Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
I hunched over and emptied the contents of my stomach. By some miracle, I didn’t vomit on Winslet but beyond her. The horrors Victors had endured . . .
Tears welled. I wiped them, then the corners of my mouth. Was this feed meant to distract me? Taunt me? Test me, specifically? What, what?
“Arden, behind you,” Miller barked, working on the other wrist.
I spun just in time, dodging a trainee’s swinging spear. Without pause, I drew back my elbow and launched a strike of my own. My fist slammed into his nose, and cartilage snapped. He collapsed, roaring as blood poured down his face. Roman fought two others a short distance away.
Unfortunately, my opponent wasn’t out for the count. He kicked my feet out from under me, and I crashed, air exploding from my lungs upon impact. Dizziness nearly overwhelmed me, but Cyrus had trained me well. I didn’t wait until my vision cleared to act; I attuned to my other senses. A slight whoosh of air signaled my opponent’s approach. I blocked, then threw a punch. Contact. My knuckles rammed into his throat, a quick influx of pain blunted by a fresh tide of adrenaline. The soldier slumped to the floor, gasping for breath he couldn’t catch.
Another soldier lunged at me. I leaped from my spot on the floor and punted him in the stomach. He stumbled backward, a cluster of shadows glomming on him. They must’ve come with a side of empowerment, because he glided to his feet with a skill he hadn’t previously displayed, my dagger clutched in his hand.
I scrambled up, and he lunged again, faster. This time he slammed into me, and we fell to the floor, him on top. I twisted to evade the dagger he attempted to thrust into my gut.
Boom! He sagged over me, dead.
A new river of hot blood spilled over me as I wiggled out from under his weight. I saw Miller, holding a pritis cannon.
I offered him a quick smile. “Thank you.”
“Soal for one, Soal for all,” he muttered.
Confirmation! He was Soalian. The one I’d been searching for. The friend I’d felt so many times. We could discuss his insults later. Because he would survive. We both would.
Boom! Miller jerked, his jaw going slack. A portion of his chest was missing. His mouth floundered open and closed as he collapsed, crashing into me, taking me down with him.
I lay there, dazed and shell-shocked, as seconds passed, a light dying in his eyes. Then, suddenly, he ceased moving. I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . he . . . I . . .
Mr. Vyle’s voice spilled over the intercom. “Six are dead. You may stop now.”
I . . . I . . . I . . .
Medics raced into the room, working on patching up the survivors. While one worked on Winslet, another rolled Miller off me and checked my vitals. Mine, not his. I didn’t speak or move. I couldn’t. My trembling limbs were as heavy as boulders. He was dead; Miller was dead, and five others with him. Winslet might die too.
Tick tock.
Chapter Nineteen
I shall not die but thrive and share the wisdom of Soal.
—The Book of Soal 1.19.118.17
Silence pressed down on me as the survivors stumbled from the chamber, leaving behind walls soaked in blood, gore, and death. Cold air wrapped around me, biting into my bare skin. Dazed and numb, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. Whether the shadows I’d glimpsed remained in the others or not, I didn’t know. Now, I didn’t care. All I could think about was scrubbing every inch of my body with scalding water, then curling up in bed, safe in Cyrus’s arms.
Two guards stood at attention. One stepped forward to announce, “I’ll escort you to your rooms.”
He led us away. Everyone but me.
The second guard barred my path. “You have a meeting, Lady Roosa.”
Because of course I did. “With whom?” I asked, voice raw. I wrapped my arms around my middle.
Silent, he marched in the opposite direction. Though unsteady, I followed with a single goal in mind. Maintain my bearings a little while longer. A feat I wasn’t sure I could manage.
He escorted me to a frowning Mr. Vyle, who waited in front of a closed door. “Today’s performance leaves much to be desired, Lady Roosa.”
“I’ll accept a failing grade with pride, Mr. Vyle,” I replied, my tone flat.
He made no further comment as we traversed the hallway. To my surprise, he removed his jacket and settled the material over my shoulders. His warmth and scent replaced the metallic-tinged cold, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t remove the jacket either. I’d done enough fighting for the day.
Miller and five others were dead. Winslet might die too. I’d glimpsed some of the torment and torture Mykal and Victors had endured in captivity. The reminder knotted every muscle I possessed.