Total pages in book: 208
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1048(@200wpm)___ 839(@250wpm)___ 699(@300wpm)
“We…I’m sorry, we don’t know, sir,” the lieutenant repeated.
Seph shook his head in disgust.
“Tonight was meant to see the end of her. The end of True. The end of Ophelia,” he ground out. “Pitting Wodell against Firenze in vengeance for their prince and their Countess of the Arbor. Weakening the Nadirii as it would pass on to the older sister, who wouldn’t know an act of diplomacy if it struck her in the face. Which in turn would mean the younger would need to dispute the new reign. And as that played out and the older weakened her warrior nation, she would turn all against the Nadirii. We cannot wait for that sick queen to meet her end! Sister needs to be pitted against sister for the Nadirii to fall.”
He did not know why he was explaining the plot to them. They all bloody knew it as well as he.
“By Go’Bedi!” he shrieked. “How did we bloody fail?”
“Sir, I must beseech you to make the order for the soldiers of The Rising to flee the city immediately,” another lieutenant begged. “Some of our recruits were captured. We may be exposed.”
“And why is that?” he demanded. “Those caught know to speak nothing of The Rising.”
“We cannot assume they will do as instructed. They will be tortured, if they haven’t been already, and marched to the pits. They could share of our sacred mission in hopes of mercy.”
“They all knew this would be an eventuality if they failed,” Seph returned.
“We did not, none of us, expect them to fail,” his lieutenant replied.
This was true.
For it shouldn’t have failed.
There was a significantly reduced guard at the palace. They’d seen to that. They should have dispatched the waif silently and gone on to the others without an alarm being raised, and then escaped unscathed, or at least with minor losses due to their vastly superior number, for Go’Vicee’s sake.
Seph drew breath into his nose.
“Thus, we also cannot assume that they will share this is naught but another Firenz coup against their sitting king,” the lieutenant went on.
“We cannot flee the city,” Seph declared.
“But, my liege—”
Seph leaned forward and bellowed, “We will not leave the city!”
He leaned back, took another deep breath and calmed himself.
“If we did, they would suspect. G’Dor nor any of the men he recruited spoke even a word of The Rising. Mars and his men investigated that thoroughly. Even entering the hallowed confines of this very temple…thrice…to search for some evidence of Go’Doan collaboration.” He shook his head. “No. A man can and will say anything under torture. It is rarely the truth. And Mars knows this.”
“I fear we are still vulnerable,” his man murmured.
“Then we will strengthen again,” Seph returned. “And we will start to do that by not showing our hand by bloody fleeing.”
No one replied which was all well, for Seph tired of this conversation.
And further, there was much to do.
Distractedly, he looked through them before he would dismiss them.
But he went still.
“Where is G’Drey?” he asked.
“My liege?” one of his lieutenants queried in return.
“Where’s G’Drey?” he demanded, louder and sharper.
There was a shuffling of feet that made the heated blood in Seph’s body feel like it would boil before a man in the back spoke.
“He was in an accident on his way to the school.”
Seph’s chin jerked into his neck. “I beg your pardon?”
“He was in an accident, my liege.”
“Come forward,” G’Seph ordered.
The man shifted through the bodies around him, doing it hesitantly, but he came forward.
“What of Drey?” Seph asked quietly when the soldier was standing before him.
“Apparently, my liege, on his way to school, he turned a corner as a horse was riding down the street. He gave the horse a fright, it reared and struck him in the head with a hoof. He received a headwound and was taken to a Firenz infirmary. A Firenz city guard came and reported it yesterday afternoon.”
It was at that, Seph’s blood ran cold.
For they might be treating a headwound.
But in so doing, they would undoubtedly find his other injuries.
And questions would be asked.
Not to mention, Seph had whipped that weak-willed priest.
G’Drey was devout to The Rising. No one who knew of the plot had not been vetted and thus known to be faithful to their righteous cause.
But Drey was weak-willed.
This story could be a ruse. Drey could have gone to the Firenz and shared the plot.
For the stupid twat was getting fucked by Mars’s top general, and he didn’t even know it.
Dear Bedi.
“And why wasn’t this reported to me?” Seph asked.
“Why?” the man queried stupidly in return.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, my liege, you instructed us to be wary of G’Drey and not—”
Seph turned, finding the handle of whichever instrument was closest, instruments that were kept there for times such as these, and others besides.
It was a crop.
Perfection.
He then lifted it and brought it down violently on the man’s cheek. And again. And again. Again. Again. And again. Until the soldier fell to a hand and his knees, lifting his other arm to stave the blows that Seph kept raining on him.