, seeming to sober up. His face was full of turmoil.
“You think I’m a psychopath, don’t you?”
“Well, I mean, not exactly—”
“It’s because of all that time I spent pretending to be Nic, and yes, I’ll admit it was fucked up, but you should know that it wasn’t entirely an act. The way I behaved with you, that was me before I …”
“Before?”
“Before my place in the world hardened me,” he replied with a note of sadness. “You have no idea what it’s like—” He shook his head, pausing on the steps, a glassy aspect to his eyes. An unexpected feeling slowly simmered to life in me. I felt … empathy.
Pausing just two steps ahead, I turned and looked back at him. He gazed down, his expression full of suffering.
“Never mind,” he said finally.
On instinct, I reached out, gently pressing a hand to his chest when he traversed the two steps that separated us. “Tell me.”
He winced, almost like my touch pained him. “It’s too hard to explain.”
I met his gaze meaningfully. “Try.”
His throat moved as he swallowed, lowering his gaze when he said, “You have no idea what it’s like to lose everything before you’re even old enough to know you had it. It makes you crazy. It makes you so full of fury that you just want to burn the world and everything in it. That’s how I felt almost my entire life. I spent all those decades in misery, and the only ray of hope was quietly learning about my magic, honing my skills. For years, I promised myself I’d get free of the mine and travel to my father’s realm. Then I came to this dimension, casting spells to learn the language and the culture, then more spells to find out where my father’s killers were. After that, well …” he trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes.
“After that, you planned your revenge,” I finished for him.
He nodded, eyes downcast. “I planned my revenge.”
“And now?” I asked, casting him a curious glance.
He exhaled, his entire form seeming to deflate. “Now, I think I see who my real enemy has been all this time.” His tone was philosophical, and it made me expect him to say something like, my real enemy is myself, but he didn’t. His eyes narrowed to angry slits, “Red Armand.”
For a second there, I thought he might’ve turned over a new leaf, but no, he’d just redirected his vengeful instincts, and yes, perhaps now he was finally angry at the right person, but still.
“When do you think he’ll show his face?” I asked after a time.
“He’d better hope he does it before I can get these blasted tattoos off because when I do, I’m going to blast so much magic at him that he’ll be torn to pieces.”
We continued our way down the stairs, and my thoughts went to Monica. I wondered what would happen to her over the next thirty days. Did Sarasin merely want company, or was it something more sinister? Surely it wasn’t anything good if he felt the need to wipe everyone’s memories once they left him. After all, he did call it a curse.