Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 140780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Dillon sensed a trap but nodded. “That is literally their only job.”
“Good.” Lucien smirked. “In that case, they now work for me, and I expect them to come to Brimstone with me to murder a few people.”
“Say what now?”
“You heard me.” Lucien squeezed my hand. “We’re all going.”
“Ugh, do I have to?” I pouted dramatically. “I don’t want to see another dead body.”
“I’ll turn you into a dead body if you’re not careful.” Lucien pressed a kiss to my hair, making me shiver like an addict—hopelessly hooked on a substance that was dangerous to my health.
Dillon’s lips thinned in disapproval. “Rook? Are you seriously going along with this?”
I didn’t like the thought of more bloodshed, but...I’d promised to stand by Lucien in his revenge. I nodded like the ruler I was supposed to be. “Listen to him. Whatever he commands, just assume it’s my wish too.”
Dillon rolled his eyes at Lucien. “They aren’t your personal assassins, you know.”
“You brought them here, so yes, they are. Uncle Wen?” Looking around, Lucien frowned. “Where the hell did he go? He was literally just—”
“Here I am, Master Luxin.” Uncle Wen appeared by one of the koi ponds, a bag of fish food in his hands. “What can I help you with?”
“Do we have enough pavilions to house fifteen men?”
“Ah, probably not. However...I can find accommodations for them in the village.”
“Fine.” Lucien nodded. “Make sure they’re all fed and rested. Give them what they require.”
“Of course.”
Dillon never took his eyes off me. “You sure this is what you want, Rook?”
My heart swelled with gratitude that my grumpy bodyguard wasn’t my enemy. That I got to keep him. The urge to hug him came strong, but I doubted Lucien would be able to control himself if I did, so I settled with a smile instead. “There are people hunting him which means they’re hunting me. If you can help Lucien defeat those who locked him up, then...we can all go back to Iceland and figure out the rest.”
Dillon raised his hand as if to pat my head like he sometimes did but thought better of it as Lucien tensed beside me. “You’re definitely different but...it suits you.” Sighing, he added, “I’ll go get the men settled then, and—”
“Oh, you’re not leaving,” Lucien cut in. “They’re coming with me. Today. I’m not wasting another minute.”
“Going where?”
“Were you not listening?” Lucien stalked toward the gate. “To kill, of course.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
OUR CONVOY DEFINITELY DIDN’T BELONG.
It felt as if we’d stepped through history to a simpler time where stone roads, grassy verges, and a slower way of life ruled. White-washed buildings sprinkled the mountainside as if people had built wherever they felt like it—rather than following boundary lines and municipal plans.
Lucien sat beside me in the back of a rugged jeep that didn’t look anything like the flashy G-wagons from Cinderkeep. It had rusty dents and off-road tyres as if the rugged mountain road wasn’t welcoming to visitors.
Uncle Wen drove carefully, avoiding potholes, glasses perched on his nose, and a smile on his face as he waved at villagers he knew. Behind us—in equally weathered off-road vehicles that’d been stored in a huge outbuilding behind Ashfall Cliff—Dillon and the fifteen Snowflake Corp guards followed.
“How far is it to Brimstone headquarters?” I rested my hand on Whisper’s neck where he sat between us. The panther glowered out the windscreen, his eyes flicking from running children, fluttering laundry, and prayer flags looped across the street.
“From what I remember, it takes about two hours to get there,” Lucien replied, his eyes locked—just like Whisper’s—on the chaos darting outside. A flock of fat chickens scratched beneath persimmon trees, pecking at the fallen fruit. Another crowd of children darted in front of the car, waving at Uncle Wen as he stopped to let them pass—half-made lanterns swinging in their hands.
“Is it always this busy?” Lucien asked. “I don’t remember it being so...festive.”
“It’s Zhongyuan Jie.” Uncle Wen caught my gaze in the mirror. “That means the Hungry Ghost Festival. It’s the night we talk to the wandering souls and spend time with our dead loved ones.”
My eyes widened as we drove past a table full of young men and women, all carefully bending bamboo strips. More bamboo bundles waited by their feet, soaking in shallow basins to make it easier to bend into lantern ribs. A couple of women smoothed translucent rice paper over the dried frames before passing them down the line to be painted with Chinese calligraphy.
Uncle Wen smiled at my curiosity. “We spend the day making the lanterns so when night falls, we can send them into the heavens, taking our notes to our loved ones.”
My heart skipped a beat as we kept driving—passing clusters of children making their own lanterns and groups of adults hard at work. “It seems as though everyone in the village is making a tribute. Is that normal? Has death touched every family in this village?”