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)
“He is expressly forbidden from drinking blood,” Ashara says at once. “A drink to him is not like a drink to us. He did this?”
Likely you’ll catch him on the cameras of the Scarlet Sands, making his way with the Ferals to wherever they reside, a place I can only hope is as far from here as Death itself. You will see the blood in him. He isn’t who we thought. Perhaps he never was. Just a Feral bound by chains, which a mere sip of blood was enough to break …
Ashara drops on the edge of the bed suddenly, as if unable to stand anymore. Before, she had no puzzle pieces to place together. Now, she has too many.
Tristan sits across from her. Ashara, maybe I played a role in the tragedies that befell us tonight. But do you truly believe it would do your Lordship better to punish me for something I did in good faith and with good intentions … over being rid of the pest of George once and for all?
Ashara stares down at her brother. “You mean to use George as a scapegoat.”
Yes, answers Tristan simply, though as you well know, he is far from innocent, so it isn’t such a stretch to blame him for it all. Had your brother not been harmed tonight, I would bet my own immortal life that he would think to do the same, if anything just to save face.
“There will be so much damage control needed after tonight. After what has happened. Our poor guests. The directors who’ve lost their lives. Lord Xiang will hear about this, will want to know how it came to be that we left ourselves so vulnerable to such a hideous attack, that our own Lord … that Markadian …” She puts a hand on her brother’s over the bed sheets, shuts her eyes as she swallows back tears, seems unable to say anything more.
Tristan peers at Markadian’s face—the bandages, the spots of oily residue from ointments and medicine that have been applied, the festering black and red lengths of skin between the bandages where the demonic fire played the worst on him. He can only bear looking for a matter of seconds before casting his eyes away.
“Should we …” Ashara speaks with a tender and unexpectedly vulnerable tone. “Should we utilize … an older method … to heal my brother?” She worries to even say the words. “A quicker, more natural method …?”
Tristan is surprised by her suggestion. To heal Markadian with blood? It would take so much of it, to recover from those … burns. No, he says, sighing. That method is too barbaric. It would change him.
“He cannot die.”
I know, but—
“He cannot die,” she repeats, firmer. “Not like this. Not the great Lord Markadian of the west region, my magnificent brother, he does not deserve this … this humiliating end.”
There are great risks, healing with such an abundance of blood, says Tristan. Yes, he’ll heal quicker, but he may also acquire a dependency on the blood. Let us trust his body to know what’s best, to heal itself …
“And if he isn’t strong enough? He could die by morning.”
If he is fed too much blood, especially in this weakened state, it could suppress his ability. Perhaps permanently. His illusions …
Her voice sharpens. “Filling this House with actual furniture is a small price to pay for my brother’s life, I do think.”
But to save his life by turning him into the very thing he despises?
“He will not become Feral. At least not by definition. He will simply be a stronger Lord … who no one will dare stand against.”
Tristan fails to see the difference. Ashara …
She rises from the bed. “I will address the survivors. I will tell them about George’s involvement. I will name him as an enemy of the region who must be found and brought to justice immediately. Once he is found and buried, so will our troubles be.”
Tristan is surprised by her sudden cooperation. So you will go along with it? You agree it is the best course of action to blame him?
“There are no best courses of action. Every course is terrible. But yes,” she says with a nod, “that is the course I am taking. The very one you advised.”
Tristan returns her nod. Thank you … Lordess Ashara.
She grows still. “Being addressed in that way … was once my only dream. Now upon hearing it, I feel nothing.” She gazes back at her brother. “I want the nurses summoned back here with every bag of blood we have in storage.”
Tristan winces, comes around the bed. Lordess, the Bloods …
“Have escaped, yes, I know, every last one. Many of them still scurry helplessly around our halls, lost. They are being handled.” She peers at him. “I suppose you have some deftly crafted reason for why I should not punish your dear companion Raya for freeing them and absconding with Blood 1025? Don’t worry,” she quickly says the moment Tristan parts his lips. “I will protect her as well. You have earned my trust for now. In confessing the whole truth. In your reasoning for pinning the necromancy on George. Even now for the way you stood up to me, against saving my brother’s life with blood … even if I must do it anyway.” Her eyes narrow as she studies Tristan. “I think you are, in more ways than I once thought, cleverer than I took you for. I’ll need that cleverness if you’re to be my right hand when I rule in my brother’s absence.”