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)
“Sauven will lose what’s left of his mind.”
“It is a fine, long-standing tradition in my family to not give a fuck about what the Savarics think. I plan to continue it.”
Solentine swore.
“You need me to legitimize this scheme,” Everard said. “Have no fear, I will back you up. It’s in my best interests.”
What the hell were they on about? Somehow Everard had gotten the best of Solentine, but I couldn’t quite figure it out.
It didn’t matter right now. The adoption was done. I had a family, a lineage, and a crest. I was no longer a person without papers or status.
I had new parents.
Right now my real parents were probably still looking for me. The police search—if there had been one—had likely been called off. Too much time had passed. I was probably presumed dead, and my mom and dad were grieving.
I’d thought of them less and less as time went by. I only remembered them when something terrible happened and I felt sorry for myself. I had no idea how to go home and no clue where to even look for a way to get there, and meanwhile every day here was a fight for survival. People’s lives depended on what I did next.
If I explained this adoption to my parents, they would understand. They would even encourage me. Anything to help me endure and survive.
It didn’t matter. Signing that paper had felt like a betrayal.
Guilt smothered me like a heavy wet blanket. Everard said something, Solentine said something else, and I didn’t hear any of it. I just sat there quietly, struggling to breathe.
CHAPTER 30
The carriage climbed a winding road veering through the steep hills southeast of the city. I pulled the curtain aside, letting the night air in. Kair Toren lay on my right and below. The night had barely begun, and windows and lanterns still glowed bright, the city shining with sparks of man-made fire like a swarm of fireflies cradled in the gloved hands of the dark, ridged hills. Above it the bottomless night sky soared, with Prata still full, and the other two moons in waxing crescent, Drao, red and angry, and Broe, glowing an eerie, magical green.
Across from me, Everard sat on the carriage bench, a liquid dark shadow. After Solentine had left, Everard helped me down the stairs. Two men came to see him, both wrapped in worn cloaks, probably his retainers. Solentine had referred to them as two human statues and that wasn’t far from the truth— both looked stone-faced and stoic. They’d gone into our basement to discuss something. Now one of them was driving this carriage and the other one rode shotgun.
While Everard had his discussion, I went into the kitchen, drank very hot tea with too much honey in it, and nodded as Shana and Clover discussed the menu for the next week. I approved Clover’s budget.
I should’ve gone into my study, but instead I loitered. I sat in the courtyard in the sun for a while, then in the kitchen with Shana, and after Clover came back, I made a fresh batch of soap, half with breberry and half with maiden-flower. And every time I zoned out, a little voice in my head asked What if the Butcher came back to life?
By the time evening rolled around and Everard came to find me to take me on this trip, I was ready to rip my hair out.
There was no logic to it. Solentine was right. Dead people didn’t rise again; unless they were me. This was trauma rearing its ugly head. Remember how you died? How much it hurt? Remember beating a living person to death with a mace?
I needed to put a period on this so I could move on. The Sun Margrave’s assassination hung over my head like a sword. No matter what I did, Hreban seemed untouchable. If only I had some way to nuke that asshole . . .
“Dark thoughts?” Everard asked.
I glanced at him. Eventually we’d have to discuss my new family name, and I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. “Thinking of Chesterton’s fence.”
“And that would be?”
“It’s a parable. A person comes to a fence erected across the road. It is blocking their way, so the person says, ‘I don’t see the point. Let’s tear it down.’ Another traveler comes along and says, ‘If you don’t know why it’s there in the first place, I won’t let you break it. Figure out why someone invested time and effort into building it and then we can talk about tearing it down.’”
He considered it. “There are three possible outcomes.”
I nodded. “Suppose the fence is blocking the road to a mountain where medicinal herbs grow. The nearby village desires the herbs to prosper.”
“They break the fence and profit,” he said, “or they break the fence and a dursan hiding on the other side devours them; or they do nothing at all and continue as they were.”