Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
“Family,” says La-La in his startlingly deep voice, remains perfectly still for exactly five seconds, finishes, “I once held a living heart in my hand like a goblet, drank sweet blood from it as it kept beating, a heart I pried out of my dear sister’s chest when she was ten years old.”
Kyle’s stomach sinks.
La-La grins, showing teeth.
Then, from somewhere else entirely, another voice: That was ever so generous of you, Mance, to allow us our screams.
34.
Envious of Fire.
—∙—
Tristan watches from his chair, many tables away, as Mance perks up, completely thrown by the voice. The room seems to calm as well, despite the very air still vibrating with terror and mounting heat. The perimeter of the room has begun to glow a deep and threatening red, suggesting other things have caught fire, too, out of view. As of yet, the flames still seem completely under Mance’s control. This is important, Tristan decides.
As the last thing he wants is for the House itself to burn.
Mance appears amused by the voice. “My, my. You love to make a dramatic entrance, just like I do. Where the fuck are ya, sugar bottom?” He squints at the guests one by one, circling the top of his table. “Gonna make me play Where’s Waldo?”
We are nothing without the gifts we give one another, Tristan goes on—and it is entirely with his mind that he makes these words, his lips remaining still. Gestures of acknowledgement, no matter if the gift is well-intended … or a mysterious threat in a box. It is the world’s earliest form of communication, even before words …
Mance laughs, finding that funny. “Tristan, you feisty little minx. Am I well-intended? Or am I a threat?” He leaps onto a neighboring table, inspects more faces. “You’re just in time for my big finale. Aren’t you excited? I know you wanna see this pompous asshole dead as badly as I do.”
Did I really say that? I can’t be so sure. I say many things I don’t mean. Once, I told my dentist he had astounding bone structure and should drop his practice and go into modeling …
“If you keep yappin’ and bein’ cute …” Mance crouches down, yanks back someone’s head by their hair to inspect their face, lets it go. “… this whole place and every last snob in it will burn to the ground before you arrive at your point.”
Thankfully he didn’t follow my advice. But he was murdered a year later by his own wife after she caught him cheating with the babysitter. A pity. My point is that everyone in this room can walk away satisfied. Everyone could get what they want. Including you.
“And how do we do that? By not followin’ your advice? Tell me where you’re hidin’, I’m runnin’ outta patience awful fast.”
As it turns out, I am unable to hide. I’m trapped in a chair, same as everyone else, with my ass slowly falling asleep. If you allowed us to move, I might cheerily rise to my feet and give you a wave.
“Nice try.”
By the way, do you realize you are showcasing both your skillsets at once? Fire and death … You have such incredible talent.
“Sayin’ things you don’t mean again, huh? Could’ve talked earlier usin’ your mind talent long before I let y’all scream.” He leaps on another table, each time causing its contents to rattle, puts his foot on someone’s face, gives it a shove, lets their chair fall back as they shout out. “So why’re you chimin’ in now?”
We had a deal, Mance.
It’s then that he comes to a stop, eyes landing on Tristan.
The corners of his lips curl up with chilling satisfaction.
Mance approaches, crouches down, props his elbows up on his knees. “Howdy, partner. Cute hair.” He chuckles. “It don’t matter what you say. Your Lord Markadian’s life ends tonight. What happens with my fire, well, that’s up to the fire. It enjoys to eat its fill just like a fuckin’ vampire does, eatin’ and eatin’ ‘til there ain’t even a carcass left to suck marrow out of.”
I find myself so envious of fire. Tristan’s smile persists, lost in Mance’s eyes. No one ever blames the fire for eating its fill, only the person who sets it loose.
“So am I the one to blame?”
We’re all to blame. Tristan’s face twists. Please honor our deal.
Mance smirks, gnaws on his bottom lip, looking positively tickled by the power he wields.
“For fuck’s sake,” comes Markadian, “I have told you what you needed to know! The truth! Your witch-hunter wife is dead and gone and deserves to be! Now end this performance, let us go, and I will see to it that all your past crimes are absolved, including this one. My council is here, all of them witness. Do you all concur? Excellent,” he says without awaiting an answer. “Mance, your crimes were made in the heat of not knowing the truth. All is forgiven. Now be a decent man and end this.”