Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 108768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
My stomach grumbled.
I forgot that Chen and Hu had let me barely eat tonight.
Yet another server brought forth bowls of soup. One was set in front of me. The liquid was a clear broth, with an exquisite aroma of herbs and spices. Floating in the soup were delicate bird's nest strands, my mother's favorite delicacy.
Monique gazed at hers and raised her eyebrows. “Is that a. . .bird's nest or kind of like. . .noodle's formed in one?”
“It's a real bird's nest.”
“No way.”
“It is.” I nodded. “But it's not like a bluebird's nest with sticks and straws. These aren't found in trees.”
She moved her view from the soup and put it on me.
“These are edible bird’s nests that belong to the swiftlet which is a small bird usually found in Southeast Asia.”
“I've never heard of one.”
“Yeah. They live in dark caves, similar to bats.”
“O-kay.” She directed her view back to the soup. “But. . .they are not bats?”
“No. However, instead of twigs and straw for a nest, a swiftlet makes its nest from strands of its own gummy saliva.”
Monique opened her mouth in shock.
Chuckling, Duck picked up his spoon and began tasting the soup.
“So. . .the nest is. . .” She looked back at me. “It's bird spit?”
I smirked.
Chen jumped in. “It is but on a more eloquent level.”
Monique gave him a skeptical look. “Eloquent?”
“The nest is produced by the glands under its tongue. It then hardens when exposed to air.” Chen proudly gestured to his as it floated in his soup. One might have thought he spun the nest himself. “The structure is quite impressive, a tightly woven hammock-like formation, made of strong threads that can be white, yellow, or red. Then, the swiftlet secures it to the rock wall in the cave.”
To my shock, Yan spoke. “Then, a bunch of idiots climb shaky, long ladders in dark caves to steal the nests.”
Chen nodded. “Well, it is a very dangerous job, yet one should consider the beauty of—”
“Many lose their lives. Not to mention the fact that each nest is extremely expensive.” Yan pushed her bowl to the side. “Disgusting.”
A hardened expression covered my face.
Yan continued. “Swiftlets are an endangered species and the more nests that are consumed, the closer swiftlets head toward extinction. And my brother has ordered hundreds of these for our people tonight?”
Alright. . .Let the bullshit begin.
I put my focus on my sister. “A Mountain Master does not spend his time ordering soup ingredients for a feast, Yan. You would know that if you could ever sit on the throne.”
Hu paused from eating as if unsure if he may have to battle.
Duck snickered.
Chen's face went red.
Silent, Monique glanced from her to me.
Meanwhile, Yan appeared ready to explode into bloody violence.
I leaned back in my throne and raised an eyebrow at Yan. “Why are you here?”
“Did you not miss me, dear brother?”
“I did not.”
“Chanel is dead.” The words slithered from Yan's lips like poison and a grotesque smile contorted her face. “I heard she didn't have it easy.”
Every word was like a knife, each syllable crafted to twist deeper into me.
“From the whispers I caught, Father was particularly. . . inventive.” Yan sneered. “So much blood.”
One of her men whistled.
“So much so that she could write her name with it. So much.” She shook her head. “Profuse amounts and streaming, like a gutted animal in a slaughterhouse.”
I swallowed down pain.
With an air of perverse celebration, Yan raised her champagne glass high. “Here's to Chanel, and all other evil creatures led to the slaughter.”
Off in the dark sky, a crow cawed.
Yan's men, always eager to curry her favor, quickly joined her grotesque toast.
Around the table an icy silence spread that contrasted sharply with the hum of conversations of the other guests clinking of glasses and their joyous laughter.
Inside me, a demonic blizzard raged, threatening to erupt. It wasn't a poetic or noble anger. It was raw, visceral. A primordial urge to protect, to avenge.
My fingers twitched, itching for the cold grip of my blade.
I lowered my hand under the table.
Yan caught the movement and set her glass down on the table.
I unsnapped the leather binding, keeping my sword in place.
Yan lifted the side of her lip as if begging me to start the violence.
In my head, the image of striking her, drawing just a trickle of her blood in retribution, became an overpowering thought.
The noise around us dimmed.
Only the crow's cawing could be heard as I began to grip the sword's handle.
I might as well. What's one more family member's death for this week?
But then, something soft, warm, intruded upon my dark intentions.
Under the cover of the table, a gentle hand settled atop mine, halting my hand from slowly pulling out my sword.
What?
My angry gaze shifted meeting Monique's soothing eyes.
I took in a deep breath, feeling my heart rate slow down as I stared at Monique.