Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“I’m really not worried—”
She dropped her eyes. “You need to be. Please . . . after you leave here—be careful. I fear I’ve brought danger to your door.”
“You know something”—he tossed the hamburger and onion around—“there is great freedom in not accepting responsibility for things you’re not responsible for. Hey, that needs to go on a bumper sticker. T-shirt. Billboard—”
Apex came into the kitchen and seemed to stall out. As his eyes scanned the room . . . she thought back to him being in her father’s house. The male had always been a silent, looming presence, watching them all. In this, he was like the security cameras he was installing in this place, she decided, recording everything.
“You okay there, big guy?” Hemmy asked him.
“Yeah.”
No, she thought. And as she glanced back at Hemmy, he seemed worried, too.
“Beer’s in the fridge,” he said to Apex. “G’on then. Help yourself.”
“I don’t drink. You know that.”
After which Apex went over to the cooler, took out a Sam Adams, and popped the top. As he put the bottle to his lips, he took a deep breath. Then he drank. And drank. And drank . . .
Hemmy seemed shocked, the spoon-stirring and the butt-whirling stopping.
“Slow down, son,” he murmured, “and come up for a little air.”
When the bottle was empty, the male went over to the lower level of cupboards and started opening things.
“The trash is two over from there,” Mahrci said as she pointed to a section closer to the sink.
“Thank you.”
As he deep-six’d the bottle, Apex straightened and put his hands on his hips. “After dinner, we have to get cranking with the work. We’re leaving at nightfall tomorrow.”
Hemmy shrugged. “What’s the hurry—”
“Fifteen minutes after sundown and we’re out of here.” He nodded to the stove. “So be quick about that, and eat fast.”
As he left, there was a waft of something burning in the pan. But Hemmy stayed where he was, staring at the archway the other male had disappeared through.
“He is such a cheerful presence.” Hemmy turned back to the stove. “I mean, a real ray of sunshine wherever he goes—damn it.”
He took the pan off to the side and agitated the beef with his spoon.
“He’s right,” Mahrci said with resignation. “We all have to leave. As soon as possible.”
CHAPTER TWENTY–EIGHT
There’s an aristocrat in the waiting room. He’s demanding to see the King.”
Tohr was sitting in the steel core of the Audience House when Saxton ducked into the corridor to make the announcement. And go figure, after the previous two nights, it was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“He doesn’t have an appointment, does he?” Tohr shook his head as he hopped off his stool. “I mean, of course he doesn’t.”
“We do have time to accommodate him.” Saxton glanced at Qhuinn and Vishous. “If the King wants to see him? We’ve been efficient tonight.”
“I’ll go check.” Tohr tucked the back of his black shirt into his leathers. “What’s the name?”
“Whestmorel.”
Great. The squeaky wheel of the glymera. Just what they needed.
“Did he give a reason?” Although Tohr could guess. “Or a pretext.”
“He’s refusing to say.” Saxton glanced at the clipboard in his hand. “We have over a half hour.”
As V muttered something ugly, Tohr nodded at the solicitor. “I’ll go ask Wrath—and tell Deena we’ll handle this—one way or the other, I’ll take care of him. She doesn’t need to worry about the guy.”
That receptionist was totally not going to be put on the front lines of dealing with an aristocrat like Whestmorel, especially if it was a “no” from the King. That male was a member of the new guard, which was not a compliment. He’d taken to sending memos on behalf of a “number of interested parties,” as he called them, about issues they felt were pressing. So far it was all about festivals, social standards, and bullshit like that, but the frequency had been increasing.
And Tohr knew—he could just feel it in his bones—that something was cooking.
“Deena will be well pleased she’s released of that duty.” Saxton inclined his head. “Thank you very much.”
With that settled, Tohr walked down to the door that had a black dagger with the handle down and the tip pointed up on it. He knocked with a single knuckle and waited.
“Come in,” came the muffled response.
As Tohr triggered the door release, the panel slid into the wall. The entry into the Audience Room from the steel corridor could be opened four different ways: To the left, to the right, and into the wall either way, depending on what was going on inside. Usually, it was just disappeared into the slot. But if something bad was happening—and everything was designed in the facility to ensure that was never what was going on—you could detach it and use it as cover. Or not—
“What we got.”