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)
The name catches him by surprise. He nearly falls forward. “Raya? You know her?”
“Of course. She is … sweet.” Ashara chuckles again, lowers her gaze back to him. “Settle in, my young human Kaleb. I will let Raya know of your new home, so that she may visit you. I do think she will enjoy that very much.” She moves to the door so smoothly she seems to float. “Goodnight, Kaleb.” Then she is out of the room, leaving him to himself.
She also left the door wide open.
Just that simple act—leaving the door open—stuns Kaleb, as if it is something wrong, something nefarious and disallowed.
It also feels like a literal symbol of his freedom.
Is this real? Kaleb stands in the center of the room for some time, still not trusting his own feet or the floor itself. Is the bed real? Is Ashara? He could still be sleeping in his cell. The excitable likes of 987 never clicked open his door and woke him up to defy their godly authorities. Is his name even Nico?
Kaleb rushes to the door, closes it, presses his back against its hard wood. He holds his breath. Eyes dance around the room—his room—awed yet again by its sheer size, its warm atmosphere, its clean and woodsy smell. “I’m awake,” he decides—or perhaps tells himself out loud, as if ordering himself to believe it. “This … has happened … and I … I’m …”
What truly happened with Nico and the others? Were they safely returned to the cells, consequence-free? Can Kaleb trust that such forgiveness would be so easily given to them?
“Yes,” he decides. “Yes. It is possible, very possible.” After all, the gods and goddesses have only been kind to him since his first day here—if he can even remember that long ago. Perhaps Nico and all of the others are enjoying breakfast right now, or resting in their cells. Maybe they’re chatting in the commons, shocked at how forgiving these gods are, laughing, relieved …
And they are taking bets as to where Kaleb is right now.
Kaleb smiles at the thought. “They’ll never guess,” he says. “I can’t wait to tell them.”
He wonders if he will be allowed to visit them someday, tell them what has happened, that he is okay, that his entire life has changed, and maybe if they do well and show the gods and the goddesses more respect, they will enjoy similar rewards. Could he ask to visit them someday? Surely Ashara would oblige.
These aren’t the monsters Nico and the others believe. These are the gods and goddesses who protect them from the monsters.
The next moment, Kaleb is in the shower. The warm water runs over his body, rejuvenating, and the soap that awaits him in a glass saucer is of a quality he cannot measure. It is pure silk against his skin, and as he washes the grime and sweat out of his hair, he could nearly laugh, for as enchanted as he feels. The towel that dries him is like a fluffy cloud. He calmly combs his hair, standing in front of the mirror naked, and wonders if anyone has ever felt so clean as he does right now. He inspects his knee, nearly having forgotten the injury. It’s bruised, but he suspects it will be fine after a few days, surely. The warmth of the shower has eased the pain, Kaleb suspects.
It’s only after getting dressed in a pair of loose shorts and a soft white t-shirt that he notices the violin. It sits on a sort of pedestal by the corner, easy to miss at first, with a fine and expensive-looking bow resting next to it.
Kaleb approaches the instrument, hesitates, then takes it off the stand. With curiosity, he brings it to his chin, lifts the bow, and gently plays a first note. It isn’t pleasant. He grimaces as he listens to the note quivering, trying to steady it out. When he tries again, it feels even stranger. Several attempts later, he can manage a decent melody, but the unfamiliar strings dig into his fingers, and the bow is rigid and unforgiving in his grasp.
“Is there a problem with the instrument?”
Kaleb’s eyes snap to the door. Raya stands there, beautiful as ever, arms crossed, an eyebrow lifted. He drops to his knees at once, winces when he forgets the wounded one, then sets his violin and bow aside, placing his hands on the floor.
“What is this?” she asks. “This isn’t necessary anymore, not even if Lord Markadian himself were to appear here—not that he would, that coldhearted knob doesn’t care for music. Just a simple nod of respect will do.”
Kaleb lifts his face. “Sorry,” he grunts, rises off the floor with a grimace, stands straight, bows his head. “My Lordess Raya.”
“Oh, good god, don’t call me that, either.” She steps into the room, closes the door behind her, then crosses over to him and picks up the violin and bow. “Is there a problem with the instrument, I asked? You don’t seemed pleased.”