Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Last, Drey knew Liam, nor Jell, were of The Rising.
They had not been to any of the meetings. And his lover never spoke of them.
Though Drey could not say he hadn’t been impressed with Liam after speaking with him.
It was Drey’s first day back after his time in the catacombs.
He had been fortunate (though he didn’t really think on it that way, but in the most base of purpose, it was true) that Seph had ordered spirits to cleanse his wounds (which did not feel nice, especially having them poured on when he was still strapped to that slab, his entire body feeling frozen in place, he’d been there so long).
G’Seph had also ordered salves to be applied. Salves Drey knew (because he felt it) took away some of the pain and hastened healing.
Seph had also given him a crock of this salve to administer to himself.
But he had taken away Drey’s acolytes and ordered that Drey go without them until he was healed.
They were not to see his injuries.
They would not know of The Rising and his punishment.
Now he faced a day back in his classroom, another command from Seph.
For others had been told Drey had caught a chill (how anyone could do that in this hot land, he could not fathom, but Seph was talented in donning his false face). This was why he had been abed and at rest.
But now he had to carry on so others would not ask to see to him or wonder about his state.
He had no idea how he was going to teach with the pain. The salve helped, but it helped better when he was abed and not standing. It would take at least a week before he was fully scabbed over and able to move around without great pain, even with the salve.
He could absolutely not sit.
Therefore, he’d have to stand.
All day.
In pain.
As he had to walk to his school.
In pain.
And thus his reprimand endured long after it had been dealt.
Since receiving his “punishment” he had thought much on his predicament.
In fact, that was all he’d thought on.
At first, he had considered sending bird or letter (the latter of which would take a long time, and he wished his vengeance to be much more swift) to Fenn, his lover, explaining what had befallen him.
His chosen one might be angry he had played with a Firenz warrior (or let that warrior play with him).
But he would be angrier that Drey had been abused.
G’Drey had also thought much on the severity of his punishment for a transgression he did not see as a transgression.
Go’Doan regularly took lovers. Most availed themselves of their acolytes. Others took lovers amongst their fellow priests. And others often and openly found their assignations amongst the lands where they were stationed.
Men.
Women.
Both.
He could not begin to imagine how allowing himself to be used by a warrior, his wife and their playmate could put the plot at risk.
And if it did, Seph could have simply asked him for an aside and told him.
Not delivered a head blow, whipped him bloody, humiliated him, and left him tied to a slab for hours.
He was a soldier of The Rising.
He was at one with the Go’Doan utilizing their carefully gathered recruits, specifically in Wodell, but also Firenze, and their equally carefully gathered weapons to rise up and take control of those lands in order to conquer Airen, enslave the Nadirii, and force all to worship the true gods.
Not to mention, pay homage, in word and coin, to the temples in the city-state of Go’Doan.
But he was not at one with this.
On this angry thought, he was torn from his path, pulled down an alley, and his head was covered with a hood.
In the sudden darkness, he opened his mouth to cry out, but before he could, he heard, “You make but a noise, you’ll regret it.”
His warrior.
He shut his mouth and felt what seemed like a large, heavy blanket enshroud him. He was then lifted over a shoulder, walked a short distance, and thrown belly down on a horse.
He could not stop himself from crying out at that, for the pain in his backside was such he could not quell it.
Not to mention the pain in his gut, where the saddle horn dug in.
“Debole,” the warrior grunted in disgust, and Drey felt him swing up on the horse.
He was not weak.
And he tired of being used.
And abused.
He worshipped Fenn more than any of his gods.
But he was wondering if that devotion was worth any of this.
They rode, too hard and too fast. Along their short journey the pain becoming excruciating, Drey knew they were going to the warrior’s house.
He also knew the warrior took him to the back for he smelled the honeysuckle that grew splendiferously at the side, before he reined in, dismounted, dragged Drey unceremoniously from his steed and carried him inside.