Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
She’s breathing heavy when she finds my eyes this time. “I don’t understand…”
“This”—I pan my arms wide to indicate the whole of the palace—“was my father’s office. Apparently. I never knew about it, but nonetheless, it’s here. But it’s much more than just an office. It’s… well, a regular palace, as you can see.”
“Oh.” Her face crumples into a frown. Then, suddenly, she’s crying, covering that beautiful face with her hands.
And I am so stupid. Why would she care about this place? Aldo’s body was just burned in a pyre. The bells are still ringing for Haryet. This is the absolute worst day of Clara’s life and I’m bragging about my new palace?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I put my arms around her. “Shhhh. It’s OK.” I want to explain that this is a good moment, she just doesn’t realize it yet. But it’s not the right time for that conversation. It’s not even the right time for that thought.
So instead, I just hold her. Caressing her back with my fingertips. Because this is a terrible, awful day and she won’t understand until it’s too late that we are at the end of the best of times, so we need to enjoy it. And I don’t want to tell her that—not yet. I don’t want to kill all her hopes and dreams until I have no choice.
It takes a few minutes, but when she finally calms down, I lead her over to the nearest couch—sans blue sheet, courtesy of Mitch or Jeyk, I presume—and after we sit, I pull her into my arms and we let out that breath. A collective one. The one we’ve been holding, in our minds, at least, since the bells started ringing last night.
It’s not over yet, of course, but we’ve come to terms with it. And in my experience, that’s always half the battle.
We don’t talk. We just sit. Not because there’s nothing to say—there are millions of things to say—but because we don’t know how to say them. The world doesn’t make sense yet.
Instead, we kiss. And I am a little taken aback—not to mention slightly ashamed—to find that I am hungry for her.
There is no time for a tryst, there is so much to do before the ceremony tonight, but after, when the bells finally stop, I will bring her here and she will spend the night with me. Fuck that god. Fuck him and his tower too. Fuck the bells, fuck the Extraction, fuck the Matrons, and fuck the consequences.
She’s mine and I might just take her prisoner. Keep her forever. Lock her up in some… upper palace room that I don’t even know about yet, and never let her leave.
“What are you thinking about?” Clara’s low whisper pulls me out of my anger, and shame, and lust and forces me to take a breath.
“You.”
She snuggles into my neck, her mouth pressed against my skin just below my ear. I hold her as we lean into each other, trying to get through the moments.
“Where’s your mother? I didn’t see her at the funeral.”
I blink. Squint. Then… I dunno. Get lost for a moment. Because Clara’s right. I didn’t see her either. And I didn’t even notice that she wasn’t there.
Clara pulls back a little, trying to see my face. “Finn?”
“Uh…” I have to lie. That’s the only way out of this. “She was… sick. She couldn’t come.” I don’t want to look Clara in the eyes as I say this lie, but I force myself to.
She’s squinting her eyes in a severe look of confusion. “She didn’t…” She can’t even finish the sentence. Because it makes no sense.
My mother did not attend my father’s funeral?
And I didn’t even notice?
“I’ll… check in on her. Don’t worry.” I drag my fingertips gently across Clara’s cheek, forcing a smile. “She needs time.”
Clara looks me in the eyes, the same way that Jeyk looks me in the eyes, and takes a moment to make herself believe the lie. Because why would she not believe me? She offers a small smile and then places her hand flat against my cheek. “Are you OK, Finn? I know that’s a very stupid question, considering the circumstances, but you don’t look OK.”
I am not OK. There’s something evil growing inside me, I can feel it. “I’m fine.” This lie is too much. Even I know it. “I mean, I will be fine. Once this day is over.”
She wants to question me. She wants to know more about my mother’s absence, and this office that looks like a palace, and the bells—which are still ringing—and she probably wants to talk about how she’s next.
But in the very next moment, there is a knock at the door, and I am saved from telling all the lies that would be necessary to explain away her unease because Mitch appears, telling us that there are things to do and places to be.