Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Blythe,” he said, looking as though he had a thousand things to say. “If I could go back—”
“But you can’t.” She stepped free, earning her freedom. Anything else he had to say, she didn’t need to know. An apology wouldn’t make things better. “I’m swimming, you’re watching.”
She turned away and yanked the dress over her head. For the first time, he got an unimpeded view of her undergarments. As she folded the outer garment and set it aside, being sure to exaggerate her movements, Roux’s hitch of breath made her belly quiver. Ignoring the tremors in her limbs, she strode into the tempestuous waves. The iciness wasn’t pleasant, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
“Don’t venture too far,” he commanded. “Stay within my sight.”
“No worries, Warden. I haven’t forgotten our deal.” Or the fact that she must touch him again sometime today.
Groaning, she dove underwater and didn’t come up until she needed air. Blythe swam laps for ten...thirty...sixty minutes. Then another hour. By the end of the third hour, some of her excess energy burned off, and she treaded water near Roux, who did indeed sit upon the shore, watching her every move. He’d donned her least favorite expression: the blank mask.
“What are we doing when we leave the lake?” she asked.
“Returning to our room.”
Ugh. “We should explore the land together. You know, listen to gossip. Find a way home. Stuff like that.”
He snorted. “Trust you to aid my cause? No. Expect you to sabotage me at every turn, then use whatever we learn against me? Yes. For now, the best path to my victory is spending as much time as possible indoors.”
“Okay, we’ll circle back to our next activity.” She floated to her back, peering up at a gray sky. “What’s it like being a clone? Are there differences between yourself and others?”
“There was one difference in particular,” he grumbled, “until recently.”
What did that mean? The touch thing?
There’s no irritation with you. Words he’d spoken as he’d guided her palm across his chest, broadcasting shock and wonder.
She chewed on her lower lip. Did every other touch bother him? But what made hers different?
For the first time, she went digging for his memories, rather than fighting them as they attempted to resurface. She bypassed delightful glimpses of a smiling, laughing Isla. Blips of Laban, crooking his finger at her. Her mother. There. The tortures inflicted upon Roux by his father. Mars, the original Roux. The peeling of his skin. The whippings. Stabbings. Torchings. And those were just the things she’d seen! No telling what other horrors he’d suffered as a child. But, um, yeah. That explained why he disdained contact with others. Get hurt enough, and you came to expect it. But it didn’t explain what made her touch different.
“Care to elaborate?” she asked, tiptoeing around the issue as she bobbed through a wave.
“No.”
Figured. “Mars is dead, right? Why haven’t you claimed his throne as your own?”
He couldn’t hide his disgust. “I want nothing that belonged to him.”
Daddy issues. Something they had in common. She swam a little closer to the shore. “You mentioned a pampered twin brother. What happened to him?”
“He died,” Roux said, his eyes flickering with red.
A warning to change the subject. She didn’t. “Were you close to him?”
He pursed his lips. “I was, and I wasn’t. He visited me upon occasion and sometimes snuck me treats. Most times he oversaw my next fileting.”
Her chest tightened big-time. Did this guy have any good childhood memories?
“How could you leave your daughter behind?” he asked, making her stomach roil. “She is a sweet child. I met with her and—”
“You what?” Rage pierced Blythe, all sympathy gone in an instant. The next thing she knew, she was flying onto the shore, her wings fluttering wildly. She shoved the Astra to his back and sank her claws deep in his throat, preparing to rip. “Why did you seek her out? What did you do to her?”
He lay in the sand, broadcasting more of that awful, tantalizing wonder. In a blink, she became aware of his hands on her hips, holding her steady.
“Answer me!”
“I didn’t seek her.” He tore his focus from his fingers and met her gaze. “She sought me. Invited me to a tea party.”
A tea party. Of course. A harpy tradition. Invite an enemy to drinks and laugh as they downed their own death. “Well? What did you do after she poisoned you?” His answer would determine Blythe’s next moves.
“She didn’t poison me. She told me I have a prisoner in my mind who I’ve hidden from myself, and he will punish me for my actions. Though she was wrong.”
Prisoner? In his mind?
“Isla needs you,” the fool continued. “Yet you came here.”
“I came here for Isla.” She spit the words at him. “You murdered her father. What kind of mother allows such a wrong to go unpunished? And who are you to question me about her wellbeing? You would have killed her too if I hadn’t intervened.”