Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
He loomed over me, his eyes unhinged and filled with menace. “You knew. You warned them.”
I said nothing. My heart was pumping my blood out of my body with every beat. I could feel it draining out of me, taking my life with it.
He swung out of view, and I heard him walking. He circled the table like a shark. His voice vibrated with barely contained rage.
“That was Everard in the plaza. He was probably with you in the Dog Market before that. Didn’t see him today. They must be looking for him. Scars from Fatefire are hard to miss.”
The sooner I died, the sooner the pain would end. And once it did, I would have one shot at ending this. Only one.
“How did you know I would bring Velpor to the plaza? It’s a good question, but I have an even better one.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Only two people know who has earned the right to the full treatment. You belong to Everard. He trusts you. He has you run his errands. I only want to know one thing.” He leaned over me again, his teeth bared. He didn’t seem human, and his voice was a snarl. “Did that fuck Hreban betray me and conspire with Everard to stop me?”
There it was, confirmation of everything I suspected. Hreban had hired him.
“Answer me,” the Butcher growled.
I stared at him.
His expression relaxed. His voice was normal again. “I guess it’s true what they say about the Sleepless Duke. He does know how to pick his people.”
He stepped away, then turned back to me. He was holding big sharp shears in his hand. The kind you used to shear sheep or cut through branches.
“He stole Eliarde from me. I’m taking you from him. You’re a piss poor replacement but needs must.”
He fiddled with the restraints on my right hand and wrenched it upright, so I could see it. I tried to fight him, but my arm wouldn’t obey. I had no strength left.
He caught my index finger between the blades.
“Just one question.”
The blades came together with a metallic scrape. I screamed. He showed the bloody stump of my finger to me.
“It’s not complicated.”
The sheers sliced again. My middle finger was gone, and the pain drowned me. I hung in its depths, unable to move, unable to scream, just existing and hurting.
“Did Hreban betray me?”
Screech.
“Tell me and it will be over.”
Screech.
I just had to endure it. I was dying already. I was so close. Eventually the agony would end. There was no choice and no escape until it did.
He leaned close to me, and I felt his breath in my ear. “If you want, you can whisper it to me. Nobody will ever know.”
My lips were so dry. They had stuck together, but despite the agony, I made them move.
“I will kill you,” I said into his ear. “I will make you pay for everything you’ve done.”
He straightened. “No. You never will. And now I need to get on with it. We don’t have much time left.”
He was right. He made thirty minutes into thirty days. I cried, and I screamed, and I called for my mom, but I never told him anything he wanted to know. I was blind by the time I drew my last breath, but I heard him cursing as I died.
Everything hurt. The pain was like air, in my body, in my blood, in every cell.
I opened my eyes.
The wooden ceiling above me was grimy. Familiar clusters of lanterns hung from it, no longer lit. I was still on the table. He’d left my corpse there.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I turned my head and saw him. He sat at a table, with his back to me. A roasted chicken with a drumstick missing rested on a big plate next to him. He’d tired himself out and gotten hungry.
Just one shot. There would be no do-overs.
I tried to move my right hand. I had fingers again. I squeezed them into a fist and raised my arm, half expecting him to whip around and stab me.
He kept eating.
My hand was whole, and he hadn’t resecured it. Why would he? I was dead.
I reached for the thing binding my neck. A leather strap.
He reached for the pitcher on his left and I froze.
The Butcher refilled his cup and set the pitcher down.
I traced the strap with my new fingers. It was secured by a metal nail threaded through it. I clamped my fingers around the nail and pulled up. It came free with shocking ease, and I froze again, holding my breath.
He kept chewing.
I pulled the belt to the side and sat up. The same setup held my left wrist. I pried the nail free and slipped off the table.
The pain nearly took me to the floor. My clothes hung on me in tattered bloody shreds. I wasn’t me. I was a furious wounded animal, and I moved like one, silent, sure, and careful.