Total pages in book: 182
Estimated words: 171176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 856(@200wpm)___ 685(@250wpm)___ 571(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 171176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 856(@200wpm)___ 685(@250wpm)___ 571(@300wpm)
Weston had been correct—the captain had directed us around the storm. The sky this morning had dawned fresh and bright, the buttery sun sparkling against the sapphire waters and the forbidding clouds now in the distance. I almost couldn’t believe it. Part of me had truly thought the storm would take us down.
Until I’d fallen asleep in the alpha’s arms, that was. I’d only awoken near dawn as he slipped away, needing to check on his people. I’d relished his kiss on my forehead, and then hated the turbulent emotions rising a moment later.
That storm had shaken something loose inside of me, though. The time for internal reflection, for numb detachment, was over. It was time to regain some form of control over my life.
Dante held up a book as he leaned against the railing, nodding at the journal I held in my hand. “It’s time to read something that isn’t so depressing.”
“No, honestly, it’s fine.” I hugged the journal closer to my body. “I need to get through these.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you? You’re a captive. You’ll have all the time in the world to get through those before the dragons kill you in a spectacular fashion. It’s time for a break and a little adventure.” He showed me the cover of a book featuring a large ship, not unlike the one we were in but much less fine. “This is about pirates and a shipwreck and love. Hopefully there is also banging, am I right? Now, put your things away. We don’t want them falling overboard and have you losing memories you clearly did not originally struggle to hold on to.”
He had me there. Half the stuff in these journals I’d entirely forgotten about: snippets of conversation I’d overheard, things Granny had said, and especially the beginning years—the horrible, dark beginning years. At least, that was how I’d portrayed them. Honestly, I hadn’t been treated much differently as time went on. I’d just gotten used to it, I think. I’d acclimated. That, or everyone else was just as miserable, and therefore my life seemed equal in comparison. I’d kept my head down and my hands and brain busy. I’d gotten my gifts, I’d had my illusions, and I’d been avoided by all. On and on had continued the daily grind of life.
That life had been a lie.
All of it had been a fucking lie.
I knew that now.
The patterns were so clear once I went back and looked for them. I’d get in trouble for something, and after a punishment and a stint of good behavior, I’d get a gift. If I did something great, like creating a new product that did well, I got a gift. I’d been trained like a pet. A favorite pet, held on a pedestal above all the others, but a pet nonetheless. I had not been a family member, not a friend; I realized during the storm that I’d been nothing more than an employee.
My delusions had made me think there was more to it.
The whole thing made me sick.
The truth made me sick.
I’d helped her build her fucking empire and didn’t once press about the specifics. I hadn’t cared about the specifics. I had rarely asked questions, and when I did, I’d let her shut me down. I could’ve gotten to the bottom of what the product had become but I didn’t want to; that would’ve upset my equilibrium. Without magic, I was stuck—and I knew it.
One thing had become incredibly apparent: in the beginning, I had been good at a great deal else.
I’d cured animal hides, learning quickly enough that, despite not liking me, Old Gus had seen my skill and agreed to take me on as an apprentice. The blacksmith had, too, though the work was too demanding. I hadn’t had the strength to keep up. Baking? That had been my favorite.
All of it had been shut down. Instead, Granny brought in the goods we needed and shepherded me back to developing the product. I hadn’t even been good at plants in the beginning. Even now, I could barely garden. I could turn the natural elements into chemicals, though. I could use their properties and bend them to my will.
I’d also been good at art, of course, probably allowed to keep it solely because it had inspired the designs Granny used for business, and I was good at cooking. One skill she needed, and the other I needed to survive. Everything else I had done without. We had all done without.
Put your head down, stay blind, keep busy. She’d created a production village, just as Weston had said. I was the pet that churned out the product. We were all kept on a tight leash, in a solid cage.
My anger couldn’t be measured. It could barely be contained. With the exception of last night, I’d been unable to sleep because of it. I didn’t want to eat. I had a million questions for Granny, but if I had to choose only one to ask, it would be this: why did you take me in?